Martial Arts: My talent multiplier increased

Option 1: Stop. Stick firmly to the wall and don't move. Wait until the beast's attention is drawn to something else before continuing.

No. The ferocious beast is struggling to break free; time is not on its side.

Option 2: Accelerate. Abandon the spiral-shaped route and sprint in a straight line.

No. The wall surface above 30 zhang (approximately 13 meters) enters a smooth zone. There aren't enough gripping points to support the sprint speed.

Both options were rejected.

The beast's massive skull was slowly turning. The scales on either side of its mouth parted slightly. It was a sign that it was about to unleash its breath.

Fang Yuan's throat was so dry it felt like he had swallowed a handful of sand.

The bottom of the cave.

A thunderous roar erupted from the gravel ground.

Tie Meng.

The mercenary, covered in blood and with his iron arm guards dented and battered, stood less than five zhang from the edge of the crevice. His legs were spread apart, and his knees were bent low. His vital energy surged from his dantian, not gathering in his fists, nor being channeled into his martial arts techniques.

It is a pure, unreserved outburst that blasts all the body's energy and blood out of the body at once.

Qi and blood shockwave.

It had no lethal force. Tie Meng's cultivation level wasn't high enough to maintain his offensive capabilities after his vital energy left his body. But that shockwave carried the full life force signal of a late-stage Bone Refining Realm martial artist, so intense it was like a boulder thrown into a pond.

The beast's attention was blasted back to the ground.

Two dark golden flames retreated from the north wall of the dome and slammed into Tie Meng.

Tie Meng's knees bent half an inch. The life suppression from the Qi and Blood Realm caused all the meridians in his body to spasm. But his mouth was grinning, revealing a set of white teeth covered in blood foam.

Fang Yuan got the window.

He didn't waste a single shard of that window.

The four-fold stance training was fully activated. All 120 major muscle groups in the body entered peak contraction at the same instant. The right hand was pulled out of the crack, and the left hand took over and gripped a finger-knuckle-deep indentation above. The feet alternately pushed off, with the precision of the landing point controlled to the millimeter.

Thirty zhang (approximately 33 meters).

The wall surface began to become slippery.

Fang Yuan drew a short knife from his waist with his right hand. The tip of the knife plunged diagonally upwards into a crevice beneath the mineral membrane—the blade cut two inches in and locked in place. The instant his left hand detached from the wall, he had already located the next crack above.

The short knife became the anchor point.

Draw the sword, insert the sword, draw the sword, insert the sword.

The interval between each insertion and withdrawal is less than half a breath.

Thirty-five feet.

Forty feet.

The angle of the wall begins to narrow inward.

Fang Yuan's body changed from being pressed against the wall to leaning outwards. The force on his arms tripled—no longer supporting his weight, but suspending it.

The forearm muscles, honed to four times their original strength, began to send warning signals. The burning sensation of lactic acid spread from the elbow to the shoulder blade. Two abrasions appeared on the skin of the knuckles, bleeding along with the previously torn nails.

Fang Yuan clenched his teeth tightly.

The pressure between the molars was so great that the temporalis muscle twitched twice.

Fang Ying.

That name resurfaced from the deepest recesses of my mind. It wasn't something I consciously thought of. It was as my body approached its limits, some kind of instinct pushing my most fundamental instincts to the forefront.

Five years old. I would move a small stool to the yard and sit watching others practice horse stance. After watching, I would go back and draw. All my drawings were of people practicing martial arts.

Fang Yuan's fingers dug into the cracks in the dome's rock.

Forty-five feet.

My arm is shaking. Not just a slight tremor—the whole bone is vibrating. The muscle fibers can't keep up with the rate of energy expenditure.

However, Fang Yuan did not lose his balance.

The four-times-strength stance training was squeezed out of its true limit in that instant. It wasn't about precision or stability—it was about using fine-tuning of nerve signals to compensate for the loss of strength on the verge of muscular system collapse.

The dwell time at each attachment point was reduced from half a breath to one-third of a breath.

The longer you stay still, the greater the burden on your arms. Only by constantly moving can different muscle groups take turns bearing the load.

Forty-eight feet.

Forty-nine feet.

The ore was just two feet above our heads.

A dim, golden light shone on Fang Yuan's face. Beads of sweat and blood mingled and dripped from the tip of his chin.

The roar of a ferocious beast came from below.

Iron Fierce's bait wasn't enough. The ferocious beast locked onto the dome again.

Fang Yuan did not look back.

He loosened his grip on the dagger.

The knife remained on the wall. His right hand, freed, spread its fingers and slapped the shifted ore.

The moment the palm touches the surface of the mineral—

weight.

It wasn't the "weight" of 300 jin. The ore was embedded at the edge of the slot, and the friction between the bottom and the slot wall, combined with the weight of the ore itself, created a resistance that exceeded the maximum thrust that Fang Yuan's arms could deliver at that moment.

It can't be pushed.

Fang Yuan pressed his palm against the ore, his arm muscles bulging to the point that his skin turned red.

It can't be pushed.

It can't be pushed with normal force.

The beast opened its mouth. A thick, dark golden mist condensed between its teeth.

Fang Yuan's mind was cleared of all distractions in that instant.

Take over with twice the comprehension.

Stacked Wave Fist.

The core of boxing is not power. It is the way power is transmitted—layered penetration, layer by layer.

Fang Yuan's right palm was pressed against the surface of the ore, and the muscles in his palm contracted according to the power generation structure of the first move of the Overlapping Wave Fist.

First stage. Power is poured into the ore from the base of the palm. Not pushing, but seeping. The force penetrates the crystalline structure of the ore's surface, creating a unidirectional stress field within.

The ore remained unmoved.

The second layer. Qi and blood flow in through the channels of physical force. The two forces overlap inside the ore.

Vibration. The coefficient of friction between the ore and the slot wall is weakened by vibration.

Two inches. The ore slipped two inches.

Not enough. The offset is one foot. It's still eight inches short.

The beast's breath was fully charged. The dark golden mist was compressed to its critical density within its gigantic maw.

Fang Yuan pulled his right hand back an inch and slapped it again.

The third level.

Boxing intention.

It's not about maintaining a stable output of 70%. It's about channeling all remaining energy, muscle strength, and mental power into a single point.

A very soft thud came from the palm of his hand.

The ore slid violently in the slot.

Five inches.

Eight inches.

one foot.

"Click."

The crisp sound was deeper, richer, and longer than the previous two.

All the ore on the dome exploded and lit up at the same moment.

The dark golden beam of light did not come from a single direction—it erupted simultaneously from six main lines, converging in the center of the cave to form a giant beam of light with a diameter of over three zhang (approximately 10 meters).

The beam of light struck the very center of the beast's spine.

The beast's fully charged breath was deflected by the impact of the beam of light piercing its body. Dark golden mist poured out from the giant mouth, without direction or focus, scattering across the north wall of the cave and burning through a large section of rock.

The rubble exploded from a position two zhang directly above Fang Yuan.

A wave of heat hit us.

Fang Yuan's face felt hot and tight from the heat.

His hand slipped off the ore.

It wasn't a voluntary release. It was that after pushing through the third overlapping wave punch, all the muscle groups in my right arm, from the shoulder joint to the fingertips, simultaneously went on strike.

The body detached from the dome.