Martial Arts: My talent multiplier increased

Day two.

Fang Yuan and Tie Meng proceeded along the eastern edge of the underground forest. The cold light from the dome returned to its normal brightness, and the bluish-white light pierced through the sparse canopy, cutting out patches of alternating light and shadow on the gray-white ground.

Fang Qi and Fang Zheng walked ten paces behind. After a full day of trekking yesterday, their steps were much steadyer than when they set off. Fang Qi remained silent, but he began to follow in Fang Yuan's footsteps. Fang Zheng, on the other hand, habitually rested his right hand on the hilt of his dagger, his thumb braced against the guard, ready to draw it at any moment.

Tie Meng walked half a step to Fang Yuan's right. The wound on his right shoulder had stopped bleeding thanks to the Qi and Blood Pill, but the range of motion in his joint was limited. He would occasionally use his left hand to support the iron arm guard, as the dents from the impact were making his forearm uncomfortable.

Fang Yuan's doubled divine soul perception network remained at its maximum radius of thirty zhang. The surrounding information flow was like an invisible net, ensnaring the four of them on their journey, imprinting the location of every tree, every stone, and every crack in the ground in his mind.

We walked for about 15 minutes.

The ground began to shake.

It wasn't the localized tremor of a moving monster. It was a dull, rhythmic shockwave that came up from deep underground, passing through the soles of the boots and reaching the soles of the feet.

Fang Yuan stopped.

Tie Meng stopped in his tracks. His expression changed in an instant. It wasn't fear. It was something more complex, something suppressed deep within him, that suddenly surged to the surface.

He recognized the rhythm.

"It's him." Tie Meng's voice squeezed out from his chest, deep and resonant like a drumbeat.

Fang Yuan did not respond. He listened intently for a couple of breaths.

The vibration frequency is uneven. The first vibration is heavy, the second is light, and the third is extremely heavy. The intervals fluctuate between one and two breaths.

It wasn't footsteps. It was blows.

There's a fight going on over there.

Fang Yuan raised his hand and pointed to the left front.

The four people changed direction and circled around the epicenter along a path mostly obscured by fallen dead trees.

Fang Yuan chose a route that followed a low rock ridge. The ridge wasn't high, just enough to barely conceal a person's figure. After walking about three hundred paces, the terrain changed. At the end of the ridge was a natural observation platform, more than ten zhang (approximately 33 meters) above the valley floor. The platform was small, covered with grayish-green moss and low shrubs.

Fang Yuan was the first to go up. He supported himself on all fours, moving forward along the moss-covered surface until he reached the edge of the platform.

The image below has been displayed.

It was a valley, more than three times wider than the valley where we had encountered the burly man yesterday. One side of the valley floor was piled with a large amount of collapsed rubble, while the other side was a clearing where more than a dozen large trees had been felled.

The break in the tree trunk was extremely brutal. It wasn't a clean cut like one made with a knife or axe. It was as if it had been smashed by a heavy force. The wood fibers at the break were bursting outwards, as if it had been stretched open from the inside.

A person was standing in the very center of the valley.

Fang Yuan's pupils contracted.

It wasn't because he saw anything terrifying. It was because his twice-strong spiritual perception encountered a physical resistance when it came into contact with the fluctuations of qi and blood within that person.

It felt like putting your hand into boiling water.

thick.

weight.

Shen.

The concentration of that vital energy signal far exceeded that of anyone Fang Yuan had ever seen in Liangshui City. Fang Yuanshan's vital energy was like a heavy iron wall before him. This person's vital energy—

It's not a wall.

It is a geological stratum.

Fang Yuan's mind retrieved the text from page thirty-seven of the intelligence booklet.

Shi Potian. Real name Zhou Tieshan. Eighteen years old. The eldest son of the Zhou family in Blackstone City. Peak late-stage Bone Refining Realm.

The word "peak" was highlighted in red in the intelligence booklet. Fang Yuan initially thought it was an exaggeration.

Now he knows it's not true.

The man stood shirtless at the bottom of the valley.

He is nearly nine feet tall.

In Liangshui City, this height would place him a full head taller than any adult martial artist on the Fang Family Martial Arts Hall's training platform. His shoulder width was almost twice that of Fang Yuan. The circumference of his arms was a full circle thicker than Tie Meng's thighs.

But he's not just bloated.

There wasn't an ounce of excess fat on his body. His muscles were incredibly defined; from his neck to his waist and abdomen, the shape and direction of each muscle group were clearly visible beneath his skin. His pectoralis major was nearly three inches thick. His latissimus dorsi muscles extended outwards from both sides of his spine, forming an isosceles triangle around his upper body.

What caught Fang Yuan's attention most was not the muscles.

It's skin.

Shi Potian's skin was covered with faintly visible lines. They weren't tattoos or scars. The lines started at his shoulder blades, extended down along both sides of his spine, branched out, spread out, and disappeared only at his waist.

The texture of the veins is grayish-white, somewhere between stone and bone. Under the cold light of the dome, the veins faintly gleam with an unnatural metallic sheen.

The double comprehension was matched within 0.5 breaths.

Earth-rank cultivation technique.

Rift Mountain Fist.

The intelligence booklet contained only four words of evaluation: "Power has reached its limit."

Fang Yuan now saw the physical manifestation of those four characters.

Three people stood in front of Shi Potian.

A standard short coat, greyish-white, with a subtle pattern embroidered on the collar. The standard uniform of Yunyan City.

The three young martial artists formed an irregular triangle, about two steps apart. This formation clearly indicated a coordinated attack, but the angles weren't tight enough, suggesting their coordination was still developing.

The one at the very front was clutching a short gun. The barrel trembled slightly.

His hands were shaking.

Fang Yuan could understand why he was trembling. Because at least seven or eight fist-sized craters, each more than half a foot deep, had been left on the ground at the bottom of the valley. The edges of each crater were cracked with a spiderweb-like pattern.

Gravel and sawdust were scattered all over the ground.

Shi Potian did not look at the three people.

To be precise, his gaze was never focused on any one person from beginning to end. That posture wasn't contempt; it was something more fundamental—a lack of need for attention. Like an adult who doesn't need to take three ants seriously.

He took a step.

It was an extremely ordinary step. There was no running start, no preparatory movement involving shifting the center of gravity forward.

But when his foot landed, Fang Yuan felt the observation platform beneath his feet resonating.

There was a height difference of over ten zhang (approximately 33 meters). Even from such a distance, the vibrations of that person's footsteps could still be heard.

The ground at the bottom of the valley shattered beneath Shi Potian's feet. It wasn't just a single footprint; cracks radiated outwards from the point of his foot, covering an area of ​​over ten feet.

The three Yunyan City warriors' formation instantly collapsed.

The one at the front with the gun staggered back a step—the ground was shaking, and he couldn't stand steadily.

Shi Potian raised his right fist.

Fang Yuan's entire attention was focused on that fist. His doubled comprehension was like a high-speed disassembly machine, breaking down every aspect of the punch into fragments for analysis in a fraction of a second.

There was no power buildup.

They lack any sense of style.

There is no shift in center of gravity or muscle contraction that any martial artist in the Bone Refining or Flesh Refining realm must experience before throwing a punch.

Raise your fist from the side of your body to chest height, then thrust it forward.

push.