The man, whose nametag—stitched onto a dirty vest—read Fred, narrowed his eyes. "Gardener. That a joke? Nothing grows out here."

  "You'd be surprised," I said, leaning against the truck. "I'm looking for a spar."

  "A spar," Fred repeated.

  "I'm a cultivator," I explained. "Naturally, I need to test myself against other cultivators to advance. I'm looking for the strongest person in Rushfall."

  The crowd went dead silent. They exchanged nervous glances, their eyes darting toward a small house near the edge of the pit.

  On the porch, a man was napping in a lawn chair, a newspaper over his face.

  "We don't do 'spars' here," Fred said quietly. "You should leave while you still have that fancy truck."

  The newspaper on the porch rustled.

  The man in the chair sat up. The air pressure in the town dropped instantly. It felt like being in an airplane cabin as it descended too quickly—my ears popped.

  He stood up. He was wearing a loose linen shirt and pants that had seen better days. He looked like a beach bum who had gotten lost in the apocalypse.

  But his aura was suffocating.

  "Wind Cultivator," I whispered.

  He walked toward the pit, the crowd parting for him like the Red Sea.

  "Bells Ruper," Someone said quietly.

  He must be the muscle of the town.

  It made sense now. How could a settlement exist this deep in the danger zone? How could they be relaxed enough to gamble on pit fights? Because Bells Ruper had likely slaughtered every monster in a ten mile radius. He was the deterrent. He was the reason they slept at night.

  Bells stopped at the edge of the pit and looked down at me.

  "I felt you the moment you awoke," I said. "You feel powerful."

  "I can’t say the same for you," He said.

  "What land do you claim sovereignty over?" I asked.

  He paused. "Sovereignty?"

  "I claim all the land which I can see," Bells said, pointing vaguely at the horizon. "Everything under this sky is mine. The people, the dirt, the air."

  "That's a lot of territory," I noted.

  "I can defend it," he said.

  "Hypothetically," I said, "let's say I were to build an outpost here. A colony near Rushfall. Would I face any trouble from you?"

  Bells smiled. "You would face erasure."

  I nodded.

  "In that case," I said, "how about I propose a duel? Right here, right now. Friendly terms. We fight in the pit. Whoever wins gets—or retains—ownership of all the land they can see."

  Bells stared at me. Then, he laughed.

  "Not interested," he said, turning his back. "You smell like a city rat. Maybe in the Safe Zones you engage in those theatrics. 'Friendly duels.' Points. Rules."

  He looked over his shoulder. "Out here, we fight to kill or we don't fight at all. We fight for our lives, not for rights or contracts or whatever else you're peddling. Go home, Gardener."

  He started walking back to his house. The crowd seemed to relax, sensing the show was over.

  "Well," I sighed. "That won't do at all."

  I vanished from the side of the truck and reappeared in front of an abandoned shack twenty feet away.

  I punched it.

  The impact shattered the structural integrity of the building instantly. Wood splintered, glass exploded, and the roof collapsed inward.

  The crowd screamed.

  I flashed to the building next to it—a small storage shed. I checked it—empty—and delivered a roundhouse kick to the foundation.

  The shed was ripped off its concrete pad, tumbling end over end until it disintegrated into a pile of lumber.

  Two seconds. Two buildings obliterated.

  I crouched, channeling Qi into my legs. I launched myself thirty feet into the air, aiming to land on the roof of the General Store.

  I was mid arc when the air turned solid.

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  A wall of compressed wind slammed into my chest. It was like getting hit by a semi truck.

  I was blasted backward, flipping in the air, and landed in the center of the fighting pit, skidding to a halt in the dirt.

  I looked up. Bells was hovering a few feet off the ground, his linen shirt flapping violently in a current that surrounded only him.

  "Okay," Bells said. "You made your point."

  He drifted down into the pit, landing softly.

  "We fight," he said. "But my win will be your death, not any land rights."

  I drew my Sword.

  "That's fine with me," I said.

  The referee scrambled out of the pit, terrified.

  Bells moved first.

  Two translucent wings of condensed air sprouted from his back. He shot into the sky, hovering forty feet above the pit.

  "Range," I muttered. "Of course."

  Bells raised a hand.

  Wind Spikes.

  Dozens of invisible projectiles rained down on me. I couldn't see them, but I could feel the displacement of the air.

  I moved into a flow state. My swordsmanship was instinct.

  My bamboo sword was a blur. I deflected the wind spikes. They hit the blade with the force of high caliber bullets, but the Grade 4 Bamboo was harder than diamond.

  The stray spikes that missed me slammed into the pit floor, punching holes deep into the bedrock.

