Ironjaw threw his hands up in disgust. "Fine. Your funeral." He held out a calloused palm. "One silver. Hand it over and you can do what you like."

  I turned to Lian. "The silver, please."

  With obvious reluctance, she fished a coin from Duyi's purse and placed it in Ironjaw's waiting hand. The old fighter pocketed it with a grunt.

  "I'll send a runner when it's time. Even if you die, try not to embarrass me in the process." He turned away, metal jaw clicking as he muttered something about idiots and their money.

  Lian and I headed back to our table, her face twisted with frustration. "This is suicide, Taros. Ghost Fist will break you in half."

  "Maybe," I said, taking my seat. "But…"

  "No, not maybe." She cut me off. "Definitely. I've seen him fight. He knocked out a cultivator last month. A cultivator! An early Initiate stage cultivator I grant you, but still a cultivator. He's a mortal. And you think you can…"

  I held up my hand, cutting her off in turn. "Since I'm only having two fights tonight now, I want you to place the rest of the money on my victory over Ghost Fist."

  She stared at me. "You can't be serious."

  "Actually," I thought for a moment, "bet it all on me knocking out the champion in under a minute. We'll get better odds that way. Anyway, if I don't win fast against him then I'm not going to win at all."

  Lian looked at me, her mouth opening and shutting as she tried to process my words. "Your sister was right about you. You're not just crazy. You're completely mad."

  "The odds will be what, twenty to one? Thirty?"

  "More like fifty to one, because it's impossible." She shook her head. "I'll place the bet, but only because I know you won't listen to reason."

  As Lian disappeared into the crowd, a gong sounded. The pit master's voice boomed across the basement.

  "Ladies and gentlemen! It's time for the champion's challenge! Who among you dares to face Ghost Fist?"

  The crowd roared, stamping their feet and banging tankards on tables. From the far side of the room, Ghost Fist stepped into the light, his scarred body glistening with sweat. The cheers grew deafening.

  "I give you the people's hero. Undefeated in seventy-two fights. The Champion of the Ring! Ghost. Fist."

  As the roars of the crowd died down I leaned forward, watching the pit closely as Ghost Fist's first opponent came up .

  "And the first challenger tonight. From the Imperial Navy's Third Regiment. A veteran of the Northern Campaign. I give you Sergeant Luo Jinbei!"

  A burly man with a cropped military haircut and a collection of battle scars stepped into the ring. He moved with the quiet confidence of someone who had faced death and survived. Broad shoulders and forearms thick with corded muscle.

  "This one might actually have a chance," I muttered to myself as the referee spoke to the fighters and checked their cores.

  The fight began with Sergeant Luo charging forward. He threw a combination that would have flattened any ordinary opponent.

  Ghost Fist didn't even blink.

  He slipped the first punch, blocked the second, and countered with a strike so fast I barely saw it connect. The veteran staggered but recovered quickly, circling with his guard up. Ghost Fist advanced methodically, his movements economical.

  When Hui attacked again, Ghost Fist simply wasn't there. He reappeared at the soldier's side and delivered a crushing blow to his kidney. As Hui doubled over, Ghost Fist brought his elbow down on the man's knee with a sickening crack.

  The soldier collapsed, howling in pain as his leg bent at an unnatural angle. The fight had lasted less than thirty seconds.

  I frowned, reassessing everything as two men dragged the unconscious soldier away. Ghost Fist wasn't just strong, he moved with the fluidity of an Initiate stage cultivator. No wasted energy, no flourish, nothing but the cold calculus of violence. This wasn't some pit brawler trading on brute strength and endurance. This was a weapon honed through battle, a killer who had mastered the art of breaking bodies.

  I wasn't a coward, and I was a risk taker, but I was not suicidal. In my current state, with barely functioning meridians and a body still adjusting to ki, I wasn't sure I could take him. This wasn't going to be the easy win I had anticipated.

  The boy runner appeared at my side, tugging my sleeve. "You're up next, mister."

  * * *

  I watched as Ghost Fist circled the ring, acknowledging the crowd's adoration with a slight nod. Doubt gnawed at the edges of my bravado. He was good, probably too good.

  I needed an edge, and fast. There was only one place I could think to find one.

