As Expected of Brother Yuan!

Lu Yuan and Xiaohu stood facing each other across the ring.

Below, the spectators were already buzzing.

"Is that for real? That little beansprout is actually going to fight Xiaohu?"

Franming crossed his arms. "Xiaohu. Forget what I told you before — this kid is a Gene Warrior. If you'd rather not spend a week in bed, I'd suggest you take him seriously."

Xiaohu blinked. "A Gene Warrior?! Brother Ming, why didn't you lead with that?!"

Franming's only answer was a broad grin.

"Begin!"

Lu Yuan had been studying Military Body Fist for exactly one day. His real combat experience was essentially zero.

The moment the call went out, Xiaohu was on him in a flash. Fists, feet, elbows, knees — every part of his body had become a weapon, a relentless storm of blows crashing in from every direction. Lu Yuan's pupils contracted sharply. He had no options. He blocked, deflected, gave ground, and kept his guard up.

The dull thuds of impact filled the gym. The fierce exchange drew every spectator's full attention.

He wasn't entirely without advantages. Cultivation had significantly boosted his physical strength, pushing it close enough to Xiaohu's to hold the line, and his spiritual perception seemed to be a fraction sharper — letting him read Xiaohu's angles a half-beat before each blow landed. Scrambling and graceless as it was, he held his footing.

A few hits still got through.

Xiaohu cracked a grin between attacks. "Beansprout, I'll admit — I underestimated you. But you can't be a particularly powerful Gene Warrior. Your raw strength isn't much better than mine."

Lu Yuan said nothing.

Sweat was already beading on Xiaohu's forehead.

In the morning session, it took Xiaohu four attacks before Lu Yuan managed to land a single clean counter. For someone who had never really been in a fight before, this was already a remarkable leap.

Franming watched every exchange carefully. The moment Lu Yuan got his first real counter off, Franming's eyes went wide — and a slow grin spread across his face. His thoughts churned quietly:

*Terrifying. The learning speed, the adaptability — this is genuine, innate combat instinct. On top of that monstrous natural talent… What kind of creature did Lord Qinghe actually find? A slum kid who could stand toe-to-toe with the direct heirs of the Empire's great families? You cannot be serious.*

Immediately on the heels of that thought came another: *I absolutely have to bring this kid to my side. I'll go speak to My Lord about it later.*

Bit by bit, the ratio shifted. Three attacks from Xiaohu for every one counter from Lu Yuan.

The onlookers had started the morning calling Lu Yuan a sissy and a beansprout. As the exchanges wore on, those nicknames quietly dried up. People glanced at each other.

"His strength and speed are about even with Xiaohu's, but his technique and experience are miles behind. He was getting dominated a minute ago — how is he already firing back?"

"Well, he is a Gene Warrior. The strength makes sense, I suppose."

"His learning ability though…"

Watching Lu Yuan weave and dodge and strike — that fluid, flickering movement — Franming's gaze sharpened. The crowd fell gradually quiet.

By the time Franming called a halt to the morning session, the gap had closed dramatically. Lu Yuan was no longer just weathering the storm and picking off the occasional counter — they were trading blows.

This was an incomprehensible amount of progress.

Franming crossed his arms. "Break. Then we go again."

Xiaohu's mouth twitched. "Brother Ming — do I actually have to keep sparring with him?"

Franming clapped him on the shoulder. "Relax. I'll cover the medical bills."

Xiaohu stared at him with a hollow, wavering expression, somewhere between a grimace and a sob.

During the break, Lu Yuan sat quietly and circulated his Spiritual Energy, letting it ease the deep ache from his muscles. At the same time, he went back over every exchange in his head — cataloguing the gaps, the wasted movements, the moments he'd been too slow — absorbing each lesson and filing it away.

That afternoon, the crowd around the ring had more than doubled.

This session started nothing like the morning's. From the very first exchange, Xiaohu could no longer simply bulldoze Lu Yuan.

The spectators below hollered: "Sissy! Get in there! This is your only chance!"

"Go on, give Xiaohu one! That's what a man does! Prove you're not totally useless!"

Lu Yuan smirked and stepped in, putting Military Body Fist's footwork to use. The power nurtured within him by the Gene Chain surged — he closed the distance in an instant, the force behind his advance startling several onlookers.

*Crack!*

He drove his fist straight into Xiaohu's chest. Xiaohu's own hands — slammed down to block — were driven back into him by the impact. He stumbled back step after step, barely staying on the ring.

The laughter from below cut off all at once. Everyone looked at Lu Yuan rolling his wrist, then at Xiaohu clutching his chest, then back at each other.

"…The beansprout really hits that hard?"

"He's a Gene Warrior. Figures."

Xiaohu recovered, stared at Lu Yuan for a long moment, and then scratched his head with a lopsided grin.

"Alright, beansprout — I underestimated you. But you're not some hugely powerful Gene Warrior, are you? Your strength still isn't anything I can't handle."

As he spoke, he charged.

The fight continued.

Throughout the exchange, Xiaohu could feel it clearly: with every passing minute, Lu Yuan had one fewer weakness. The pressure never let up — it only grew.

