Infinite Fighting

In the spectators’ gallery, Zhang Ji sat and continued to observe the disciple battles in the arena.

The Inner Sect Disciples of the Five Elements Sect were by no means weak, but from what he’d seen so far, only a handful could pose any threat to him.

Yesterday, Zhang Ji had already obtained four "Iron Shirt" crystals and eight essences.

This was equivalent to the power of "Iron Shirt" at a forty-eight-percent proficiency.

With this level of Horizontal Training cultivation, if he just stood in the arena and let those disciples hit him, many of them probably wouldn’t even be able to break his defense.

Soon, the list of those who advanced from the first round was released, and the matchups were set.

Zhang Ji’s second match also ended quickly.

He won with a single move again.

His opponent was from the Leopard Hall, with strength at about the Third Rank. His movements were swift, but it wasn’t nearly enough against Zhang Ji. The opponent’s claws struck Zhang Ji’s body but had no effect. A single punch from Zhang Ji sent him flying off the stage, his sternum seemingly broken.

The third match, the fourth match...

Zhang Ji won them all, and he usually didn’t use more than three moves.

Whenever Zhang Ji fought, his opponents would leave the stage with significant injuries.

The onlooking Five Elements Sect disciples couldn’t help but show their surprise or anger, and even the referees frowned.

But Zhang Ji was unfazed. He had no intention of holding back.

’In my opinion, these Inner Sect Disciples are all professional fighters. The worst thing that could happen is underestimating an opponent and losing.’

...

「At the same time.」

In a small courtyard, Li Long was sipping tea with Sect Leader Yan Ruifeng.

In front of them was a tablet computer, which was playing a broadcast of the Inner Sect competition.

"Did you send him?" Yan Ruifeng asked.

"I’m letting him make an appearance, get his face known," Li Long said.

"He looks to be at the late-stage of the second-rate realm. How old is he?" Yan Ruifeng asked.

"I checked his bone age. He’s only sixteen," Li Long replied, taking a sip of tea.

"Then his talent is indeed extraordinary. To be able to cultivate such power in that kind of environment." Yan Ruifeng nodded, then added, "It’s just that his methods are a bit too ruthless."

"I actually think he’s holding back quite a lot," Li Long said, his tea-drinking motion pausing slightly.

He had heard about Zhang Ji’s exploits on Shanli Island.

It was no exaggeration to say he killed without batting an eye; he had at least fifty lives on his hands.

And that was a conservative estimate.

If he truly let loose, not a single person who fought him would survive.

Yan Ruifeng didn’t quite know what to say. He was getting on in years, and because his own achievements were limited, he had always maintained a conservative stance.

Sooner or later, the Five Elements Sect would be handed over to Li Long. The future direction of the Five Elements Sect would depend on him.

Yan Ruifeng was happy to see that Li Long had drive.

After all, he had always believed his disciple was no ordinary person and would one day soar to the heavens.

...

After the better part of a day, Zhang Ji had fought his way into the finals.

Among this group of Inner Sect Disciples, there really weren’t many who could put up a fight.

There might have been some whose power level could compare to Zhang Ji’s, but their real combat experience was absolutely no match for his.

When Zhang Ji used a strategy of trading blow for blow, they were instantly dumbfounded. He easily took down the two experts who were around the Fourth Rank.

’You can hit me and it’ll have no effect, but it’s a different story when I hit you.’

This was the advantage of specializing in a Horizontal Training Combat Skill.

In the finals, on the arena stage, Zhang Ji faced a man dressed in the uniform of a Tiger Hall disciple.

"We’re all from the same Sect. Your methods are far too ruthless," Huai Wen’an said.

"I haven’t broken any rules. One, I didn’t strike any vitals, and two, I didn’t use any lethal moves. I’ve already held back a great deal," Zhang Ji said calmly.

"But you have the superior strength. There’s no need to be so vicious. You’ve injured them so badly they’ll need at least a month to recover. How many lessons will they miss because of this?" Huai Wen’an said, staring at Zhang Ji.

Zhang Ji sneered and said, "If this were a real encounter outside, a real conflict, would a strong person hold back against a weak one?"

