Chapter 19: Stone, Bone, and an Unfinished Method
Wu Shan moved first again.
This time, there was no testing step, no probing exchange. His right foot stamped down heavily, vitality surging into his lower body in a single, practiced flow.
Stone Foundation Stomp.
The arena shuddered.
A dull vibration rippled outward through the stone slabs, dust leaping into the air. Chen Yu felt the tremor travel up through his boots, into his knees, disrupting his balance before he could adjust.
Wu Shan was already there.
His fists came in tight succession—short, brutal arcs aimed at vital points. Chest. Shoulder. Throat. Each strike was supported by the rotation of his waist and the grounded force of his legs.
This was not raw aggression.
This was a complete Outer Body combat method, refined until every movement fed seamlessly into the next.
Chen Yu raised his arms instinctively.
The first punch slammed into his forearm. The impact numbed his fingers instantly. The second strike clipped his shoulder, sending pain lancing down his side. The third passed so close to his neck that the wind of it burned his skin.
He staggered sideways.
Wu Shan did not pause.
"Elbow—downward arc!"
The elbow dropped like a falling stone.
Chen Yu crossed his arms to block.
The sound rang sharp and hollow.
Pain exploded through his bones. His knees bent involuntarily, cracks spiderwebbing across the stone beneath his feet.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"He's reinforcing fully…" "Stone Body Reinforcement."
Indeed, Wu Shan's skin now carried a faint earthen hue. This was Stone Skin Tempering, a late-stage refinement technique that hardened flesh and bone at the cost of continuous vitality expenditure.
Chen Yu felt it clearly.
Every time he blocked, it was like striking a slab of rock.
Wu Shan drew back half a step, shoulders rolling smoothly to maintain circulation. His breathing remained controlled, but heavier than before. "You're defending better," he said calmly. "But you still don't have a method."
Chen Yu didn't respond.
He was busy breathing.
Each inhale pulled fire into his ribs. His arms trembled—not just from pain, but from unfamiliar strain. His body was reacting before his thoughts could catch up.
Wu Shan lunged again, changing rhythm.
His right hand opened, fingers stiffening as vitality gathered at the joints.
Stone Splitting Palm.
The palm came down in a crushing arc, aiming not to pierce but to overwhelm.
Chen Yu did not try to block.
At the last instant, he shifted his stance. His feet spread wider, knees bending deeply, spine straightening as his shoulders relaxed.
The palm struck his upper chest.
The force slammed into him like a wall.
Chen Yu slid backward several steps, boots grinding harshly against stone—but he did not fall.
Wu Shan's eyes flickered.
"That posture…" he muttered.
Chen Yu himself did not fully understand what he had done.
He only knew that when his body aligned—feet, knees, hips, spine—the force no longer scattered chaotically. It traveled through him, dispersing downward instead of collapsing inward.
It wasn't a technique.
It was a principle.
But principles without methods were incomplete.
Wu Shan exhaled sharply and altered his approach.
He began circling now, steps lighter, shoulders loose. Then he burst forward suddenly, feinting high before striking low.
Chen Yu reacted too slowly.
Wu Shan's knee smashed into his thigh.
Pain detonated. Chen Yu collapsed to one knee, breath hitching violently.
Wu Shan did not hesitate.
He drew his fist back, vitality surging toward it in a focused stream.
"Yield," he said flatly.
The punch came down.
Chen Yu raised his arm.
The blow landed.
Crack.
For an instant, the sound suggested broken bone.
Chen Yu cried out as pain tore through him, shock flashing white behind his eyes. He rolled sideways on instinct, the follow-up strike missing his head by a hair's breadth.
He scrambled back to his feet, limping badly.
Blood dripped from his forearm, dark against pale skin.
The suppression array hummed louder now, reacting to sustained damage.
Elder Lu's gaze sharpened, but he did not intervene.
Wu Shan straightened, chest rising and falling more noticeably. Stone Skin Tempering was powerful—but draining.
"You can't keep this up," Wu Shan said. "Your body doesn't know how to fight back."
Chen Yu looked at his trembling arm.
Then at Wu Shan's breathing.
At the faint stiffness creeping into his shoulders.
At the slight delay after each heavy movement.
So even his method has a cost, Chen Yu realized.
He shifted his stance again.
This time, he did not imitate Wu Shan.
He simplified.
Feet grounded.
Knees soft.
Upper body loose.
His hands rose—not in a tight guard, but open, palms relaxed.
Wu Shan frowned. "What is that?"
"I don't know," Chen Yu replied honestly. "But it wastes less."
Wu Shan laughed once, short and sharp. "You think conserving strength will save you?"
He charged.
Chen Yu moved.
Not forward.
Not back.
He stepped around.
Wu Shan's fist missed by inches. Chen Yu's shoulder brushed past Wu Shan's chest, and instinctively—clumsily—Chen Yu twisted his torso, letting his forearm strike across Wu Shan's ribs.
The blow was weak.
But precise.
Wu Shan grunted and turned sharply, elbow swinging back.
Chen Yu ducked just in time, the strike grazing his hair.
They separated, both breathing hard now.
The crowd had gone silent.
They could no longer tell who held the advantage.
Wu Shan wiped sweat from his brow, eyes dark and focused. "You're not copying me."
"No," Chen Yu replied, chest heaving. "I can't."
"Then what are you doing?"
Chen Yu paused. "Trying not to break."
Above the arena, in a quiet courtyard, Yan Mo's gaze sharpened. "No fixed form," he murmured. "No inherited art… yet his foundation is forcing something to take shape."
Elder Lu's fingers tapped lightly against the armrest.
Wu Shan rolled his neck once, vitality circulating again—slower now, heavier.
"Fine," he said. "Then I'll end it properly."
He planted both feet firmly.
This time, instead of releasing vitality outward, he drew it inward.
Chen Yu felt it immediately.
The pressure in the arena thickened.
Wu Shan's muscles tightened, bones creaking faintly as his posture stiffened.
Stone Heart Consolidation.
A technique rarely used in sparring—sacrificing mobility entirely for overwhelming, decisive power.
The air seemed to compress around Wu Shan.
Chen Yu's instincts screamed.
Whatever came next was not something he could endure twice.
Wu Shan stepped forward.
The arena felt smaller.
Chen Yu inhaled deeply, every ache, every imbalance flooding his awareness. His arms felt slow. His legs unsteady.
He had no technique.
No named art.
Only alignment.
Only breath.
Only the stubborn refusal to collapse.
Wu Shan's fist rose slowly, deliberately. There was no speed to it now—only inevitability. The air around it warped faintly, drawn toward the condensed force.
Chen Yu shifted his feet a fraction—not retreating, not advancing. His shoulders rotated slightly, spine aligning by instinct rather than thought. His breathing became shallow but precise, matching the tightening rhythm in his chest.
Wu Shan's fist descended.
Not fast.
Not slow.
Certain.
Chen Yu moved at the same instant.
Not to block.
Not to evade.
He stepped into the narrowing space, placing himself where the force was not absent—but imperfect.
Stone met bone.
The sound was dull.
Compressed.
The suppression array surged violently, runes flaring bright for the first time since the match began.
Neither disciple moved.
Not immediately.
The force had not resolved.
It continued to travel—through muscle, through bone, through breath—unanswered, suspended between them as the arena remained locked in that single, unfinished moment.