  With a deep breath, I closed my eyes and sent a pulse of ki through my consciousness. The clamor of The Broken Mast faded as I plunged into the familiar structure of my Silent Pagoda Archive materialized around me.

  I found myself standing in the first floor atrium, where Meiyu was methodically reshelving the manuscripts and scrolls that were scattered across the floor. Her silver hair was pulled back into a severe bun, and she didn't look up as I approached.

  "Meiyu," I called.

  She glanced over her shoulder, adjusting her half-moon spectacles. "You were only just here. What is it now?"

  "Have you found any combat arts I can use yet? I've done something silly and I'm about to fight someone who's far too strong for me, at least as I am now."

  Meiyu raised a single eyebrow, setting down the book she had been holding. "Do you have a core yet?"

  "Well, no."

  "Then why would you think there would be any combat arts you could use? All I managed to salvage were two more meditation techniques. That's it."

  I frowned, then a thought occurred to me. "Can I see these meditation techniques?"

  Meiyu sighed with the patience of someone dealing with a particularly slow student. "Follow me."

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  She led me back to the room where we'd found Waves Take Down a Cliff. Everything in it had been reshelved and on the desk sat two individual sheets of paper.

  I picked up the first one, scanning its contents quickly before discarding it. But when I saw the title of the second one, a slow smile spread across my face.

  Raging Tide. The name was a promise and a threat. It called me back to the reckless youth I once was. I sat down and began to read.

  As I ran my eyes down the parchment, the technique unfurled within my mind, not as words, but as a flood of visceral memories just like when I had read through Waves Take Down a Cliff. But, where that technique was a coaxing, Raging Tide was a storm.

  I wasn't meant to know Raging Tide but I broke into the restricted wing of the Azure Tide sect library three nights in a row to learn it. The first time I used it was during a desperate battle against three Disciples from the Stone Peak Sect when I was still an Initiate. It had given me the boost I needed to win, but I had used it for too long and damaged my Horizon Crown meridian. It was restricted for a reason. I needed two months of recovery in complete silence and darkness after that.

  Later, I had learned to cushion the meridian with a thin layer of ki before initiating the technique, preventing the worst of the damage. But, it was very much not a technique for beginners.

  I finished reading and leaned thoughtfully back in my chair.

  "You know that technique is designed to overfill a core, right? To push a cultivator beyond their limits, forcing them to walk the razor's edge between triumph and disaster." Meiyu had stayed silent while I read but now her voice was laced with disapproval. "As we have exhaustively established, this body doesn't have a core yet. It's a tricky enough technique as it is, but without a core I don't even know if you can use it without permanently straining our meridians."

  I nodded. "I know. It's going to need me at my best. But, if I can get this to work, it might just close the gap enough for me to win."

  "You understand that you can just walk away, right?"

  I looked at her with a raised eyebrow and we both started to laugh.

  "You and I both know that's not who we are," I said. "If we're not courting disaster then we're stagnating."

  She plucked the parchment from my fingers and placed it back on the desk. "Well, if that's the case, then you had better get on with it."

  * * *

  I opened my eyes and, back in The Broken Mast I stood up, my heart hammering against my ribs. Only seconds had passed in the real world while I had been consulting Meiyu, but those seconds had given me at least a sliver of a chance.

  As I walked toward the fighting ring, I shifted my meditation technique. The familiar gentle pull of Waves Take Down a Cliff vanished, replaced by the volatile surge of Raging Tide.

  The shift was instantaneous and brutal. It wasn't a gentle flow of ki, but a tidal wave crashing through a narrow gorge. My thread-like meridians, tender and new, screamed in protest, threatening to tear like overstretched silk. Fire bloomed in my chest and limbs as power filled me beyond my capacity to manage.

  I choked back both a scream and my dinner and hastily cut off the technique.

  Even that brief surge had been enough. My body hummed with energy, muscles twitching with excess power. I could already feel the ki beginning to seep away. This boost wouldn't last long. Five minutes at best and then I would be good for nothing.

  The risk was immense. If I sustained damage to my meridians now, the cultivation journey of this body might end before it began. But without this power, Ghost Fist would make short work of me.

  I stepped into the ring, the bloodstained wooden planks creaking beneath my feet. Across from me, Ghost Fist stood motionless. His gaze, devoid of any warmth or interest, swept over me and moved on. He had sized me up and dismissed me. He didn't even seem to recognize me from earlier.

