Chapter 13 Martial Arts Mastered, Lab Rats Disposed
1265 Words
East Ocean, Peach Blossom Island.
Azure waves surged, peach blossoms blazed.
Unlike the eternal silence and decay of Planet Dolashi, the air here was filled with the refreshing fragrance of vegetation and the salty tang of ocean winds.
A young man in black sat cross-legged atop the island’s highest cliff.
He was Paragus—the same terrifying being who, not long ago on Planet Dolashi, had casually crushed a planetary-level beast into a statue.
Now, his eyes were closed, yet no trace of ki circulated around him. It was as though he had become one with the heavens and earth.
Before him hovered three ancient scrolls of silk—the highest martial art manuals he had spent years collecting in this world: The Nine Yin Manual, The Nine Yang Divine Skill, and The Primordial Origin Technique.
After a long while, Paragus opened his eyes.
Those pitch-black pupils held not a trace of human emotion, only a pure, almost Dao-like indifference.
He had come to this world for one purpose—to analyze and assimilate its energy system.
The so-called "internal energy" and "ki" of this world were, in his view, a peculiar form of low-dimensional energy reliant on the meridians of living beings. Though crude, they possessed remarkable malleability.
He raised his right hand, palm upturned.
A strand of golden, intensely yang energy—like a newborn sun—rose in his palm.
Next, a strand of silver, supremely yin energy—cold as the moon—materialized silently.
Finally, a strand of chaotic, ever-renewing energy—akin to the primordial state before heaven and earth separated—coiled between them.
Nine Yang.
Nine Yin.
Primordial Origin.
Three fundamentally incompatible energies now coexisted flawlessly in his palm, maintaining their boundaries while subtly forming an esoteric cycle.
"Fuse."
With a soft utterance, the three-colored energies collapsed inward, merging into a single, unremarkable gray vortex.
Within that vortex lay the mysteries of life and death, yin and yang, the beginning and the end of all things.
For the first time, a flicker of satisfaction crossed Paragus' face.
He casually extended his palm toward a stretch of reef—hardened over centuries by the pounding waves—a hundred meters away.
No gust, no sound.
The gray vortex drifted lazily forward.
Then—
BOOM!!!
The entire reef, stretching nearly a hundred meters, turned to fine powder in an instant—not shattered, but utterly annihilated from its fundamental structure.
The powdered rock scattered like ash in the wind, a grotesque imitation of snowfall.
Such power… from a single motion.
Paragus withdrew his hand, but the satisfaction in his eyes faded, replaced by a faint trace of… irritation.
The experiment had succeeded.
Yet, it seemed… a minor complication had arisen.
"Congratulations, Lord Paragus, on mastering divine techniques."
A clear voice, laced with mischief, sounded behind him.
The Eastern Heretic, Huang Yaoshi, stood at a distance, clad in blue robes, jade flute in hand, gazing at the vanished reef with a conflicted expression.
Beside him stood a tall man in white, his features striking—none other than the Western Venom, Ouyang Feng. His eyes burned with a mix of greed and dread.
"Father! Uncle Ouyang!"
A playful figure peeked out from behind Huang Yaoshi—his daughter, Huang Rong. Her bright eyes locked onto Paragus, brimming with curiosity and an unrecognized unease.
These three, the pinnacle of martial arts in this era, now watched Paragus like disciples before a true deity.
They had witnessed firsthand how, within just a few years, he had fully "digested" techniques they revered, then "reforged" them in ways beyond their comprehension.
Paragus did not turn. His voice was calm, yet it sent a chill down their spines.
"Are you prepared?"
Huang Yaoshi hesitated. "Must you truly leave?"
Though an unpredictable threat, even the occasional guidance from Paragus eclipsed decades of solitary training.
"This world… has no further use."
His words were cold, dismissive—as though discarding a tool.
Huang Rong couldn't resist interjecting: "What do you mean 'no use'? My father’s Flicking Finger Divine Skill! The Eighteen Dragon-Subduing Palms! Even our island’s formations—you haven’t seen them all!"
"I have."
Paragus turned slightly, eyes indifferent.
"The Flicking Finger Technique—acceptable kinetics, poor energy conversion. The Dragon Palms—too rigid, lacking adaptability. As for formations… trivial applications of spatial geometry."
Huang Rong flushed red, speechless. These revered arts, in his mouth, sounded worthless.
Ouyang Feng’s eyes gleamed. "Since you’re leaving… perhaps you’d share the fusion method? My White Camel Manor would offer all its wealth!"
"You can’t afford it."
Paragus’ gaze shifted past them, toward three thatched huts at the cliff’s base.
"And to avoid unnecessary complications… some things must be purged."
In the blink of an eye, he vanished—reappearing before the huts.
Inside lived three famed martial artists: a swordsman, a blade master, and a fist fighter. Years ago, they had challenged Paragus—only to be subdued in one move. Rather than killing them, he had repurposed them as test subjects, implanting variants of the three manuals to study their effects.
Now, sensing danger, they burst from the huts in terror.
"Demon! What now?!" the blade-wielder roared, bravado failing.
Paragus answered only by raising his hand—and clenching his fist.
"AAAH—!!!"
Three inhuman howls tore through the air as their bodies twisted grotesquely, bones fracturing, flesh warping. Impure Nine Yin and Nine Yang energies erupted from their orifices like crimson geysers.
"N-no… please—" The swordsman’s plea ended in a wet gurgle.
With three dull thuds, their desiccated corpses slumped to the ground, unrecognizable.
Huang Rong trembled, pointing at Paragus in horror.
The two legends beside her stood frozen. They had killed before—but never with such callous detachment. To Paragus, these men were mere waste to dispose of.
"Their bodies had acclimated to this world’s energy. My fusion left… markers," he mused aloud. "Unstable coordinates. They would attract… unwanted scavengers."
Though the terms were foreign, Huang Yaoshi understood the implication: this man was a force beyond law, beyond morality.
"Such cruelty is unjustifiable!" he snapped, his flute humming with ki.
Ouyang Feng edged back, snake staff coiling in his sleeve.
They stood no chance—yet as masters, they couldn’t stand idle.
"Cruel?"
Paragus smiled—his first since arriving in this world.
"No."
"This… is rigor."
He vanished again.
Huang Yaoshi unleashed Falling Petals Sword Palm, a storm of strikes shielding his vitals. Ouyang Feng’s Serpent Staff Art struck like a viper at empty air.
Futile.
Tap. Tap.
Two fingers touched their brows—not with force, but an overwhelming cosmic law that froze their ki cold.
"Low-value specimens. Cleaning you… is meaningless."
Paragus withdrew his hand, leaving them baffled. He walked toward the shore as if concluding a trivial chore.
"Wait!" Huang Rong shouted. "Who—what ARE you?!"
Paragus paused.
He didn’t look back, only at the sky.
"Me?"
"A passing… tradesman."
He stepped onto the water—without a ripple—and dissolved into the light and sea, as though never there.
Only silence remained on the cliff.
Minutes later, Huang Yaoshi finally exhaled, touching his ice-cold forehead. He realized something:
Paragus’ final words weren’t for Huang Rong.
They were a warning—to all life in this world.
You are but… goods on a shelf.
And I may return… whenever I choose.
"Father…" Huang Rong whispered, trembling. "Will he—come back?"
Huang Yaoshi didn’t answer. He stared at the serene, fathomless ocean—and for the first time, his eyes held not wisdom, but dread.
- Writer
