The Jade Shadows Must Die [Cultivation LitRPG]

"For every Iron Hand corpse you've left, I'm going to carve off a piece of you," Han growled, staring at his fallen companions.

Rix let out a humourless laugh. "And what about the corpses you've left?"

Han's brow furrowed. "What is that supposed to mean? Playing games won't save you, dreg."

"This isn't a game." Rix's gaze was unsettlingly calm. "Or maybe it is and I'm just trying to work out the rules. A piece for a life, you said? Is that how we're settling our debts?"

The fear was still there, a knot in his gut, but the rage was a fire around it now, growing with every moment he stared at the man. He'd come here for this. He wasn't ready, but the time had arrived nonetheless.

There was no sense in pretending any more. Rix's odds might be astronomically low, but if he somehow succeeded in killing the man, he wanted Han to know why.

Han stared back, a genuine flicker of unease now mixing with his anger. He didn't understand, and that bothered him. "I don't owe a runt like you anything."

"You. Owe me. Everything!" The words exploded out of Rix. The sheer vitriol in his voice actually caused Han to take a step backward. Rix drew a ragged breath, trying to calm his surging blood. "Do you even remember them? A couple and a little girl in an antique store a decade ago? Or did their lives not even register for you?"

Han's face remained blank for a beat, searching his memory. Then, a flicker of dismissive recognition. A slight, almost imperceptible sneer. "I remember," Han said, as if discussing yesterday's meal. "A messy affair."

Rix's voice dropped, becoming dangerously quiet. "Why? What could they possibly have that was worth that?" Rix was still chewing over everything Kokuryu had said about the Jade Shadows. He didn't know whether Han really understood what he'd been involved in. After all, he'd been just a child. Not that it mattered. He was party to it all the same.

Han gave a casual shrug. "My father wanted something. He gets what he wants."

He didn't sound like a man disguising some grand truth. He sounded bored. That utter disregard only stoked Rix's rage.

Han studied him. "Did you actually crawl into this hellhole for me? Over that?"

"Some debts can't be ignored," Rix replied.

Han laughed. It was a cruel thing, short and sharp and full of contempt. "You think this is some story? You the hero, me the villain?" Han spat on the ground. "There are no good men here. Only strong ones and dead ones."

Rix's grip tightened around his staff. "Then let's find out which of us is which."

For a few moments, they simply stared one another down. Despite taking out two-thirds of his opponents, Rix was under no illusion that he'd significantly increased his chances of survival. His kills so far had been a combination of surprise, deception, and judicious use of his limited resources. The first two wouldn't work again, and the third was, as the name suggested, limited.

Beyond that, Han was on a whole other level compared to the two he'd killed so far. The man was basically a walking building. With [Stoneskin] running, Rix genuinely didn't know if even [Force Hammer] would damage him.

In his mind, opening his Mountain Gate was the only way to even give himself a chance. He needed far more damage than he could currently bring to bear. That was why he'd been saving his qi. A last ditch attempt to open the gate here and now. It was probably futile. Weeks had passed now with no progress. But if anything counted as 'extreme duress', then this was it.

He began cycling.

Han broke the lull by rushing forward, but rather than swinging wide with his weapon's blade, he thrust it forward instead in a short, sharp stab. The axe had brutal spikes jutting from both the top and back, and Han was trying to impale Rix on the former. Rix parried the attack, sending it skidding past his shoulder, but Han followed up with another blow, hooking his axe around and chopping for Rix's neck.

His investment in acuity paid dividends as Rix recognised the technique even before it fully manifested. He saw the way his muscles coiled in preparation and the first few wisps of dark force energy that began to coalesce around the weapon's blade. It was Han's most powerful attack and his favourite finisher in the ring: [Sundering Impact]. In many ways, it was like Rix's [Force Hammer]. A brutal blow that could end a fight on its own. Unlike [Force Hammer], however, this attack had the full weight of Han's mammoth strength behind it.

Rix didn't even consider blocking. Instead, he danced backwards. The axe knifed through the air in front of him, continuing to the side where it slammed into one of the towering boulders that littered their battleground.

The front of the rock exploded, leaving a gouge at least two feet square in its surface.

It was a shocking display of power, but Rix was done being intimidated. He was already launching forward to take advantage of the man's temporary lack of balance. Summoning [Wind Blade] once more, he unleashed a flurry of blows to Han's arms and legs. He'd hoped the cutting edge might be a little more effective against [Stoneskin], but still his attacks bounced off as though he was striking a temple pillar.

Through it all, he continued cycling, steadfastly maintaining the visualisation. His Mountain Gate shook as his qi rolled over it, but the seal held tight. He bit back a curse. It felt no different from before.

As he attacked, Han grinned down at him, seeming to revel in Rix's impotence.

Then he punched Rix in the face.

