The first clash was quick.
The jiangshi was slow. Too slow.
Jack had gotten used to how they moved by now—their awkward limbs, stiff torsos, sudden bursts of speed when you least expected it. Like puppets that snapped violently at the strings.
He read them. Memorized them. Filed their behaviors into the back of his mind like pages in a worn notebook.
When the first one came into range, he drew.
His blade sang from the sheath in a blur of steel and instinct.
Not perfect.
The angle was off, the stance slightly crooked, but the strike still landed.
Clean through the neck.
The jiangshi's head spun in the air, detached from its body, and hit the stone floor with a heavy thud.
It rolled to a stop near Jack's foot.
He didn't flinch.
The other two hissed and lunged. Their claws outstretched, faces twisted into lifeless snarls.
Jack sidestepped—but too late.
One of the claws scraped across his shoulder, deep and fast.
He gasped, the pain flaring instantly. Heat radiated from the wound. Blood spilled, soaking through his sleeve and running down his arm in rivulets.
He didn't scream. He didn't stop.
He gritted his teeth and turned his body with the momentum.
With a rough exhale, he swung.
The black sword sliced through the jiangshi's side with brute force, carving through flesh and bone. The monster's torso split apart, falling in opposite directions like a bisected puppet.
Jack stumbled back, breath sharp. Pain sparked along his shoulder. The wound burned. His muscles tensed in protest.
But his grip didn't falter.
Another came.
No time to think.
He ducked under its claw, pivoted, and slashed at the back of its knee. The jiangshi collapsed with a screech, and he brought the sword down into the base of its skull, driving the blade until it cracked through.
It twitched once.
Then went still.
Silence returned.
Jack's chest heaved. His blade hung at his side. Blood, both his and theirs, dripped from the edge.
His heart thundered.
He was alive.
He looked at his trembling fingers. The grip wasn't steady. The sword art, still crude. Messy.
But effective.
The pale blue light of the moon bathed the courtyard, casting long shadows across the red leaf-covered stone.
Three corpses.
One injured fighter.
Jack clenched his jaw. "Sloppy…"
The stance had been off. His weight was too far back. The third strike had almost missed.
He reviewed it all in his mind.
Again.
And again.
"Not good enough," he muttered.
The burning in his shoulder told him what a single mistake cost.
This was the Other Realm.
It didn't reward effort.
Only results.
From the corner of his vision, movement stirred. More jiangshi. Their groans echoed in the distance. Jack slowly turned to look back at the gate.
Shapes emerged from the dark, four? No. Five.
He tightened his grip.
The ache in his body screamed at him to run.
He didn't.
This was an opportunity.
Practice.
He wasn't going to waste it.
---
The next wave came quicker.
Their movements were staggered but chaotic—sharp limbs slicing through the air, dead eyes glowing faintly in the moonlight.
Jack exhaled, calming the shake in his hands.
He sheathed his sword again.
This time, he focused.
He let his knees settle into the correct bend, his back straightened, his right hand hovering over the hilt. His left hand resting gently on the sheath. His body aligned.
He pictured the movement in his mind.
Draw. Step. Cut. Breathe.
Then...
Snap.
He moved.
The blade cut upward, a rising arc. The first jiangshi's arm flew off at the elbow. Blood sprayed. Jack spun with the motion, turning it into a follow-up slash that carved into its chest.
Not clean.
Too shallow.
The creature hissed and clawed toward him again.
He moved to intercept the second—but its claws were faster than expected. One raked across his abdomen. Shallow, but it knocked the air out of him.
He fell back. Rolled.
The cold stone dug into his spine as he landed. A third monster leapt toward him...
Cold energy rushed through his limbs like icewater through veins.
His body responded without thought. He surged up from the ground, sword flicking into a tight arc, an improvised cut that split the creature's face down the middle.
His feet hit the ground unevenly. Pain shot up from his ankle.
Didn't matter.
Two left.
He brought his sword low, steadying his breath.
The next one lunged.
He sidestepped, grabbed its arm, and slammed it into the stone. The creature struggled beneath him, screeching, and Jack drove the black blade down into its chest—then yanked it free in a spray of black blood.
He turned.
The last jiangshi stared at him—its jaw slack, body twitching.
Jack didn't wait.
He dashed forward, dipped under its claw, and slammed his sword into its side. The cut wasn't deep enough, but his follow-up was. He reversed the grip, twisted, and stabbed through its throat.
It collapsed.
Silence again.
This time, it lingered.
He staggered back and collapsed to one knee. His body trembled, the Star Stream fading from his limbs. Cold gave way to heat. His injuries roared back.
His shoulder was soaked in blood. His abdomen ached.
He'd made progress.
But every mistake had cost him.
This wasn't training.
This was survival.
And he was nowhere near ready.
---
He sat in the courtyard surrounded by bodies. His sword rested against his knee, soaked in ichor. The red leaves stuck to the blade like blood petals.
Jack stared at his reflection in the steel.
Dark caramel skin, cut and bruised. Grey hair clinging to his cheeks, sweat mingling with blood. His golden eyes burned quietly in the moonlight.
"…I need to do more."
He whispered it to himself.
Not more strength.
Not more power.
More control.
Every clash was a lesson.
Every swing taught him what not to do.
Every injury drilled humility into his bones.
This was the price of Practical Application.
Another growl echoed in the distance.
He didn't flinch.
He slowly stood.
Hands shaking.
But eyes steady.
The sword returned to its sheath with a soft click.
"…No rest for me tonight either."
He dragged his tired body to the gate.