News of the duel spread quickly. By the next morning, the training ground was crowded with monks of all levels. They came to watch the son of the Lynn family—the arrogant genius Sebastian—fight against Martin, the boy who had tried to kill himself to get into the abbey.
Martin arrived early. He wore his red robe and carried no weapon. He stood in the center of the training ground, waiting.
Sebastian arrived late, deliberately. He walked slowly, surrounded by a group of admirers. He wore a white robe—the color of a third-level Gathering Light disciple. He carried a short sword that glowed faintly with holy energy.
"Ready to lose, Martin?" Sebastian said loudly, for everyone to hear.
Martin said nothing. He simply waited.
Brother Malachi acted as referee. He stood between them and raised his hand. "This is a friendly duel. No killing. The first to yield or be incapacitated loses. Begin."
Malachi stepped back. Sebastian charged immediately, his sword slashing toward Martin's head.
Martin dodged. The sword whistled past his ear. He had no weapon, so he relied on his speed and agility. Months of carrying water and climbing mountains had made him strong and quick. And the stone bead had enhanced his body far beyond normal limits.
Sebastian attacked again and again. Each time, Martin dodged. The crowd grew restless.
"Fight back!" someone shouted.
"Stop running, coward!" another yelled.
Sebastian grew frustrated. He had expected an easy victory. But Martin was faster than he looked. He decided to use a holy technique. He pointed his sword at Martin and muttered a few words. A beam of white light shot from the blade.
Martin saw it coming. He rolled to the side. The beam struck the ground where he had been standing, leaving a smoking crater.
The crowd gasped. Holy techniques were rare among low-level disciples. Sebastian had shown off his power.
But Martin was not impressed. He had seen the technique before—Malachi used something similar to heat the alchemy cauldrons. It was powerful but slow. And it drained the user's holy energy quickly.
Sebastian prepared another beam. This time, Martin did not dodge. He ran straight at Sebastian. Sebastian fired. Martin dropped to the ground and slid, the beam passing over his head. He kicked Sebastian's legs out from under him.
Sebastian fell hard. His sword flew from his hand. Martin was on top of him in an instant, his knee on Sebastian's chest, his hand at Sebastian's throat.
The crowd fell silent.
"Yield," Martin said quietly.
Sebastian's face was red with rage and humiliation. He struggled, but Martin's grip was like iron. He could not break free.
"I yield," Sebastian spat.
Martin released him and stood up. He looked at the crowd. They stared at him with a mixture of shock and respect.
He walked away without a word.
Behind him, Sebastian shouted, "This isn't over, Martin! I'll get you for this!"
Martin did not look back.
He returned to his room and closed the door. He took out the stone bead and looked at it. The ten clouds seemed to glow faintly in the dim light.
He had won the duel, but he knew the real battle was just beginning. Sebastian would not give up. And there were others—Augustine, Malachi, and the rest of the abbey's hierarchy—who would want to know his secret.
He had to grow stronger. Faster.
He put the bead back in his pocket and began to cultivate.