Silver Fox & The Western Hero: Warrior Reforged: A LitRPG/Wuxia Novel - Book 2

by M. H. Johnson

  Alex winced as he caught the hooded gaze of what was no doubt his opponent, a young man who had just reached maturity, perhaps no older than Alex appeared, with a light layer of chiseled muscle over a naturally slender frame. And despite how angry at himself he was for his lethal mistake, a growing sense of despair gnawing at his belly, Alex couldn’t deny the sudden rush of exhilaration he felt, as his opponent folded his arms and swaggered forward, a sneer on his features.

  “This is what they send me for my first fight? A soulless Ruidian who lacks even a gem? Breaking you will be nothing, maggot, and I face no penalty at all if I can snap your neck while doing it!” The young cultivator flashed a cruel grin. “Show me what you got, Ruidian. I can’t wait to hear you scream.”

  Alex couldn’t help flashing an icy smile as his opponent rapidly closed, Alex unable to believe what the youth was about to attempt, but after hundreds of hours spent reading the shifts in balance and weight in the deadliest kicker he had ever sparred with, he knew exactly when and how his opponent as going to strike.

  Finesse + Rank 5 Golden Realms kung fu skill check made. You have successfully read your opponent’s intentions!

  Alex effortlessly dodged and weaved past a series of jabs and crosses, more interested in measuring his opponent than anything else at that moment, happy to take advantage of the enormous space they had, such a luxury compared to learning how to dodge and weave upon the cramped dimensions of a carriage rooftop, however massive the carriage might had been. He found sliding backwards out of range almost effortless as his opponent’s features twisted into a frustrated snarl, as if outraged that Alex dared to dodge his blows without politely standing still, like some sort of training dummy.

  And Alex could taste the moment the kid’s fury overwhelmed all caution. “Let’s see you dodge this, Ruidian!” the youth roared. And in what almost seemed slow motion, he saw his opponent’s lips twist in a cruel grin as he raced forward, all but crashing into Alex before pivoting off his lead foot, whipping his back leg around in a high, powerful roundhouse kick.

  Alex ducked the blow that could have snapped the neck of a mortal as effortlessly as if he and his opponent had performed this dance a dozen times before. And when Alex’s own sweeping kick sent the young cultivator crashing to the ground, Alex felt nothing but a fierce jolt of satisfaction.

  Only then was he able to admit to himself why he had failed to take the initiative. With the crowd’s roars and the taste of death in the air, he had actually been afraid. Afraid that this cultivator who bore no love for him, who clearly wished him nothing but harm, might actually have the means to take him out.

  Until the exhilaration of battle flooded through him, the realization that this opponent, at least, had absolutely nothing on the fiercely powerful, indescribably beautiful battle maiden that had been his closest friend, and within just a couple of weeks, fiercest opponent, at least for the duration of a single carriage journey that had somehow stretched out for years.

  And whatever talents this youth had, Adept mastery of Silver Swan kung fu was certainly not one of them.

  So Alex had not been surprised when his opponent collapsed with his sweep.

  What he hadn’t expected was the sickening crunch of bone as the fibula burst, Alex’s powerful sweep actually managing to pop the kid’s ankle clean out of his socket.

  The young cultivator’s shrieks hurt Alex’s eardrums far more than any other part of him had managed to, the trio of referees immediately roaring for Alex to back away.

  Calmly raising his hands, Alex did just that, chilled anew by the dark murmurs, the murderous gazes more than a few cultivators sent his way.

  If there was any comfort, it was that such gazes were relegated to the younger aspirants. The masters and elders just stared at him with utterly dispassionate coolness. As if he were no more relevant than a scroll of battle tactics they might learn useful insights from.

  Even the judges were gazing at him with cold dispassion, nothing more.

  Save for the one man in the center, glaring at him with outright contempt.

  Alex quickly lowered his gaze, bowing as humbly as he could and holding that bow, guts roiling with sudden dread.

  For he had recognized that cold, ruthless gaze.

  It was the mirror of Lai Wei’s own, the youth who had taken such vicious delight in scalping Alex in cold blood.

