I was fighting on the battlefield I had chosen, but the situation was far from favorable. About a minute into the battle in the snake's mouth, I started longing for the Ring Sword I had given to Carzakh.
Ugh...
If I had known this would happen, I would've kept it. My fists were my primary weapon, but in moments like this, when conserving energy was critical, a sword would've been ideal. Its basic attack power surpassed that of the fists.
My external techniques were pitifully underdeveloped, forcing me to channel my internal energy continuously to deal with these hatchlings. If I tried to fight them barehanded, I would quickly tear my muscles and shatter my bones.
I would've died long ago if not for the poison from Osel's dagger, which I converted into internal energy using the Extreme Yang Qi it contained.
Looking back, was it fair to dismiss that moment as good luck?
Could being hit by the dagger have been the catalyst for some great fate?
This wild thought was a distraction, so I refocused on the fight.
My body was burning.
I was punching, kicking, and tearing through the snake hatchlings that rushed toward me when a thought suddenly struck me.
How many have I killed?
I couldn't remember. That realization alone was dangerous. It was proof that my awareness was gradually being affected.
Despite infusing my swinging fists with Fire Qi, I felt colder and colder. Soon, I noticed my breath turning visible in the frigid air.
This isn't good.
It was bad—not because I was particularly outstanding, but because of my compatibility with the fight. My martial arts were Extreme Yang in nature while Carzakh struggled against such enemies. He couldn't even exert half his true strength.
" Hah... " I exhaled a hot breath.
In simple terms, fire melted ice, but the melted ice turned into water, and water extinguished fire. The longer I fought, the greater my disadvantage.
If my training had reached the level of "fire over water," where I could evaporate even the moisture from melted ice, it wouldn't have mattered if the battle dragged on.
At present, though, my external and internal techniques were still insignificant.
The biggest variable in this situation was the Jewel Beast's hatchlings. The natural chill radiating from their bodies kept seeping into my surroundings, gradually affecting me.
" Haaah— " I exhaled again.
How many enemies were left? The number ahead seemed no different from the beginning.
Slap!
A tail slapped me across the face as I mulled over the useless thoughts. If the hit had been harder, it would have knocked my teeth out.
"You bastard..."
I retaliated for a slap I had never received before—not even from my mother—by tearing apart the tail's owner with my hands.
I spat out blood from my mouth, thinking, Maybe today is the day I die?
At some point, my mind grew hazy, as if I were drifting through a dream. Every part of me ached, but my right arm hurt the most. When I examined it closely, I realized that the wound on my forearm was serious.
I had also lost a lot of blood. However, the sensation now wasn't the usual dizziness that came with blood loss. Instead, it was a sense of detachment between my mind and body. My hands and feet were moving instinctively, killing enemies, while my mind was racing.
In the midst of it all, my particularly talkative Third Senior Brother's words echoed in my mind.
"The angrier you get, the stronger you become? You resemble the Hulk," he had remarked.
" Rather than anger, it is more that the stronger my emotions are, the more I resonate with the First Fire Technique. More importantly, what is a Hulk?" I had asked, curious.
" It is green-skinned, big, strong as hell, and covered in muscles..." he had explained, gesturing animatedly.
"An ogre?" I had guessed.
" They look similar, but they are completely different," he had clarified.
Third Senior Brother, infamous for his constant chatter, often spewed nonsense, but sometimes his words proved useful.
This time, his advice came at just the right moment.
" Youngest Disciple, I heard you used to be a mercenary before coming here," he had commented.
" Ah, yes," I had replied.
" Did you know? At some point, every mercenary ends up putting their life on the line," he had added.
His remark wasn't incorrect. In the world of mercenaries, even the simplest missions carried the risk of death. Even if they didn't realize it, mercenaries risked their lives at almost every moment.
" Some of them treat the decision to 'risk one's life' as something noble, but that's not really true. Still, it's undeniable that such trials offer immense opportunities for growth.
" Listen closely, Youngest Disciple. There's a difference between gambling with your life and pushing beyond your limits. Because..."
"Poison and persistence are different things," I muttered unconsciously, finishing the sentence.
I hadn't understood the weight of those words during my lifetime. I had died on the battlefield, failing to surpass my limits. Only after death did the realization dawn on me—on Spirit Mountain.
My body was still burning hot. My throat felt like it had swallowed flames, and lava seemed to flow through my skull. Yet, a sharp chill ran through me, creating a strange contradiction.
I didn't have time for more useless thoughts and kept fighting.
At some point, the idea of winning became a blur. My body moved according to more primal instincts, driven by the need to kill one more enemy until my internal energy was exhausted.
I threw a punch.
Thud.
The blows that had crushed so many hatchlings now landed uselessly on the scales. For a moment, the snake recoiled, seemingly flustered.
