The Dark Trials II

The air in the courtyard had shifted after Seon Ma's decisive victory over Ara Ma. It was like a collective breath was held, the murmurs of disbelief echoing in quiet whispers. Some of the gathered disciples exchanged looks—half in awe, half in fear. Others remained silent, the weight of Seon Ma's strategic prowess fresh in their minds.

I took a seat, blending into the crowd. Despite the spectators' stares, none of them dared address me. After defeating Dae Ma, I had earned a quiet respect from those who had once dismissed me entirely. They didn't need to say it aloud; the fact that I had done what most couldn't spoke volumes.

The attention, however, was now shifting to the next match.

Ren Ma versus Joon Ma.

Everyone was eagerly awaiting Ren's display of power. The eldest heir of the Dark Clan, the one groomed for greatness, was about to step into the ring. He moved with the confidence of someone who had never once been challenged. His cold eyes swept over the audience as if the outcome of this battle was already decided. In truth, it probably was.

Ren Ma was ruthless, and there was an unspoken understanding that no one in the clan could match his raw power—at least, not yet.

As Ren approached the center of the stone platform, the crowd fell silent. Joon, the younger twin of Dae Ma, stood in stark contrast. He was jittery, clearly nervous as his eyes flickered to Ren's calm, composed figure. Joon's stance was solid—he had trained hard, there was no doubt—but everyone knew that this fight was unequal.

The elder overseeing the duel raised his hand, signaling the beginning of the match. The tension snapped like a cord pulled too tight, and the crowd leaned forward in anticipation.

Ren didn't move.

He simply stood there, his body relaxed, his expression unreadable. It was as though he didn't even see Joon as a threat. For a moment, I thought perhaps Ren wasn't going to take the fight seriously at all.

Joon, clearly uncomfortable with the lack of movement, lunged first, his body shifting into a low stance. His footwork was decent, his movements fluid, but it was obvious he was holding back, unsure of how to approach Ren. He stepped forward, launching a quick jab towards Ren's midsection.

Ren didn't flinch. He didn't need to. With barely a shift in his stance, Ren leaned back, dodging the attack effortlessly. His face remained calm, almost bored. He hadn't even raised his arms yet. It was as if this fight was beneath him.

Joon, to his credit, pressed forward, determined to at least force Ren to react. He pivoted on his heel, aiming a low kick at Ren's legs. His foot sliced through the air with impressive speed, but Ren simply sidestepped, his movement so smooth it was like watching water flow.

"Is this it?" Ren's voice cut through the quiet courtyard, dripping with disdain. His lips curled into a smirk, and the crowd murmured uneasily. "I don't even need to use my techniques for someone like you."

Joon's expression tightened, frustration seeping into his features. He darted forward again, throwing a flurry of punches, his movements growing more desperate with each strike. His fists blurred through the air, aiming for Ren's chest, his neck, his jaw. But Ren dodged each one with ease, his body a fluid motion of avoidance.

Ren stepped to the side as Joon's latest punch sailed past, his footwork impeccable. He didn't just evade—he made Joon look slow, clumsy. And the worst part? Ren hadn't even struck back yet. He was playing with Joon, letting him tire himself out.

The crowd's whispers grew louder. Ren hadn't needed to do anything to dominate this match. But Joon, stubborn as he was, didn't back down. He reset his stance, narrowing his eyes as he charged again. This time, he leapt into the air, twisting his body mid-jump to bring his knee crashing down towards Ren's shoulder.

I could see it, the desperation in Joon's eyes. He was hoping for a lucky shot, something that would turn the tide of the battle. But Ren wasn't interested in luck.

As Joon descended, Ren finally moved. His hand shot out, palm open, and connected with Joon's chest in a devastating blow. There was a sickening crack as the force of Ren's strike knocked the wind out of Joon, sending him flying backward.

Joon hit the ground hard, gasping for breath. But before he could even think of standing, Ren was on him. In one swift movement, Ren's foot came down, pinning Joon's chest to the ground with an almost lazy force.

"You're not worth my time," Ren said coldly. His foot pressed down harder, and Joon let out a strangled gasp.

For a moment, I thought Ren might crush him entirely. The silence that hung in the air was oppressive. No one dared move or speak. Then, with a dismissive flick of his wrist, Ren stepped back, turning his gaze to the elders.

The elder overseeing the match raised his hand, his voice ringing out with finality. "Ren Ma is victorious."

There was no applause. Only a quiet murmur that spread through the courtyard like a ripple. The crowd, once eagerly awaiting the match, now seemed subdued, their excitement dulled by Ren's absolute dominance. He hadn't even broken a sweat.

I watched as Ren stepped down from the platform, his expression unreadable. His eyes flickered briefly in my direction, and I felt the weight of his gaze. He didn't see me as a threat—none of them did. But that would change. I wasn't ready to face Ren yet, but I would be.

The elder's voice broke through my thoughts, announcing the next match. "Jin Ma, the bastard son, will face Seon Ma, the strategist of the Dark Clan."

The words sent a thrill of excitement through the crowd, but for me, they felt like a challenge. I stood from my seat, my eyes locking onto Seon Ma's across the courtyard. He stood with a calm confidence, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. Seon wasn't like the others. He didn't rely on brute strength or overwhelming power. He fought with his mind, always three steps ahead of his opponent.

I clenched my fists, the weight of the upcoming battle settling in my chest. This wouldn't be like the fight with Dae Ma. Seon Ma was different. He would be a true test of everything I had learned.

A week. That's how long I had until our match. One week to prepare, to train, to sharpen my skills. I couldn't afford to waste a single moment.

As I turned to leave the courtyard, I could still feel the eyes of the other disciples on me. Some were filled with contempt, others with curiosity. But none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was the battle ahead.

In a week's time, I would face Seon Ma on that same platform. And no matter the outcome, I would make sure the Dark Clan remembered my name.