  "Is that all?" I yelled.

  I crouched and jumped. I rocketed upward, slashing at his legs.

  Bells flicked his wrist.

  Wind Shield.

  My sword hit a barrier of spinning air. It pushed me back. Before I could recover, he slammed his other hand down.

  Downdraft.

  The air pressure multiplied by ten. It swatted me out of the sky like a bug. I slammed into the dirt, winding myself.

  Before I could stand, Bells was on me. He dove from the sky, landing with a shockwave.

  I rolled, dodging a blade of wind that sliced a foot deep gash in the earth where my head had been.

  I lunged, grabbing his ankle. "Got you!"

  I yanked him down. We hit the dirt in a tangle of limbs.

  Bells was fast. He spun, creating a mini tornado around his body that acted like sandpaper, grinding against my armor.

  Wind Slash.

  He swung his hand. A blade of air struck my chest plate. The armor held, but the force threw me back against the pit wall.

  I gasped, tasting blood.

  He was good. His offense was great, and his defense was even better. I couldn't get close enough to finish him without taking a lethal hit.

  I looked at him. He was hovering again, preparing a massive sphere of compressed air.

  I realized something. I was fighting like a swordsman. I was fighting like a warrior.

  But I wasn't a warrior. I was a cultivator who understood the Dao of Growth.

  "Time to prune," I whispered.

  I charged.

  Bells sneered. "Predictable!"

  He swung his arm. A massive Wind Slash, horizontal and razor sharp, aimed for my neck.

  I raised my left arm—my non sword arm.

  The crowd screamed.

  The wind blade sheared through my forearm. It cut cleanly through the Grade 4 Bamboo armor, through muscle, through bone.

  My left arm, from the elbow down, flew off. Blood sprayed into the air.

  Bells' eyes widened. For a microsecond, he relaxed. He thought he had won. He thought the shock of losing a limb would drop me.

  I used the momentum of the impact to spin.

  I stepped inside his guard.

  "Too slow," I said.

  I brought the Sword down in a vertical arc.

  The blade sliced through both of his wrists.

  Bells screamed. The wind died instantly. He fell to his knees, staring at his stumps, blood pooling in the dirt.

  The pit was silent. The only sound was Bells' breathing.

  "I yield!" Bells shrieked, clutching his arms to his chest. "I yield!"

  I stood over him, my chest heaving. My left arm was a mess, dripping onto the soil.

  "Good fight," I said.

  Green energy erupted from my severed stump. It swirled like vines, knitting together bone, weaving muscle fibers, stretching skin.

  In three seconds, my arm was back.

  I flexed my new fingers. They were pink and fresh, contrasting with the dirt on my arm.

  The crowd lost their minds.

  They cheered. They stomped. They screamed my name. In the Red Zone, seeing a man get maimed was Thursday. Seeing a man grow his arm back? That was religion.

  I sheathed my sword. I looked down at Bells.

  "You keep your land," I said. "I don't need it."

  I walked out of the pit, the crowd parting for me with reverence.

  "Mission accomplished," I said to myself.

  I got back into the Terramotta. I felt drained—regrowing a limb took a lot of calories—but I felt exhilarated. The new Dao worked. I was effectively immortal as long as I had a heart.

  I started the engine and began to drive out of town.

  As I crested the hill leading away from Rushfall, something caught my eye.

  About three miles to the east, in a rocky valley, there was a glimmer.

  I turned the wheel.

  I drove off road, bouncing over the rough terrain. As I got closer, the presence of monsters increased.

  I parked the truck.

  A massive snake—easily fifty feet long—was coiled around a rocky outcrop. It hissed, rearing up.

  I didn't have time for this.

  I drew my sword. I walked forward. The snake lunged. I sidestepped and took its head off in one motion.

  I walked up to the outcrop the snake had been guarding. I wiped away the dirt.

  Underneath was a crystal vein. It was a solid wall of crystallized Qi.

  I placed my hand on it. The system pinged.

  [Resource Identified: Spirit Stone Vein (Mythic)]

  [Estimated Yield: 500,000,000+ Stones]

  I almost fainted.

  Five hundred million. And that was just the surface estimate.

  If Eden claimed this... we would be a superpower.

  We wouldn't have to rely on the measly million a week from the tea or the restaurant. We would be on par with White Hill and the other major factions. We would dwarf the Beckenfeins' remaining liquid assets.

  I leaned against the glowing rock.

  Bells had said he claimed everything he could see.

  I looked out at the horizon.

  "There is no need to claim the land," I whispered, a smile spreading across my face.

  "After all... everything in my sight is already mine."