  “That slave dared to damage a cultivator of noble blood!” hissed at least one voice in the crowd close enough for Alex to hear.

  He flinched, but didn’t respond.

  “What did you expect? He’s fighting not for glory but for his very life. Every man has that right, no matter his rank,” said an unusually square-jawed youth, broad shoulders and powerful build unable to completely mask the fluidity of his movements when Alex caught his gaze for just a heartbeat, understanding at once that both speakers were themselves in the competition, not just spectators.

  Alex quickly lowered his gaze.

  “He actually dared to look at us, Ren Yi!” sneered the slightly taller one.

  Ren Yi shrugged. “Why not, Ben Zhuo? If he’s wise, he’ll watch us very carefully from his cell. We just watched him crush an opponent who dared to underestimate him, after all.” And he actually condescended to dip his head Alex’s way.

  Alex couldn’t help but bow low in return, genuine appreciation for even one person showing him the tiniest modicum of acknowledgment in a sea of hisses, dark murmurs, and hostile glares.

  Ben Zhuo chuckled coldly. “Look at him kowtow in fear before us. He knows he doesn’t have a chance against a real warrior. Perhaps he hopes we’ll show him mercy.”

  And before another word could be said, Alex found himself all but jerked off his feet, Zhao Doushi flashing a killing glare that froze Alex where he stood.

  “Move, fool! Half the crowd would like any excuse to kill you for maiming one of their own, and it’s time for the next match!”

  The walk back to his cell felt endless, glares both hostile and now oddly curious being sent his way. Zhao Doushi, however, was racing forward with all haste, not saying a word until he had all but tossed Alex back in his cell.

  Alex controlled his breathing even as his mind raced with exhilaration, his body trembling ever so slightly. The shakes one should expect after almost all mortal combat, unless one was actually still in the thick of fighting for one’s life. But here and now, enduring a moment of calm post-battle, unable to distract himself with cultivation with Zhao Doushi before him, he was forced to deal with post-battle shakes.

  He met Zhao Doushi’s considering gaze. “Did I do something wrong, Master Zhao?”

  The man flashed a cynical smile. “You survived. No matter that half the crowd would have loved to see you on the ground with a broken neck, and most of the rest certainly hate you for maiming the boy. Noble family or no, there is no way he will be able to attend Dragon Academy this year, the more fool his family for not choosing the Noble’s Path.”

  Alex just waited politely while the man gazed thoughtfully at him.

  “And anyone who understood the flow of battle would have immediately sensed the boy’s significant flaws in martial technique, that your counter was not only logical, but the natural progression of the dance you two wove together.” He flashed a cold smile. “And I suspect, having trained with a Silver Swan practitioner, you know exactly what I mean.”

  Alex bowed his head.

  “I note as well that you spent most of the fight measuring your opponent, giving very little away. Not until the end, showing the world your sweep kicks are to be ignored at their peril.” He nodded. “This is good, Alex. Assume everyone is an opponent reading all they can from you, revealing as few of your pieces as possible. That is the best way to survive at least a few more days.”

  Alex nodded. “What’s next, Master Zhao?”

  “Rest, meditate. If you were one of us, I’d say cultivate. You have at least one more match today. When it will be? There is no way of knowi
ng.”

  “Understood. May I have something to eat?”

  Zhao firmly shook his head. “Only one meal a day for slaves. No exceptions. The judges have, in fact, just ruled that all slaves are to be denied even basic healing treatments this year.”

  Alex’s eyes widened. His adviser flashed a cold smile. “Despite the impartial masks worn by two of them, all three despise you for winning your first match. They will do all they can within the rules to weaken you. But they will not break those rules. Do you understand, Alex?”

  Alex nodded solemnly.

  “Good. Do not dare to overstep in anything. Any excuse to penalize or maim you, they will be all too happy to take advantage of. Remember, no eye-gouges, finger snaps, or holds for longer than a count of five.”

  Alex smirked. “But wrist breaks, elbow snaps, and strikes to the neck, knees, and groin are all allowed.”

