Reality caught up with Nyx'Sol as his next opponent entered. Unlike the highly mobile and agile Azrx’Ibahros, who had been wearing a standard set of cultivator robes, this man was entirely clad in armor. Heavy, reinforced leather boots reached up to his shins, where they seamlessly transitioned into bronze greaves stylized in the shape of wings. They, in turn, disappeared under a heavy-looking broad tower shield made of wood. It was crude and simple, marred by dents from use.

  The man behind the shield looked at him with determination. A long metal spear was leveraged against the shield's notch, allowing for strikes from a safe position. The spear had no lethal tip but was a simple metal rod. Nonetheless, it would incapacitate someone quite quickly if they were struck by it.

  Time moved slowly as Sol took in his challenge and wiped some blood from his face, a trickling reminder of the nosebleed that Ibahros’ uppercut had left him. His upper body ached with every twist, and as he pushed himself from his fallen position, a ringing headache complicated things. It radiated from his neck and chest area down his spine, wobbling his legs and threatening to down him again. Oh, how relaxing the floor now looked to him.

  A flash of anger flared through Sol’s body as the shield slowly approached. No, he would not give up before giving his all. He gritted his teeth and sent all his Qi into his legs while maintaining the nature of the energy flow. He had a lot of Qi remaining since he had no fighting techniques to speak of. Somehow, his legs managed to support him and carry him a bit further away from his opponent with calm, albeit shaky, movements.

  Nyx eyed the shield. He would not achieve anything against this with his fists, especially not now that he was exhausted, injured, and slow. He needed something straightforward. An all-out attack. Something that pushed him beyond his limits for a brief moment. Oh, how he longed for the energy he had felt when his Grace of Undying had activated.

  Desperate, Sol sought out his focus skill again, searching for that guiding light of intuition and concentration that would surely deliver him from his challenge. He breathed in, then out.

  And he felt it at his fingertips. But it denied his call.

  Nyx gritted his teeth as he managed a burst of motion to sidestep the thrust of the spear and was immediately hit by the tower shield’s charge afterward, sending him tumbling against the wall, where it pinned him with force.

  With hoarse lungs, he screamed out his frustration as he tried once more, a renewed nosebleed streaming down past his lips. He gathered all of his Qi internally, where he had felt his focus skill connect to his energy as the shield retracted and crashed into him once more, pressing the air from his struggling body.

  And the skill responded. All of his energy was immediately drained away as he felt it activate. His frustration, pain, and refusal to lose were suddenly gone, replaced by an intense feeling of disheartened and angry indignation. Nyx’Sol’s emotional state was immediately changed, now defined by a sadness and melancholy that seemed to mix with helplessness. But at the same time, there was anger. Anger and a target that he could vent his lack of recourse toward.

  The absorbed Qi pushed back into his body like a stream of raging fire, singeing the pathways that just seconds ago had been carefully arranged to advance his growth. Now they had abandoned all semblance of grace, surging through his chest into his arms and legs.

  Sol’s mind was sharp, noticing his opponent's minute movement, immediately recognizing that he would go for another tackle with his shield in a moment. He remembered the sliding footwork of his last opponent and how it had outclassed his own, and immediately as the shield lifted off of his body, he followed it.

  His left leg positioned itself forward, sliding underneath the shield as his skill directed the Qi into action. His muscles exploded into motion that otherwise would have been impossible. A perfectly executed step-in motion accelerated his arm forward, the rotation of his body adding even more momentum, and his bone knuckles impacted the shield just as it approached again.

  A sharp pain ran through Nyx’Sol’s muscles, all the way from his foot up his back and into his arms. It felt as if his arm would be torn off, muscles strained well past their limit, but his skill allowed him to push forward even after his fist had cracked the wooden shield audibly. His retracted claws had buried themselves into his hand, and blood marked the shield that was now pushed away as his opponent stumbled and fell.

  Wooden splinters zipped past his head as he stepped in regardless of pain, his focus skill beckoning him to move. He dodged the sloppy spear thrust that had aimed for his head as his opponent was falling and surged his energy once more to stomp the shield into him, the impact reverberating loudly throughout the wooden house as the shield-bearer got smashed into the floor.

  Sol heard him audibly curse as he tried to leverage the shield and free himself from being pinned to the ground. While pain burned savagely through his entire body, he somehow found the willpower to strike a third time. His fist impacted the hastily risen shield as he had aimed for the head, rocking both his injured fist as well as his opponent's head.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Then a small bag was thrown. Blast blistering powder crackled as it tasted air and hastily spread in all directions as if it had a will of its own. A moment later, they were bathed in a shroud of darkness.

  The shield was abandoned after a quick push, and his senses, sharpened by focus, proved to give him the upper hand. Heavy leather boots scraping over the floor, a wide swing with a metal pole, and most easily of all, his opponent’s breathing gave Sol a clear mental picture.

