Lin Chen sat on the shore, his fingertips unconsciously brushing the empty space at his left shoulder. Beneath the rough texture lay stiff scars left by the healed wound.
He slowly raised his right arm, fingers tightening and relaxing, feeling the surging Late True Martial true essence within him. His power remained abundant, yet without the support of his left arm, every movement carried an indescribable sense of imbalance.
He attempted to stand. His right leg planted firmly first, waist twisting slightly. His right arm instinctively pressed against the ground, barely propping up his broken body. As he rose, a sharp ache shot through his left shoulder, making him frown and stagger before finally steadying himself.
His gaze swept across the lake. Beneath the surface still lay the corpse of the ferocious bird. Even in death, its massive Spirit Sea Realm body exuded a terrifying pressure.
He took a deep breath, swinging his right arm to adjust his off‑center balance, walking slowly toward the lake. Each step was deliberate and steady—no longer as swift as before, yet carrying a newfound weight forged by life‑and‑death struggle.
Reaching the water's edge, he bent forward, supporting himself on his knee with his right arm alone, staring down at his reflection.
The calm surface mirrored his pale face, messy hair plastered to his forehead, dried blood still clinging to the corner of his mouth. The empty space at his left shoulder stood out harshly in the reflection.
He stared at it, his gaze sharpening. His right arm clenched into a fist, knuckles whitening, veins bulging along his forearm.
"Heh…"
A low chuckle escaped his throat, laced with self‑mockery yet hiding unyielding ferocity.
He straightened, turning his back on the harsh reflection to face the thick fog deep within the Forbidden Land.
His right arm slowly rose to his chest, palm forward, fingers straight—assuming the starting stance of Mountain‑Splitting Fist.
Without his left arm, the posture looked awkward, his balance precarious.
But he did not stop.
His waist twisted, true essence surging through the meridians of his right arm. The power of the Savage Bull Bloodline roared within him, driving his broken body to throw a slow, determined punch.
The wind of the fist was weak, far less fierce than before. His body swayed unsteadily, nearly collapsing.
He steadied himself and continued, adjusting his balance again and again, throwing punch after punch, practicing Mountain‑Splitting Fist slowly yet resolutely.
Every strike demanded greater focus to maintain equilibrium. Every retraction brought a persistent ache to his left shoulder.
Sweat trickled down his forehead, dripping onto the grass and forming small damp patches. His pale face flushed slightly, yet twisted faintly from the strain.
He closed his eyes, banishing all distractions, focusing solely on the flow of true essence and the force behind each movement.
Moves that once required both arms now relied entirely on his right. He continuously adjusted his form, abandoning motions dependent on his left, channeling all his strength into his right arm—forging a new fist intent from his brokenness.
One punch. Then another.
His movements gradually shifted from stiff and unbalanced to smooth and steady.
The power in his right arm condensed further, the flow of true essence growing smoother. The discomfort of his missing limb was slowly suppressed by his unbreakable will.
After an unknown time, he halted, his breath slightly ragged, his right arm trembling yet firmly supporting his body.
He opened his eyes. All sorrow and confusion had vanished, leaving only icy calm and a hidden, piercing edge.
He raised his right arm, pointing toward the depths of the Forbidden Land—toward a world of endless danger and endless opportunity.
The motion was slow, yet carried unshakable resolve.
"What I've lost, I will reclaim with my own hands."
"What is owed, I will collect, one by one."
"From this day forth, I shall punch without an arm, and walk the heavens with a broken body!"
With his words spoken, he turned and stepped back into the fog of the Forbidden Land, his broken yet upright figure moving forward.
This time, his steps were no longer hurried. Each one landed solid and unwavering.
The scar of his severed arm marked his growth. His broken body would forge an even tougher heart.