  The cultivator nodded solemnly. “Even blows to the jugular or potentially lethal strikes to the trachea are a small matter to heal, if caught within the golden minutes before swelling blocks breathing. We have ready access to healers, but every hour spent healing foolish aspirants is an hour that could have been spent treating our many wealthy temple patrons. Hungry aspirants would be all too happy to grab and snap the fingers of the foolish were it otherwise, using maneuvers no experienced cultivator would be vulnerable to. Thus it is not seen as impairing future technique, with that limitation.

  “Wrist strikes, shoulder wrenches, and arm bars resulting in quick, jerking breaks, as long-term grappling is not allowed, are injuries every martial cultivator must be prepared for, however. And shattered bones are far easier to heal than a gouged eye. Now get what rest you can. Your next match will begin before you know it.”

  Alex nodded, holding back his own bitter smile, not even needing to ask to know that a blow any healer could quickly heal would doom him, so where other fighters could fight with near impunity, he would have to always be wary of crippling blows and a collapsed windpipe.

  Blows he feared that at least some of his opponents would no doubt be all too eager to give him.

  He turned his gaze to the fights once more, analyzing the ebb and flow of battle, the angry glares of numerous aspirants trying to stare each other down before engaging with feints and bluffs and devastating blitzes, all of them desperate to gain admittance to the most prestigious academy in a thousand miles, all of them fighting for all they were worth, and most of them telegraphing their blows, with shoddy stances and questionable balance that would have made his old mentor cringe.

  And then Alex’s eyes widened when true cultivators took to the field.

  A pair of Bronze, he heard over the clever system of echoing chambers serving as a loud speaker system that Alex thought might just be a magical treasure, technology he would have loved to examine more closely in another place and time. But here and now, all that mattered was that he watched the fights as if his life depended upon it.

  Because it did.

  Unlike the desperate aspirants just struggling to get in, this pair of sleekly-muscled warriors fought with a deadly speed that left Alex breathless as spinning kicks and hammer fists were met and deflected, sweeping kicks and shoulder throws exchanged for hip tosses as both sought to best the other, neither daring any hold for longer than a count of three before springing back and lashing out with fists and feet once more.

  Alex couldn’t help smiling in sheer admiration despite the tension he felt as the pair not only kept up their pace but accelerated, each seeming to read and account for the other’s movements, almost as if they were performing a dance, their styles perfectly mirroring each other, clearly students of the same master.

  Then a gong sounded and the pair broke apart.

  “Time limit has been reached! Yao and Bao will share rank for the remainder of the year.”

  Then the pair laughed and Alex’s eyes widened, catching sight of what should have been obvious. The pair of lanky young men were identical twins. Even their mild injuries, what little Alex saw, seemed to mirror the other’s. As one they bowed with a fluid grace that left Alex envious.

  For all that those two had fought to a draw, the pair of Bronze looked like they could wipe the floor with any of the basic cultivators that had fought so far that day.

  Then a hush came over the crowd, replaced by excited murmurs and whispers.

  Alex’s curiosity was piqued, wondering what had caused the uproar.

  Then his heart skipped a beat before lodging in his throat, and he knew.

  Hao Chan was finally making her entrance.

  Though dressed in the same basic sparring uniform as everyone else had been, her proud walk, imperious gaze, and indescribable grace were that of a dancer seeking to captivate her audience.

  And captivate she did.

  Striding forward with a single silver ribbon restraining her thick ebony locks, beautiful amber eyes seeming to judge the breathless crowd before her lush crimson lips widened in a smile.

  She turned to bow before the judges, having belted her training uniform in a way that both secured it snugly to her frame and accentuated her features all the more.

  “Hao Chan, basic cultivator, aspirant student. It is a pleasure and honor to meet you, my masters.” Though her words had come out of the blue, no other student having dared to announce themselves, no one said a word in protest.

  And that was when an impishly-smiling Hao Chan undid the rope of her training uniform, allowing it to fall in a puddle by her feet, clad only in her exquisitely beautiful dancing outfit once more.

  “With the judge’s permission, I will demonstrate the form my former master spent many grueling years teaching this unworthy student.”