  As he tried to call for another surge of Qi, he noticed that his arm was already hanging limp at his side. He could not move it below his shoulder, and his right foot was limping. He was barely able to feel it anymore. There was enough energy for another strike, but if he used it, there would be nothing left. However, clad in absolute darkness, his heightened focus gave him a huge advantage.

  He approached quietly, and a well-placed hook later, his opponent audibly collapsed onto the floor, where Nyx mercilessly made sure that the fight was truly over.

  The black powder dissipated roughly one minute later—or at least it started to do so—revealing the extent of his own injuries. His fist was bleeding slowly onto the floor, his right leg was shaking uncontrollably even though he did not put his weight on it, and the muscles in his arm, chest, and back sent sharp waves of pain through his body whenever he moved.

  The shield lay shattered, cracked into half a dozen pieces of wood that barely held together. Its owner bore a red bruise on his face as well as a few cuts on his chin. He breathed quietly and rhythmically, indicating that he was unconscious. Sol attached his loose thread to the man’s neck and grabbed a chair from the dining area. Sitting there, he was determined to rest until the hour had passed.

  His own relief pushed to the forefront of his emotions but was quickly muted and overshadowed by concern and impatience. The anger and sadness were still present, but to a lesser degree. His focus skill was definitely not a normal skill. In fact, the focus was likely the only consistent thing. Sometimes the skill deleted his emotions outright; sometimes it amped up his amusement and excitement for battle.

  And now? Now it made him feel things that did not fit his state of mind. He was not frustrated, yet he felt it. It was there.

  Not to mention that he seemingly arrived at conclusions and techniques that he otherwise never would have. He was grateful for it, but it was frightening to not be in control of his emotions and decision-making.

  Sol glanced inward, ignoring the rampaging nature of his Qi flow, and reached out to the area where he suspected his focus skill to originate.

  He reached out and tried to calm the fiery, burning energy where it originated. Roughly a fifth of the original energy was still rushing into every corner of his body and returning the same way. Only now, Nyx did his best to reestablish the prior Qi flow and to calm his system.

  It was like building a castle out of sand without moisture. As soon as he had reestablished the flow, it was already crumbling again. Several minutes passed—only interrupted by his opponent stirring in his slumber—when Nyx finally managed to return everything to its original state. He felt his focus skill retreating into the background, and when he felt relief and gratitude toward it, he received a colorful mix of emotions in return.

  Anger, sadness, trembling impatience, and frustration coursed through him briefly, overshadowing his own emotions, before the skill deactivated once more.

  Sol wished that he could unlock more of his memories. It was clearly not a simple technique. Maybe a way to inscribe knowledge into a skill construct that could self-reinstate itself to guide a new reincarnation?

  Exhausted, he sank into the chair, his head tilting back as he stared at the ceiling, ignoring his injuries. The peace, quiet, and rest were enough for now. He could deal with it later.

  His opponent woke soon thereafter, agreeing to leave the house just before the hour of the “argument” expired. He had a few questions about Sol’s technique and injuries, advising him to seek out one of the older disciples in the library. They usually had recovery pills or could get some, albeit at a steep price. Since Skin Tempering recruits had no access to sect infrastructure beyond the library, they could charge a lot more than market value.

  Beyond that advice, they spent the remainder of each other's presence contemplating the fight on their own, and Sol was relieved when his opponent had no intention of making a last-minute stand against him.

  As he was leaving, Sol positioned himself near the door, reading his Qi flow internally to change into the fiery blaze he had felt before. When his next opponent, a thin and gaunt-looking demon with pale purple skin and two daggers, entered, Sol let forth a brutal assault of empowered strikes that expended the rest of his Qi.

  Luckily, his surprise attack worked. Sure, he got stabbed in his shoulder and sliced on his upper leg and ear in the process, but all things considered, he was relieved.

  An hour and an opponent later, there were only ten minutes remaining, and the Spear Saint Mountain group had apparently directed their efforts to retain their other housing spots and retire for the six hours of protected nighttime.

  Emptied of Qi, suffering from a minor stab wound, several cuts and scratches, a major headache, bruised arms and legs, and injuries from overexerting his body beyond its limitations, Nyx was in excellent drowsiness.

  Nyx could not remember the last time he had barely touched his sleeping spot before falling asleep.

  He did not even register how uncomfortable the bed of straw, shoved into a crude and rough pillow, actually was.

  He dreamt of a demon clad in a red dress, laughing and dancing under a brightly lit nighttime sky. Whenever he tried to approach her to see her face, she turned away from him. The resulting chase, a dance of persistence, seemingly lasted forever. When someone finally grabbed his shoulder to shake him out of his land of dreams, all Nyx was able to hear was her mocking laughter.