Then Xiaohu caught a brief pause and muttered, half to himself:

"If we keep going, I think I'm going to actually start getting beaten."

Lu Yuan looked at him and said, without a trace of irony:

"Yeah, I think so too. Keep training. You'll be at a decent level when you can finally beat me."

Xiaohu: *????*

It was quiet for a moment.

*Why the hell did all these bastards switch sides?!*

He looked over at the grinning face of Franming and felt a sudden urge to cry.

Eventually both fighters were running on fumes, movements turning ragged and sluggish, strikes losing their edge. Then Franming's voice rang out from below:

"Alright, stop!"

Xiaohu heard it and dropped his guard immediately.

Lu Yuan's fist had already left his shoulder.

*Thwack.*

It landed squarely on Xiaohu's face.

Silence.

The crowd stared — at Lu Yuan calmly rotating his wrist, then at Xiaohu pressing both hands to his visibly swelling cheek, eyes wide, frozen.

The silence stretched.

Xiaohu slowly raised his head. He stared at Lu Yuan for a long moment without speaking.

"You said stop!"

Lu Yuan rubbed the sore, reddened corner of his own mouth — he'd taken a hit there earlier — and arranged his expression into one of complete innocence.

"Couldn't pull it back in time."

"How is that okay?!"

"Don't worry," Lu Yuan said pleasantly. "If I knock you flat, I still won't be paying the medical bills."

Franming, arms folded, nodded.

Franming called another rest and told them to keep going afterward. Xiaohu gave him the expression of a man utterly abandoned by fate.

"Brother Ming, seriously — do I have to keep going?"

Franming patted his shoulder again. "I told you. Medical bills are covered."

He was the picture of calm generosity.

*Just a child nobody wants, I suppose.*

The next round began.

By now there were even more onlookers crammed around the ring, watching with undisguised disbelief. The spectators who'd spent the morning calling Lu Yuan a sissy and a beansprout didn't use those words anymore. They'd stopped without quite realizing it.

As time went on, what had been unthinkable became real: Lu Yuan began to push forward.

The murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"He's actually driving Xiaohu back."

*Crack — crack — crack!*

A rapid chain: jabs, elbow strikes, knee strikes, each one forcing Xiaohu another step toward the edge. Then the opening appeared — Lu Yuan pivoted from the waist, coiled his weight, and drove a fist into Xiaohu's gut.

*THUD.*

Xiaohu's face went white. He folded in half, hands clutching his stomach, and hit the floor with a low, muffled groan.

The gym erupted.

"He won — he actually won?!"

"Brother Yuan! He beat Xiaohu in less than a day!"

"As expected of our Brother Yuan! That's incredible!"

"That's what a Gene Warrior is — completely insane!"

Xiaohu lay on the floor, listening to the cheering wash over him. He looked up at the celebrating crowd below and stared for a long moment, completely at a loss.

*…Guess I really am just a nobody.*

*Why did every last one of these traitors switch sides?*

Franming stepped over and rapped on the edge of the ring.

"Good work, kid."

Lu Yuan smiled. "You're too kind, Brother Ming. I've still got a long way to go."

Franming nodded, apparently taking him at his word.

He was being modest. In truth, he was privately rather pleased with himself — one day to reach this level with Military Body Fist was genuinely impressive, and he knew it. He'd just said what seemed polite. He hadn't expected Franming to actually agree.

Around the ring, someone in the crowd was holding court:

"Forget the future for a second — Brother Yuan is just genuinely something else right now. Think back to this morning: Xiaohu was grinding him down with years of experience and technique, right? So how long did that actually last before Brother Yuan started hitting back? Could any of you match that kind of learning curve?"

The people around him thought about it and shook their heads.

"That kind of adaptability — no wonder he's a Gene Warrior."

"Seeing a Gene Warrior in a neighborhood like this is rarer than spotting a panda. They're scarce everywhere, and in a slum like this? Practically unheard of. No wonder he's on a different level."

"I wonder — if Brother Yuan ever needs people to work under him someday, think he'd take us?"

Someone else snorted. "Are you still half asleep? A Gene Warrior like that is going to end up fighting magical beasts and warriors from other races. You think he needs to be playing house with us lot?"

A ripple of laughter. People glanced at each other and nodded, finding the logic hard to argue with.

As evening settled over the gym, Franming seemed to read something in Lu Yuan's expression. He opened his mouth:

"It's getting late. We'll stop here for today." He met Lu Yuan's eyes. "Come back tomorrow. I'll teach you swordsmanship."

Lu Yuan's face lit up. "Really? Thanks, Brother Ming."

Sparring — live, back-and-forth combat — was something categorically different from drilling alone. The progress Lu Yuan had made in a single day of real exchanges was more than he could have achieved in weeks of solo training. He'd made a mental note of that.

Military Body Fist was almost there. He could feel it settling into his reflexes, the movements becoming instinct. One or two more sessions and he'd have true command of it.

After that: Military Body Killing Sword.

And after that — the Land of Origin. Find the right gene. Engrave it. Evolve it. Get onto the path for real.