It was such an unexpected attack that Rix didn't even realise what had happened. One instant he was on his feet, the next the world was spinning and he felt himself slam into something hard. His vision swam. His mind went fuzzy. Pain lanced through his head.

He wasn't sure which of his other senses saved him. Perhaps he heard the scrape of Han's boots or the whistle of his axe. Perhaps he felt the shift in the soil as the man launched his attack. Whatever it was, something in the back of Rix's head screamed danger and, barely processing what he was doing, he rolled to the side just as he felt something heavy bury itself in the soil next to him.

He continued the movement, scurrying to his feet and backing away to give his faculties time to return. His face and neck and pretty much his whole upper body hurt like hells. Raising his hand up to his nose, he felt the sticky heat of fresh blood. It was probably broken.

Han squeezed his fist before momentarily shaking out his fingers. "Pretty sure my fist does more damage than your weapon, runt."

Looking at the fight in the abstract, Rix was inclined to agree, although the effectiveness of the punch at least partially came down to surprise. It was true, they'd fought with fists in the mess hall before, but that was when weapons weren't an option. Martial Souls almost never employed hand-to-hand techniques during proper combat. The Martial Path lauded weapon skills above all else. They were held as the pinnacle of martial expression. As such, most martial styles were weapon-exclusive. Trying to inject unarmed attacks would break up your flow. The better you were with your style, the less it made sense to brawl.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

But Han wasn't a fighter who relied on mastery of his style. He was a battering ram. Rix needed to keep that in mind.

Steeling himself, he reengaged.

For the next thirty seconds, they traded blows. Rix flowed through the battle, his style humming in the back of his head, his qi circulating rhythmically. He'd turned off [Wind Blade] to save mana, since it clearly made no difference. That meant he was relying solely on the power of his attacks to cause damage, but they were not up to the task. He landed a dizzying array of strikes, more than he'd ever struck against a single opponent before. Skill played a part in that, but most of it came down to the fact that Han just didn't care. The man was indifferent to the point of being reckless, willingly exposing himself for even a chance to land something in return. Rix tried to capitalise, striking vital areas, weak spots, the same place over and over, but it all amounted to nothing.

Through it all, he continued to cycle, but that, too, was fruitless. Even with Han's axe carving swathes out of the air around Rix's body, the gate wouldn't budge.

Han wielded his weapon crudely in two hands. He deployed a lot of sweeping chops that transitioned into bludgeoning attacks with the haft of his axe, or thrusts with its spikes. Rix honestly couldn't tell if he was even guided by a style at all.

Frustration boiled in his chest. He was the better fighter by an order of magnitude. He'd never been quicker, sharper, or more skilled in his life, and none of it was even close to enough. The man's techniques and attributes made him untouchable.

The only solace he found was that Han's brutal style made most of his attacks easy to dodge. With every rank up, Rix was finding it easier to read his opponents. As he'd done with Han's opening technique, Rix could predict what was to come by watching how the man shifted his feet and tensed his body.

Occasionally, the Iron Hand leader would throw out one of his earthen spikes trying to catch Rix from behind, but those, too, Rix could anticipate, a gentle buzz in the ground that he could sidestep with ease. He was beginning to feel comfortable that, even if he couldn't hurt the man, he wasn't in much danger himself.

But fighting someone with so little care for their own safety took a battle in unfamiliar directions.

Han unleashed [Sundering Impact] again, this time as a massive overhead chop. Reading the strike, Rix slipped to one side, letting the axe slam down past him. The force of the blow carried Han off balance, his axe biting deep into the rocky ground, momentarily stuck.

It also left Han's massive torso briefly exposed.

A cold certainty settled over Rix. He'd been trying to turn this into a grinding melee, clinging to the desperate hope that maybe this was what he needed to break open his gate. But that appeared to be in vain. His cultivation wouldn't save him. All he had left were the tools at his disposal.

And there was one he hadn't yet tested against Han.

Whipping his staff upwards, he summoned [Force Hammer]. It was his strongest technique. A fight-ender. The ultimate manifestation of his Path. The air crackled around the head of his weapon as the technique sprang to life. This was everything he had.

Han, still slightly overbalanced from his own missed strike, saw the attack coming. There was no time to dodge, no room to fully bring his axe back into play. Instead, perhaps recognising the danger, he twisted violently at the waist, throwing his left arm up in a desperate, cross-body block.

Rix's [Force Hammer] slammed into his forearm with a sickening thud that echoed across the clearing, and, for the first time, Rix felt something give under one of his attacks. Han's [Stoneskin] flared, a deeper, more earthen grey than Rix had seen before. The man let out a strangled grunt as his arm was knocked to the side. A network of fine cracks, like lightning across a dark sky, webbed his forearm for a fleeting instant before vanishing.

Rix felt a savage jolt of elation. It had hurt him.

But it hadn't broken him. And more critically, Han had managed to turn the blow. Instead of crushing through his centreline as Rix intended, Han's block had shunted the [Force Hammer] to the side, its immense power and Rix's own momentum sending him stumbling, overextended and dangerously off balance.