"But this is a Sect competition!" Huai Wen’an snapped.

"And that’s the only reason they’re still alive!" Zhang Ji retorted sharply.

’By my usual standards, anyone who fought me would be dead.’

’My path forward cannot be blocked!’

"It seems I’ll have to uphold justice for our junior brothers and sisters," Huai Wen’an said, his eyes narrowing.

"Justice?" Zhang Ji looked disdainful but didn’t elaborate. Instead, he said, "Let’s see if you’re qualified!"

The referee had not yet announced the start of the match, allowing the two to exchange a few words and letting Huai Wen’an make his threats. He was clearly also somewhat displeased with Zhang Ji’s ruthless attacks.

He couldn’t help but wonder if Zhang Ji had injured one of his own prized students.

Only after they both stopped talking, the air thick with tension, did he give the command.

"Disciples, bow!"

"Begin!"

After a fist-and-palm salute, Zhang Ji and Huai Wen’an charged at each other almost simultaneously.

Tiger Fist was a fierce and powerful style, and "Iron Shirt" was no sissy martial art either.

Both of them followed a path of meeting force with force. In this exchange, there would naturally be no feints or maneuvering.

"WHOOSH—!"

The sound of parting air was heard as Huai Wen’an took the lead, striking at Zhang Ji’s chest with a curved palm.

Zhang Ji raised his left arm to parry.

"BUZZ—! CLANG!"

As if striking metal, Huai Wen’an’s palm against Zhang Ji’s arm produced the sound of a metallic clash.

The force was absorbed by the skin, muscles, and bones of his arm. Zhang Ji twisted his body with a jolt and threw a straight punch with his right arm.

"BANG—!"

Huai Wen’an also parried Zhang Ji’s blow.

The two rapidly exchanged and countered blows, the air periodically ringing with metallic buzzing and clashes. This was the first time Zhang Ji’s martial arts style had been so thoroughly displayed.

The spectators were somewhat astonished.

"Is that Dragon Form Fist?"

"Why does it look like a Horizontal Martial Arts Training?"

"Could it be a secondary discipline he’s training in? Then what about his Dragon Form Fist?"

Many people were full of questions. Some even began to inquire about Zhang Ji’s specific origins, but besides a select few, the other Inner Sect Disciples had no information.

The process of Zhang Ji becoming the Daoist’s personal disciple had been extremely low-key.

Li Long had intentionally simplified the procedures, not wanting to make it too grand an affair.

Otherwise, with Zhang Ji’s current strength, his claim to the position of a personal disciple would be somewhat undeserved.

Just as Li Long had said, at his age, one needed to be at the peak of the second-rate realm at minimum to barely qualify as a personal disciple.

In terms of the modern-day fighting world’s rankings, that was the equivalent of Sixth Rank.

But Zhang Ji, at best, was currently around the Fifth Rank, and might have even been at the Fourth Rank level before. If Li Long had handled it with great fanfare and notified the entire Sect, it would have inevitably caused unnecessary trouble.

On the stage, after exchanging dozens of rounds with Huai Wen’an, Zhang Ji was quite surprised to find that he hadn’t managed to gain an absolute advantage.

In terms of pure explosive power, Huai Wen’an was even stronger than him.

Zhang Ji had to rely on his absorption and reflection techniques just to fight Huai Wen’an to a standstill.

"BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG—! BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ—!"

The exchange between the two grew more intense. It was as if Huai Wen’an were forging iron, and Zhang Ji was completely indestructible. Every attack was a direct, head-on clash; neither dodged nor evaded, and every blow landed true.

In the past, Zhang Ji would have loved such an opponent, but today his mood was a little complicated.

Because he wasn’t the one with the advantage.

"BUZZ—! BANG—!"

They exchanged kicks, their figures separating for a moment.

Huai Wen’an slightly curved his palms, his feet staggered one in front of the other, and assumed the opening stance of the Tiger Fist.

Zhang Ji’s eyes narrowed. He adjusted his breathing, and suddenly, his fingers and palms also hooked into a claw shape.

"A Dragon Claw?" a spectator cried out in alarm.

Dragon Form Fist did include claw-striking techniques, but Zhang Ji’s claw skill was only the beginner-level Raccoon Claw Skill.

