anwhile, in a different part of the Empire, a place with no one in sight and nothing but grasslands and a few sparse mountains.
There were no roads.
No markers.
No watchers.
Only long stretches of wild land, wind rolling across the plains like waves on a quiet sea.
And in the middle of that endless emptiness, two figures stood facing each other.
Neither spoke.
Neither moved.
The wind picked up slightly.
Their robes shifted, but their feet stayed planted as they looked at each other with calm faces. Their eyes showed a look of challenge and a desire to fight it out.
These were the first two cultivators in the Empire to reach the Voidbreak realm without outside assistance.
Born from effort.
Raised by the new generation.
Both of them had chosen this place for one reason only: to fight.
To test what their new realm really ant.
To see how far they could go.
The man on the left had short, dark hair, tied back roughly with a piece of cloth. He wore plain combat robes with no crest or markings.
His stance was balanced, one foot slightly forward, eyes locked on his opponent.
The other stood calmly, arms relaxed at his sides. His clothes were even simpler—bare brown robes tied at the waist with a rope belt. He didn’t blink.
They had co here without words.
And now, they began without warning.
The man in the brown robes moved first.
He shifted his fra forward as if he was ready to run towards the other man, but just vanished instead.
And if soone else were with a similar strength and were watching this fight, they would notice that the man did not disappear from running fast enough, but from using space powers.
A flicker of distortion rippled through the air, and then he reappeared behind his opponent with a palm strike aid directly at the back.
The first man reacted instantly, twisting at the waist and catching the strike with his forearm.
The force rippled through the ground.
The shockwave flattened the nearby grass.
Without pause, the defender countered with a low kick.
The attacker jumped, flipped mid-air, and ca down with both fists wrapped in glowing spirit energy.
The ground cracked where he landed.
The other cultivator dodged to the side, dragging his hand through the air and forming a blade of condensed qi.
He slashed upward.
The attacker blocked with his forearm, spun backward, and raised a barrier of pure void essence. It shimred faintly, bending the light around it.
Another step. Another strike.
Their fists t again, harder this ti.
The sound echoed like thunder.
Grass was ripped from the dirt. Pebbles flew.
They didn’t stop.
One lunged with a sweep—fist to shoulder.
The other caught it, spun with the montum, and slamd an elbow toward the ribcage.
Blocked.
Twist.
Backstep.
Counterpunch.
Their movents were clean—sharp and controlled, but powerful.
This wasn’t just sparring.
They were testing each other at full strength.
Qi moved around them in spirals.
Every step carved shallow grooves into the dirt.
One cultivator ford five thin spikes of spiritual energy and launched them forward.
The other slid to the side and raised a hand, pulling a wall of compressed air in front of him.
The spikes hit.
Boom.
The wall held—barely—but the explosion forced him back two steps.
He didn’t stop.
With a shout, he slamd both hands into the ground.
A wave of spiritual force surged outward like a shockwave.
The earth cracked in a circle around him, rising and falling like a wave.
The second man jumped into the air, avoiding the blast, and threw a small silver talisman downward.
The talisman flared and exploded mid-drop, forming a gravity well that tried to pull his opponent upward.
But the first cultivator braced himself, drawing energy down into his legs.
He didn’t move.
Instead, he shot forward.
Straight into the air.
Both of them collided in mid-air, fists and knees and feet flying in all directions.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Each strike sent ripples through the clouds.
One landed a punch to the jaw.
The other kicked his opponent back into the ground.
He landed hard, but rolled and stood without a pause.
The air was hot now.
Not from fire—but from friction, energy, and movent.
They were creating their own battlefield.
And the land around them changed with every clash.
The second cultivator raised his right hand and ford a circle of light. Inside it, patterns spun—script etched with qi.
He thrust it forward.
Dozens of energy blades shot out in a wide arc.
The first cultivator dashed forward, weaving between them with barely a scratch, and slamd his palm into the circle itself, breaking it.
The impact rocked the sky.
Clouds shifted.
The wind changed direction.
Still, neither showed signs of fatigue.
They had trained too long for that.
One ford a spear out of water vapor pulled from the air, compressing it into a glowing point of blue.
The other turned his hand and summoned twin fans of fla, slashing forward and setting the grass behind him ablaze.
They clashed again.
Spear against fla.
Qi against qi.
They didn’t hold back.
And they didn’t stop.
Minutes passed. Maybe more.
Eventually, both stood a dozen paces apart again.
Their breathing was heavy now.
Sweat beaded on their foreheads.
Clothes were torn.
But neither looked ready to give up.
They nodded once.
And then moved again.
This ti, no extra techniques.
Just body against body.
Fist. Elbow. Palm. Knee.
Their feet struck the dirt.
Their arms moved like whips.
One caught the other in the stomach and drove him into the ground—but before he could follow up, he was kicked in the side and sent tumbling.
They both rose again.
Charging.
The wind howled.
Their shadows danced across the cracked grasslands.
Their fight continued, echoing across a land where no one could watch, no one could interfere.
Just two cultivators.
And a battle that would never be written in books.
But one that mattered all the sa.
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