And Han's adaptation in the aftermath was terrifyingly swift.

Even as Rix fought to regain his footing, Han's right hand, which had never left the axe haft, clamped down hard. Planting his feet, he let out a guttural roar and yanked upwards with explosive force. The axe, which had looked thoroughly stuck in the ground, now ripped free easily as Han, leveraging his entire body, drove the jagged upper spike of his weapon up in a vicious stab.

It slammed into Rix's thigh like a white-hot poker. His mantle, already taxed, vaporised instantly under the focused, overwhelming force. The sharpened metal punched through muscle, grating horribly against bone. Agony, pure and absolute, flared through him. He screamed, stumbling back violently, instinctively tearing his leg free as blood erupted from the wound.

Across the expanse of blood-spattered soil, Han stood firm, a triumphant, merciless smirk spreading across his face.

"Stuck like a pig," he jeered. "Fitting."

With a trembling hand, Rix reached into his pocket and shoved a sunberry in his mouth, groaning involuntarily as it took the searing sensation down to a dull ache. He glanced down at the wound, which was in the other leg from the minor cut he'd sustained. Unlike that one, this was deep. He'd managed to pivot to avoid letting Han strike the femoral artery, but he'd still sustained more than a little muscle damage. Even with the worst of the pain suppressed, there was no way his movement wouldn't be affected. And every second they fought, it would get worse.

He briefly considered trying to run again, but with the fresh wound, he doubted he had the speed any more.

"You feel it now, don't you?" Han said, studying him with cold contempt. "The inevitability?"

Rix swallowed hard, staring at the man in defiance, but his words hit home. There truly was nothing Rix could do. His attacks weren't adequate. His gate wouldn't open. His body was compromised. He might as well have tried to fight a mountain.

"Nothing mouthy to say now? What a fucking blessing." Han hefted his axe. "Let's send you to join your family, then."

As he reengaged, Rix could immediately feel the impact of his injury. His balance was noticeably worse, and every movement felt just a beat too slow. He was still able to dodge most attacks, but his margins had shrunk from feet to inches, and he was forced into blocking some blows he'd previously been avoiding. He didn't even try to attack. What was the point? Even [Force Hammer] hadn't been enough.

As his panic rose, he did actually try to run, but Han corralled him with two earthen spikes placed carefully in his path. Rix barely stumbled back out of the way, and then Han was on him again, locking him back in their deadly melee.

Aware of Rix's weakness, Han increased his intensity. Every blow now felt designed to kill.

Rix slipped a cut aimed at his shoulder, but it was a reflexive gesture that put most of his weight on his wounded leg, and he stumbled momentarily as his body tried to support itself using a muscle that was no longer functional. That forced him to block the follow up by raising his staff horizontally in front of him.

And, too late, he saw the crackling energy of [Sundering Impact] wreathing the head of Han's axe.

The technique snapped his staff like a twig.

Rix stumbled backwards, staring at his two pieces of splintered wood with wide eyes. He'd known that in theory your weapon could break, but it just seemed like something that would never actually happen.

There were people who knew how to fight with two sticks, but he wasn't one of them. His training, his style, his techniques, they were all useless now. He was on his own.

Han laughed, but rather than deliver another verbal jab, he kept to his word and simply surged forward again.

Rix dismissed his weapon with a thought. The Quartermaster had said that if it ever broke, it would heal in his soulspace. Maybe he could still recover.

But while dismissing it was instant, summoning it again took several seconds of stillness and concentration, which Han seemed fully aware of. The man gave him no space to pause, unleashing a fresh onslaught of blows.

With the style quiet in his mind and his hands empty, Rix fell back on the only thing he could to survive: Master Zhen's unarmed training. Ducking under a vicious sideswipe, he delivered two punches to Han's kidneys as he danced around behind his opponent. Predictably, the blows caused no damage, but the Weaponmaster's training made the attack almost automatic.

Han laughed again, whirling to deliver a thuggish backhand of his own, but Rix turned the man's forearm with a thrust of his palm before countering with another shot to Han's chest.

Despite the futility of fighting back, there was something cathartic about striking the man, flesh to flesh. If he was going to die, he might as well go down swinging.

Embracing the situation, he slipped into the new rhythm of the fight. With his injury, he couldn't really use any kicks, so he stuck to punching, blocking, and dodging. Being disarmed was far from ideal, but it did make evasion a little easier as he was a smaller target with more flexibility in how he moved.

Without realising it, the rest of the world fell away. There was just his body, Han's axe, and the thrumming of his heartbeat.

Except that wasn't all. At some point, he noticed he could feel something else, too.

He was still cycling.

The process was so ingrained by now, he hadn't stopped when he'd dismissed his staff. With every breath, qi surged through him in that same familiar pattern.

Only now, he could feel his Mountain Gate buckling.