However, relying on his "Iron Shirt" with its forty-eight-percent proficiency, even his beginner-level Raccoon Claw Skill could display the effect of a master-level technique.

’This is what you call a stat-crush!’

"SHING! SHING! SHING—!"

The claws shot out. This time, Huai Wen’an was cautious and didn’t block it head-on, instead using a technique to deflect Zhang Ji’s claws to the side.

But with a twist of his wrist, Zhang Ji hooked Huai Wen’an’s sleeve with extreme dexterity.

"RIIIP—!"

The sleeve on Huai Wen’an’s left forearm was instantly torn open, and several white marks appeared on his arm.

’Just as I thought,’ Zhang Ji said to himself.

’To be able to maintain such ferocious power, his defense must also be top-notch.’

’But if that last strike had landed perfectly, even if it didn’t tear off a piece of flesh, it should have at least left a few bloody scratches.’

Feeling the slight pain from his arm, Huai Wen’an’s heart skipped a beat. He became even more hesitant to let Zhang Ji’s claws land on him, and he lost his heart for fierce, head-on confrontation.

Zhang Ji, on the other hand, was now fully committed to trading injuries.

He was betting that his "Iron Shirt" was tougher than his opponent’s body.

One grew bolder, the other’s momentum weakened.

The scales of victory began to tip.

Once the Tiger Form Fist lost its courage, the Tiger was less than a dog.

As he fought, Zhang Ji began to integrate some of the claw techniques from Dragon Form Fist into his own moves, his attacks becoming smoother and more natural.

"Ssssk! Ssssk!"

Two fingers swept across Huai Wen’an’s chest, leaving two bloody gashes that were neither deep nor shallow.

And Huai Wen’an took the opportunity to land a palm strike on Zhang Ji.

"BUZZ—!"

A buzzing sound rang out. Zhang Ji almost completely absorbed the force of the palm strike, and even reflected some of it back into Huai Wen’an’s hand. The result was that Huai Wen’an’s own palm went numb from the shock of hitting Zhang Ji.

No one had ever managed to train "Iron Shirt" to a forty-eight-percent proficiency.

But the pinnacle martial art of the Diamond Gate was by no means a simple combat art where you just stood there and took hits.

The "Indestructible Body of the Diamond God Art" was spikier than an iron porcupine; not only could you fail to break its defense, but you’d also suffer recoil damage.

It was only natural that the "Iron Shirt," an art derived from this school, would exhibit some of its profound mysteries when trained to such a level by Zhang Ji.

Fighting an opponent like this was infuriating; you had to pull your punches.

"SHING! SHING! SHING! SHING—!"

"BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ! BUZZ—!"

Huai Wen’an’s hands continuously struck Zhang Ji’s body. Zhang Ji wasn’t even defending anymore. As long as he could get a scratch in on Huai Wen’an, trading injuries was no problem at all.

Before long, both of Huai Wen’an’s hands had turned completely red from the recoil. His body was covered in claw marks, and his arms were a mess of bloody scratches, some even staining his brown clothes red.

Zhang Ji wasn’t unscathed either. Huai Wen’an’s attacks hurt when they landed. However, compared to Huai Wen’an, his injuries were much lighter.

As the fight wore on, Huai Wen’an was gradually forced back to the edge of the stage.

Zhang Ji drove power from his feet, channeling it instantly through his waist and spine into his right fist, and suddenly unleashed a Dragon Fist.

"BANG—!"

Huai Wen’an blocked with both arms but was still sent flying. A waiting teacher caught him, saving him from the disgrace of landing on the floor.

His arms trembled, and his palms were an unnatural, blood-red color. This fight had been utterly suffocating for him.

In his past fights, others always dodged his attacks. No one ever dared to take them head-on.

This was the first time someone had let him hit them, almost completely without dodging, yet he was the one who became hesitant to strike.

’He’s a damn iron tortoise with spikes!!’

"Teacher, it’s time to announce the victory," Zhang Ji said, looking at the referee.

The referee was not swayed by his personal feelings and directly announced the result of the match.

"The final victor of this month’s Grand Competition is... Zhang Ji!!"