The south gate of Ashenrock Bastion.

  Jin and Qiu faced each other in the shadow of the stone archway. Around them, the garrison continued its frantic preparations. Horses being saddled. Armor strapped tight. The organized chaos of men preparing to ride to war.

  None of them interfered. None of them even came close.

  A circle had formed around uncle and nephew without anyone calling for it. Soldiers paused in their tasks, watching from a safe distance. Sensing what was about to happen.

  Jin's hand rested on his sword hilt. His stance was solid, feet planted properly, weight distributed the way he'd been taught. The way his father had drilled into him since he could walk.

  Qiu stood relaxed, spear held loosely in one hand. He hadn't even unslung it from his back yet.

  "Last chance, Jin." His voice was calm. Almost sad. "I don't want to hurt you."

  Jin drew his sword. The steel sang as it left the scabbard.

  "Then let me pass."

  Qiu sighed. His hand moved to the spear on his back, and in one fluid motion, he brought it around to rest at his side. The weapon was longer than Jin was tall. In the hands of a 1st rate martial artist, it might as well have been a wall.

  "You're good, Jin. I've watched you train. I've heard what the other guards say about you." Qiu's grip shifted on the shaft. "But skill alone cannot bridge the gap between us. An entire major realm separates 2nd rate from 1st rate. And without an attribute to enhance your techniques..." He shook his head. "This fight can only end one way."

  "Then it ends that way."

  Jin moved.

  He came in fast, blade extended, targeting Qiu's forward hand. A simple opening gambit. Testing reach, testing reaction time.

  Qiu's spear barely shifted. The shaft intercepted Jin's blade with minimal movement, redirecting it to the side.

  Jin had expected that. He was already pivoting, using the deflection's momentum to spin into a horizontal slash at waist height.

  The spear's butt tapped his blade away. Not hard. Just enough.

  Jin pressed forward. Overhead strike. Low sweep. Quick jab at the throat. Each one met the same result. Effortless parries that made his attacks feel like they were moving through water.

  Qiu didn't shift his feet. He stood in place, turning his spear with casual economy, redirecting every strike with movements so minimal they bordered on insulting.

  But Jin's mind was working. Analyzing. He'd spent years studying opponents during training. Learning to read patterns. Finding openings.

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  His uncle favored the same deflection angle when attacks came from the left. A slight rotation of the shaft, wrist turning inward. Three times now. Consistent.

  Jin feinted left. Qiu's spear moved to intercept.

  Jin reversed, blade sweeping right toward Qiu's exposed ribs.

  For a fraction of a second, the strike was true. Clean. A direct line to unguarded flesh.

  Then Qiu moved.

  Not the casual deflections from before. Real speed. The kind of speed that came from qi-enhanced muscles and a decade of combat experience. His spear came around in a blur, catching Jin's blade mid-swing and driving it down into the dirt.

  The force of it jarred through Jin's arms. His grip nearly broke.

  "Good," Qiu said. He hadn't even stepped back. "You read my pattern. Exploited it. That was well done."

  He pushed, and Jin stumbled backward three steps before catching his balance.

  "But reading my movements doesn't matter if you can't capitalize on them." Qiu's expression was patient. Almost gentle. "When I move seriously, you can't keep up. That's the realm gap. Not skill. Raw physical superiority that no amount of training can overcome at your level."

  Jin's breathing came harder. His arms ached from the deflection.

  But he wasn't done.

  He attacked again. Faster this time. A combination he'd practiced a thousand times. Feint high, strike low, pivot, slash across. Each movement precise. Textbook.

  Qiu parried them all without effort.

  Jin switched patterns. Abandoned the drills. Started reading in real-time, reacting to Qiu's movements rather than following preset combinations.

  A thrust toward the shoulder. Qiu deflected.

  Jin used the deflection's force, spinning with it, blade coming around in an arc toward Qiu's knee.

  Qiu stepped back. The blade missed by inches.

  Jin pressed the opening. Lunged forward, sword driving toward his uncle's chest.

  Qiu's counter came faster than Jin could track. The spear shaft drove forward and caught Jin square in the sternum before his thrust was half-completed.

  The impact lifted Jin off his feet.

  He flew backward through the air and crashed into a stack of supply crates near the wall. Wood splintered. Grain sacks burst. He hit the ground hard, rolling twice before coming to a stop in a heap of debris.

  Pain radiated through his entire torso. His vision swam. His sword had fallen somewhere in the debris.

  "You almost had me there."

  Qiu's voice carried across the space. Jin looked up through blurred eyes to see his uncle approaching. Not rushing. Just walking with measured steps.

  "That combination at the end. The way you used my deflection to power your spin. The follow-up thrust." Qiu stopped a few paces away. "That was genuinely skilled swordsmanship. The kind that would beat most 2nd rate martial artists. Probably some 1st rates who rely too heavily on their cultivation."

  Jin pushed himself up on one elbow. His chest screamed in protest.

  "But I'm not most martial artists. And you don't have an attribute to close the gap, even slightly." Qiu's expression was apologetic. Sad. "I'm sorry, Jin. This is the only way."

  Jin's hand scrabbled through the debris. His fingers found the familiar grip of his sword just as Qiu closed the remaining distance.

  Qiu moved fast now. Not the casual deflections from before. The real speed of a 1st rate martial artist who had stopped holding back.

  Earth-colored qi materialized around the butt of Qiu's spear. A dull brown glow that coated the shaft like hardened clay. The technique wasn't flashy. Didn't need to be.

  The spear's butt drove into Jin's abdomen with surgical precision.

  All the air left Jin's lungs in a single whoosh. The world tilted. Colors bled together. He was aware of falling, of the packed earth rushing up to meet him, but couldn't do anything to stop it.

  His vision darkened around the edges. Sound became distant, muffled, like he was underwater.

  Through the gathering haze, he heard his uncle's voice.

  "Get a horse ready. A calm one."

  The words echoed, fragmenting.

  "Tie him to it. Send him through the tunnel."

  Darkness closed in from all sides.

  "By the time he wakes up, he'll be twenty li north. Too far to do anything stupid."

  Jin's last conscious thought was of the capital burning in the distance.

  Then nothing.