  And only after receiving the faintest of nods from the awestruck judges did Hao Chan do just that, springing forward on the tips of her toes, prancing forward with half a dozen pirouettes with the adroit grace of a ballerina before shifting her feet and performing her kata in earnest.

  And for all that he knew all her movements better than anyone else present, Alex was utterly captivated, body and soul.

  It did not matter that she would soon be fighting, perhaps for her life. It didn’t matter that her performance was unscheduled and utterly unexpected. The grace with which she danced and sprung, lashing out with one dizzying series after another of graceful sweeps and kicks, long legs extended impossibly high in positions one would swear left her utterly, deliciously vulnerable, before supposed weakness would turn out to be as much of a ruse as her teasing smile, her deadly legs whipping around with breathtaking speed as she danced about the arena sands in a graceful series of back-flips and butterfly kicks that would seem more art than practical in anyone else, but that Alex knew firsthand could crack armor and shatter bone if any opponent other than hungry, desperate eyes were fixed upon her.

  And when she ended her brilliant graceful routine with a pirouetting spin that looked like nothing so much as an Olympic ice skater’s finishing pirouette, so fast did she twirl, yet to Alex and the crowds amazement was done only with silk-slippered feet and sand, the crowd was breathless. Utterly speechless.

  And then the entire stadium roared in applause.

  And a heaving Hao Chan had never looked so ebullient, so euphoric as she did at that moment, taking in the crowd’s applause, her smile as beatific as if she were having a breakthrough, or peaking in her lover’s arms.

  And the crowd sensed this too, perhaps, for their applause only grew.

  Hao Chan beamed at the crowd entire before flourishing a sweeping bow for the judges.

  “This lowly aspirant humbly thanks the wise arena masters for allowing the demonstration of my art in its purest form. It is hoped that no matter how brutal and ugly the true cost of survival may become, the beauty of the Silver Swan technique might at least be remembered in dance, the most sacred fusion of body and mind.”

  Alex blinked, for a moment fearing his dear friend had forsaken all their shared techniques.

/>   Then he chuckled softly, realizing that fear was premature.

  And the way the judges beamed and nodded at her, gazing at her with the same tenderness as a village elder would a favorite granddaughter as she almost girlishly struggled back into her uniform, made it clear she had completely won them over. She radiated an almost seductive winsomeness as she smiled in apology for the delay before at last giving the beaming judges a nod. “Thank you, your honors. I am ready.”

  And indeed she was.

  It showed the power of her personal magnetism, perhaps something in the blue and silver strands of Water and Steel Qi Alex had seen flashes of even in her dance that had so captivated and smitten her audience, himself most definitely included.

  But he was still clearheaded enough to see the way she had mastered not just the crowd, but the judges.

  They, the most powerful men in the arena at that moment, whatever their rank, were waiting on the whims of the newest of applicants. A winsomely smiling and exquisitely beautiful young woman who had smitten the entire crowd.

  Including the young cultivator now facing her, who looked about to crumple up in a sob, as if terrified of hurting her.

  And then she flashed a gentle smile. “It’s okay,” she promised. “We’ll have a fun match, you’ll see!”

  And the young man, who Alex had seen smiling with vicious glee after the first match that day, was now smiling and nodding like a smitten youth approaching his date, hands that had swung with killing force now gently held as if for a grapple. Or perhaps a hug.

  “I’ll try not to hurt you, okay?”

  She beamed a smile. “Let’s make a game of it! The first one to fall on his back concedes the fight, and has to give the winner a kiss on the cheek!”

  The young man beamed. “I accept. Cultivator’s Oath!” he said, and Alex winced. There was puppy love, and then there was putting your cultivation in jeopardy.

  But Hao Chan chuckled in throaty agreement. “Agreed!”

  And the youth, no weakling and no fool, despite the awe in his eyes, immediately charged forward, weaving past the strike point of her deadly high kicks that Hao Chan never bothered to release. Near two hundred pounds of muscle and sinew were charging forward, intent on bringing Hao Chan down in no uncertain terms.