Rebirth Of The Bastard Spirit Summoner

Stark was completely wet and terribly cold. The water had soaked him so thoroughly that his clothes were sticky and his movements sloppy.

Yet the show must go on…

So far, the sage had just been staring at him without moving a single muscle. He was waiting for Stark to make the first move.

Stark considered his options.

All he had to do was land one solid hit and he would have won the fight, but first he had to get close enough to actually deliver a blow.

For now, what he had to do was test the sage's strength by using minor attacks to lure him into revealing his technique.

'Alright!'

Stark charged at the old man, then just as he got close, he went down to a knee and launched a kick at the sage's legs.

The water on the floor bathed his shin as his foot drew nearer to his leg.

At first, it seemed like he would strike through, but as though to mock him, the sage waited until the moment his foot was about to connect before he dodged, moving impossibly fast.

He landed on the other side noiselessly, his footsteps more than graceful.

Stark met him with a heavy blow aimed at the head, which he dodged. He tried a forward jab to the shoulder and the old man leaned to the side, watching as Stark's hand narrowly passed him.

"Not bad, but not good either…"

Boom!

Stark's foot exploded against the man's guard, but he did not even shake; he was like an immovable rock.

He launched a series of other attacks, a combination of punches, jabs, kicks, and the like, yet the old man dodged and blocked every single one.

They danced in the rain, Stark looking for any single opportunity to strike, but finding none.

Stark was not the best fighter around, but he was undoubtedly skilled. He had fought many battles thus far, improving his technique, reflexes, and battle awareness, and yet the old man was far too slippery.

For a man who spoke of unrivaled power, he sure knew how to dodge!

But that was not all…

The sage had completely covered every aspect of his technique, a level of perfection that could only be attained after years of consistent practice.

There were no loopholes.

After the first bout, Stark was already getting breathless from just trying to land a hit. The man hadn't even launched a blow, yet Stark was exhausted from trying to keep up.

The old man's gaze locked on the dagger and he smiled. "You're a little better with that one."

'Alright, time to get a little serious.'

The longer he stayed underneath the rain, the longer he would be at a disadvantage. His body would suffer from the cold, his movements would become slower, and his breathing too shallow to carry him.

He reached towards his back and pulled out his sword, holding both his sword and dagger, one in each hand.

The old man stroked his beard, his gaze curious. "Getting serious now, are we? Alright, show me what you've got."

Stark pulled out the chain from the dagger and connected it to the sword.

"Try to keep up, gramps."

The old man laughed.

Vwoosh!

Stark hurtled forward, swinging the sword around his body like a whip.

The blade cut through the air with a metallic shrill, gleaming slightly as it tore towards the sage.

The man moved, dodging the first strike and then the follow-up strikes that came after it, but Stark did not relent; he pushed the attack.

For each step the sage took, Stark took two, so that he was always next to him, sword at the ready.

The blade was flying in curved patterns that should have made it difficult to predict, yet the old man seemed to have grasped the technique at a glance.

The annoying part was that he was laughing the entire time!

Stark decided to try something different this time. He swung his elbow at the man's face, and he leaned backward, but that attack was a feint…

A kick to the knee—another feint.

An uppercut? Another feint.

He was aiming to confuse him as to which attacks were real, and then when he felt he had done enough, he rotated his body and lashed out with his elbow, a guise for a hidden attack…

As he spun to face the man, his teeth gritted, his dagger came flying right at his eyes, earning a surprised "Oh?" from the sage.

If only the blow had connected…

The sage kicked him in the knee, rattling his legs and destabilizing his attack. This made it far too easy to escape the attack.

Stark cursed, frustration slowly settling in.

He dived at the man, hoping to push him to the floor, but like a ghost, the sage easily bypassed the attack—reaching Stark's back a second later.

Stark was still in the middle of his dive, so all it took was a gentle push to send him face-first into the mud.

The old man laughed. "There is far too much arrogance in your stance, it makes you predictable."

Stark wiped his face and picked up his blade from the mud.

"Be free, combat is an art, not a tool. You must understand this if you ever want to excel in martial arts."

"An art?" It was the first time Stark had ever heard anyone refer to it as such. Most simply saw combat as an instrument for dominance, murder, or war, nothing else.

As for him, it was an instrument for revenge.

Stark slowly walked towards the sage, like a tiger stalking its prey, and then he met him once more. With bodies soaked with water, breaths ragged, feet soiled in mud… they clashed.

Stark's blade was now moving a bit faster as he was beginning to adapt to the old man's technique. He delivered five strikes in the space of five seconds, and the man handled every single one of them.

Then, changing his footing, Stark pushed into his guard. A blow came flying towards the sage's face, and at the same time, Stark's sword was slicing upwards from below.

The sage was in a tight position, and yet he was smiling.

Stark half expected him to show his real power, to demonstrate the speed he was still hiding, and yet he did not.

All he did was change his footing, twisting his body like a serpent to evade the first strike, the blow blasting past his ear.

Then he jumped backward, spinning violently as he kicked the sword right out of Stark's hands.

Stark was about to charge at him once more when lightning flashed from above them, bathing them in a blue light.

It was not the first time lightning was striking, and yet, this one was different.

The lightning curved, brightening the skies as it came barreling down at them, or rather, at the sage.

The man lifted his hands and the lightning crashed into his fingers, igniting his form. It was as though the currents were trapped in his skin, and currents buzzed around him.

He moved his hands in a strange manner, his movements unhurried as what looked like steam emerged from his body.

This was it, he was finally going to strike!

Stark was raising his guard when the man moved. A speed so fast that Stark could barely see a thing.

All he saw was a flash of light and the sage's serious face next to him a fraction of a second later—lightning pulsing in his fist as it charged right at his head.

And behind him…

Stark's breath hitched.

The steam from his body had connected with the lightning to form a terrifying image.

'A dragon?!'

Boom!

A thunderclap followed, a sound that caused Stark's ears to ring, and then the lightning exploded out of the sage's fist, the force so terrifying that it blew apart the rain surrounding them.

Thankfully, it was not aimed at Stark, but instead the space behind him.

The lightning strike tore into the forest, shattering trees as though they were broomsticks and sending a cloud of thick black smoke into the air.

The sage took a deep breath and retracted his fist from Stark's stunned face.

The steamy substance was still emanating from his skin as he drew back, his face now calmer.

"This is the power of Fa Jin."

"Only when you are able to summon the dragon will your training be complete."