Hiss.
It soon realized there was no pain and shook its head.
I glanced at my bare fist. No matter how much I squeezed my dantian, not an iota of internal energy emerged.
The snake tilted its head, then changed its attitude and lunged at me.
Kyaaaak!
I saw the disgusting snake's throat, the lingering chill, and its gleaming white fangs.
It was a moment of desperation—the moment to push my limits.
***
One time in the past...
My master looked at me and said, "You are a funny fellow. I've seen a lot of so-called geniuses. There are your four seniors above you—each with a talent rarely seen in this world. Like you, they trained here as well. They had to survive on Spirit Mountain for a month, no matter the cost."
His voice remained flat, and I listened silently, feeling like a sinner being rebuked.
"Everyone faced a crisis, big or small. A crisis didn't necessarily result in injury, but each one came close to death once or twice."
The words 'once or twice' hit me hard.
My master saw my expression and said, "How many times did you almost die on Spirit Mountain?"
I didn't know. There were too many times to count. I had been too focused on surviving at the time.
"It is twenty-seven times. Twenty-seven times in one month. It is safe to say that you almost died at least once a day."
"What do you want to say?" I snapped.
My seniors had only faced one or two crises, while I'd nearly died countless times. The stark difference stung. I feared I was about to hear the words I dreaded most—words I had heard countless times from the Badniker family.
"Good job."
I looked up in surprise to see my master smiling kindly.
"You've faced numerous crises, been injured, and struggled greatly. No one can be truly indifferent to death. You spent a month confronting your greatest fear and overcame it. You've been tempered, in the truest sense," he praised.
Looking back, I realized that this was the only time my master had clearly praised me.
"Perhaps you should embrace the flames," he suggested.
"Why?" I asked, confused.
The idea of flames seemed distant from me. If flames were a person, they'd be hot and passionate—everything I wasn't. But there was more to it, and I understood at the time.
"The Fire attribute of the Supreme Art of All Time is a martial art that only the most persistent can master," my master explained.
In martial arts, my master's words were usually right.
***
Was the Jewel Beast a venomous snake? Did its hatchlings inherit the mother's venomous fangs?
I would never know the answer. Just before the fangs reached my arm, the snakes vanished from sight, like fallen leaves consumed by flames.
My mind went blank, but my vision sharpened. Moments ago, I was shivering from the cold; now I was warm.
A group of hissing hatchlings charged toward me, but I couldn't hear them. My five senses had dulled overall, yet I could clearly see the snakes' movements.
They've entered.
I laughed, loud and unrestrained. Though deaf to my voice, the absence of sound freed me to laugh harder, uninhibited.
The snakes seemed to pause, as though reconsidering their assault on a madman. Then one lashed its tail at me like a whip.
Its movement felt agonizingly slow, so I caught its tail mid-swing and tore it apart. It was easier than punching it, though undeniably messier.
Then, I moved forward.
Until now, I'd avoided charging headlong into the fray. I had been passive, defensive, and wary of being surrounded by so many snakes. But now, that threat no longer mattered.
How many are left?
I even knew their exact number now—roughly fifteen.
The snakes hesitated briefly before attacking again, perhaps thinking me foolish for advancing alone. Their attacks lacked cunning, a testament to their youth. It would take years for them to grow into the title of Jewel Beast, a name they'd inherited from their mother.
Not that it mattered anymore. With my physical strength growing exponentially, it made no difference whether there were ten or a hundred of them.
Crackle.
At some point, my red flame changed to white, emitting a pure light. I seemed to be surrounded by white light on all sides, but on closer inspection, I realized I was inside it.
This was why only the most relentless could master the First Fire Technique. The secret lay in its nature—the longer the battle raged, the stronger the technique became.
As time passed, my body heated up. But alongside the heat, I felt a chill. My body creaked, my mind raced uncontrollably, and a torturous pain threatened to overwhelm me.
These sensations could make anyone feel as though death were imminent. Yet, the longer they persevered, the hotter they became.
In essence, the technique fuels itself, growing stronger with every passing moment.
Like a fire on the verge of burning out, it surged back to life, blazing without limits. My physical capabilities were pushed to their peak.
Eventually, when my body reached the breaking point, white flames erupted from every inch of me. My master called this state "White Fire." Achieving it required not just training but the ordeal of facing death itself. Therefore, I was grateful for today's battle and struggle.
Snap.
I killed the last snake and stood there, gasping for air. It lay in the flames, basking in the feeling of rebirth. The cold vanished.
Then, something unexpected happened.
— How wonderful!
— The fist dance you risked your life for—I now acknowledge it as worthy to awaken me, the Martial God, from my long sleep.
— Messenger, you are worthy of being my first believer.
What did this mean?