  My eyes scanned the crowd. Lian was turning away from a bookmaker's table, a wooden chit disappearing into her pocket. When our eyes met, I raised an eyebrow in silent question. She gave me a small nod. Well at least the bet was placed.

  Now I just needed to win. One minute. That's all I had.

  The referee stepped between us, his voice carrying over the crowd. "Last open challenge of the night! The untouchable, the undefeated, seventy-three victories and zero defeats. Ghost Fist! Versus..." he paused, almost smirking, "the zero and one newcomer. Shen Taros!"

  The ki surged through my body, each heartbeat sending waves of power and agony through my limbs. I had one chance. A brief window where my power would spike before the technique's consequences caught up with me.

  Win fast, or risk crippling my cultivation permanently.

  Across the blood-spattered planks, Ghost Fist settled into a stance. It was so flawless, I couldn't help but admire it, a predator's relaxed poise before the kill. His bored expression said everything: I wasn't a challenge, I was a chore.

  The crowd's laughter and dismissive comments washed over me and I tuned them out.

  The referee stepped between us, his pockmarked face impassive as he held up his stone in front of us.

  "No cores detected." He raised his voice over the jeering crowd. "Rules are simple. No weapons, no killing blows. Fight ends when someone yields or can't continue. Begin!"

  He stepped back, and Ghost Fist exploded into action.

  Seven hels, he was fast. His fist connected with my jaw before I could fully register his movement. The impact sent shockwaves through my skull and pain exploded across my face as I staggered back. He hit far harder than Wen. Had the ki from Raging Tide not been flowing through the Horizon Crown Meridian in my head, that would have been the end. Even so, only the centuries of reflexes carved into my soul allowed me to twist away from the follow-up kick that would have collapsed my ribs and ended the contest.

  The crowd's bloodlust rose like a wave as Ghost Fist advanced, a flurry of strikes from his fist and his legs hammering against my guard with methodical brutality. Each blow reverberated through my bones as my forearms went from pain to numbness to a dead weight

  "Ghost! Fist! Ghost! Fist!" The chant began as the crowd sensed blood.

  I drew the ki that Raging Tide had gifted me through my straining meridians. Power surged through me, bringing with it searing pain as my channels threatened to rupture. I directed the flow through my Storm Wake Meridian to reinforce the muscles in my arms.

  Ghost Fist's next punch finally met resistance. My block held.

  Surprise flickered in his eyes. The first emotion I had seen there.

  With the boost from Raging Tide I could approach, but not match, Ghost Fist's physical prowess. For the rest I would have to rely on my skill and experience to overcome the gap. I countered, striking with techniques perfected over centuries. My body wasn't what it had been, but some knowledge still remained. Ghost Fist blocked my first combination, but my second caught him off guard. My empowered fist slipped past his defense, connecting with his sternum and forcing him to take a step back.

  The crowd's chanting faltered.

  Ghost Fist attacked with renewed fury, but now I could almost match his speed. The tide of ki within me reached dangerous levels, my meridians burning. I would have to vent the excess ki shortly if I didn't want to permanently cripple my cultivation.

  But all the while I was watching his every movement for the tells and the imperfections in his technique. And after a few more exchanges I thought I had found something I could exploit. Whether it was right or not I couldn't delay any longer before action.

  I feigned a strike to his ribs, then dropped low, to try to sweep his legs. His step backward to avoid being knocked over was exactly what I expected, and I channeled ki into my arms for my response. If this didn't work, I was done.

  His guard dropped a fraction as he shifted his weight so that he could close with me again. That was what I had spotted, and that was what I was waiting for.

  The power threatened to rupture my meridians completely as I exploded upward, driving my palm into the underside of his jaw with an impact that reverberated through the wooden floor beneath us.

  Ghost Fist's head snapped back at an unnatural angle and his eyes fluttered then closed. He toppled to the ground with a thud that echoed through the stunned silence.

  The roar of the crowd gave way to a profound hush.

  The referee stared first at the hourglass, then at Ghost Fist's crumpled form, his pale face betraying his disbelief at what he had just witnessed. His eyes darted to Ironjaw's booth as if for guidance then, finally, he raised a trembling hand.

  "Winner..." his voice cracked and he started again, "Winner... in fifty-three seconds... Shen Taros!"