Chapter 15:Can all of yall just fucking shut up

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The knock on the door came again, louder this time. Aris's focus snapped back to reality, his mind still buzzing with the revelation of his new method. Who could it be? He stood up, adjusted his robes, and opened the door. Standing on the threshold was a tall figure, his expression smug, eyes gleaming with arrogance.

"Aris, right?" the stranger said, his voice dripping with disdain. "I heard Dragon Mountain accepted you, but I don't get it. I mean, what did you even do to deserve it?"

Aris frowned, already sensing where this was going. He stepped outside, meeting the man's gaze. The tension between them thickened as the stranger's condescending smile grew wider.

"My name is Jorin," he said, cracking his knuckles. "I'm here to challenge you. I don't think someone like you belongs here, and I plan to prove it."

Without warning, Jorin unleashed a gust of wind magic, his power exploding outward in a show of dominance. The air around them crackled with energy as his aura flared, and Aris could feel the overwhelming difference in their cultivation levels. Jorin was leagues ahead—stronger, faster, more experienced.

Aris's heart pounded in his chest, but he forced himself to stay calm. He could feel his instincts screaming at him to back off, that this fight was way out of his league, but there was no running now. Dragon Mountain had accepted him, and he had to stand his ground.

"Fine," Aris said, his voice steady despite the growing unease inside him. "Let's do this."

Jorin grinned wickedly. "Good. I'll show you what real strength looks like."

In an instant, Jorin lunged forward, his fist aimed squarely at Aris's chest. The speed of his movement was staggering, and Aris barely managed to block the blow. Even so, the force of it sent him skidding backward, his arms trembling from the impact.

"Is that all you've got?" Jorin sneered, not even breaking a sweat. "Pathetic."

Aris gritted his teeth, trying to maintain his composure. He quickly realized that Jorin wasn't just faster—his techniques were razor-sharp, honed through years of battle experience. Every strike Jorin threw was calculated, each movement precise, leaving Aris with barely any room to defend, let alone counterattack.

Another punch came, and this time it connected. Pain shot through Aris's side as he was sent flying, crashing into a nearby wall. He groaned, pushing himself to his feet, but his legs felt weak.

"You're really making this too easy," Jorin taunted, his voice filled with amusement. "I thought Dragon Mountain had some standards, but look at you. You're not even worth my time."

Aris spat blood, wiping his mouth as he struggled to regain his breath. His body was battered, and his mind raced, searching for a way out of this. But no matter how hard he tried to keep up, Jorin was simply too strong.

Jorin didn't even give him time to think. With a burst of wind energy, he was on Aris again, his kicks and punches coming in a relentless flurry. Aris did his best to block, but each hit sent waves of pain coursing through him. His vision blurred, and for a moment, he thought about giving up.

"You see now?" Jorin mocked, standing over him as Aris crumpled to his knees. "This is where you belong—at the bottom. You're weak, and you'll never be more than that."

Jorin raised his hand, a whirlwind of wind magic gathering around his palm. "I'll end this now."

The crowd that had gathered to watch the duel murmured in agreement, many of them shaking their heads in disappointment. Aris's defeat seemed inevitable.

But then, something inside Aris snapped.

*Inspiration.*

The word echoed in his mind like a distant whisper. He had been observing Jorin this whole time, taking in every movement, every technique. And now, the pieces clicked into place. His power—*Inspiration*—wasn't just about survival. It was about evolution, about perfection. Jorin's techniques, as powerful as they were, had flaws. Flaws that Aris could now see with crystal clarity.

Just as Jorin's hand descended, Aris's body moved on its own. In one fluid motion, he sidestepped the attack, his movements suddenly precise, effortless.

Jorin's eyes widened in shock as his wind magic crashed into the ground where Aris had been standing only a second ago.

"What the—" Jorin didn't have time to finish his sentence.

Aris retaliated with a sharp kick to Jorin's midsection, sending the taller man staggering backward. The crowd gasped, watching in disbelief as Aris began to shift the tide of the battle.

"I've been watching you," Aris said, his voice calm, but filled with a newfound confidence. "And I've seen through every one of your moves."

Jorin's face contorted in rage. "You—" he snarled, launching himself at Aris once more. But this time, Aris was ready.

As Jorin unleashed a barrage of wind-infused punches, Aris dodged each one with ease, his movements fluid and graceful. It was as if he had already mastered Jorin's techniques, improving them, perfecting them in real-time.

In a flash, Aris countered with a move Jorin hadn't seen before—a quick, devastating strike that combined the power of wind and precision, something far beyond what Jorin had ever imagined. The blow landed squarely on Jorin's chest, and for the first time in the fight, it was Jorin who was sent flying backward, crashing into the dirt with a heavy thud.

The crowd erupted into cheers, their excitement palpable. Aris had not only turned the fight around—he had completely outclassed his opponent.

Jorin struggled to his feet, disbelief and rage swirling in his eyes. "This… this is impossible. How are you doing this?!"

Aris smiled, feeling the power of *Inspiration* flowing through him. "It's simple. I just made your techniques better."

With a swift step forward, Aris closed the distance between them. He unleashed a series of strikes, each one faster and more powerful than the last. Jorin tried to defend, but it was no use—Aris was two steps ahead of him at every turn.

Jorin's defenses crumbled, and in the blink of an eye, Aris delivered the final blow—a palm strike infused with the perfected essence of wind magic. The impact sent Jorin sprawling to the ground, gasping for air.

Aris stood over him, his expression calm and collected. "Looks like you're the one at the bottom now."

Jorin glared up at him, but he knew it was over. There was nothing more he could do. Aris had completely dominated him, and the crowd's cheers only made the humiliation worse.

Aris turned away from his fallen opponent, the victory already feeling hollow. He had won the fight, but more importantly, he had proven something to himself. His talent, *Inspiration,* was more powerful than he'd ever imagined. And now, with this newfound understanding, he was only just beginning to tap into his true potential.

As he walked away, the crowd parted, their eyes filled with awe and admiration. The whispers started again, but this time they weren't filled with doubt—they were filled with respect.

Aris had arrived.

And this was only the beginning.

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