A Faint smile tugged at the corners of Dustin's lips as he analyzed the shallow imprint left by his punch on the black stone tablet. The crowd murmured in astonishment.
Normal sixth-level body refinement practitioners could hardly scratch the tablet. To leave such a clear mark—this was something attainable only by those at the seventh level or beyond.
It meant only one thing: Dustin's strength was already comparable to a seventh-level martial artist.
But not everyone was delighted.
"Showing off martial skills, huh? What's the point of that? If you've got guts, try it for real!" Gavin Zhao mocked, his brows wrinkled tightly. It was clear Dustin's casual display had stolen his show, and he couldn't stomach it.
Dustin simply cast him an indifferent glance. "Why should I listen to you?"
"Tch, so you don't dare, huh? Typical. Showing off like you're someone unique, but no real ability." Gavin's tone dripped with arrogance.
Voices echoed in agreement:
"Yeah! Probably learned some fancy move somewhere and thinks he's invincible."
"Martial skills aren't everything. Some people know one trick and can't stop flaunting it—disgusting."
Dustin chuckled softly. These Martial Hall students… their logic was laughable at best, pathetic at worst.
"What the hell are you laughing at?" Gavin's face darkened.
Dustin's eyes swept over them, cool and contemptuous. "Laughing at how self-important you all are. Eyes fixed above your heads, mocking others simply because you lack the ability yourselves."
"Presumptuous!" Gavin's expression turned icy. His inner energy flared, and the pressure of a sixth-level body refiner descended on the courtyard like a heavy blanket. Some nearby students flinched instinctively.
But Dustin stood firm, unfazed, his inner energy radiating subtly. Though less forceful, it carried an unshakable coolness.
"The fifth level of body refinement?" someone whispered.
"Didn't he just hit fourth level last month?"
"More than that! I heard he shot from second to fourth level in a matter of days. It's only been a month, and now he's fifth-level? This guy's out to show off."
Dustin ignored the discussion. He'd initially come to practice his Dragon Tiger Fist, but this pack of barking dogs had soured his mood.
"Word is, Jude Zhang wanted to cripple you last time," Gavin sneered, stepping forward, voice brimming with disdain. "Too bad Mrs. Lu saved your skin. Otherwise, you'd be begging in the gutter by now."
He narrowed his eyes. "Since you like talking big, let's gamble. Or are you too scared?"
Dustin's gaze sharpened. "Gamble on what?"
Gavin pointed at the black stone tablet, smirking. "Simple. Let's see who leaves a deeper mark. You think you're something special, don't you? Well, prove it."
The crowd quickly caught on.
"Yeah! Let's see if he can back up all that posturing!"
"He beats a couple of intermediate students and thinks he's a dragon already? Let's watch him fall flat!"
Dustin could've walked away. But he knew better—if he declined, these predators would spread the word far and wide, turning the narrative however they pleased.
His eyes glinted coldly. "Alright. How do you want to wager?"
Gavin's expression twisted smugly. "Since you're nothing but a poor kid, you probably can't afford to put up anything valuable. So, how about this—whoever loses kowtows and admits fault publicly?"
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
Everyone could see Gavin was confident. A sixth-level body refiner, backed by third-rank martial arts, and hailing from a powerful family—he had every reason to believe victory was in his grasp.
Dustin, by contrast, was a nobody from a common background. Surely, this bet would end in humiliation.
The number of spectators increased. Martial Hall students smelled blood and gathered like sharks sensing prey.
Dustin narrowed his eyes. If he forfeited… he would never lift his head again in this hall.
But the sneer remained on his face. He was done playing politely.
"Fine. I accept."
Gavin blinked, shortly surprised by how easily Dustin agreed. Then his smirk returned. "You're dead meat, kid."
With a shout, he gathered his inner qi, his fists glowing faintly. "Watch closely! Luo Guang Fist!"
His punch hit the stone tablet like thunder, a bottomless, distinct fist mark emerging.
The crowd erupted.
"Did you see that? His inner qi emitted light! That's the mark of someone nearly seventh-level!"
"Gavin Zhoa's talent is terrifying. He's destined for the advanced class!"
Pride flashed in Gavin's eyes as he strode back, folding his arms. "Your turn. Don't disappoint me, Dustin."
Two fist marks now adorned the tablet—one from Dustin earlier, and one from Gavin's all-out punch. Gavin's mark sank deeper.
Dustin said nothing. No need for words now. Only strength could answer.
He took a deep breath, his posture steady.
"Tiger Style."
With a low growl, he sprang forward, his movement fluid, like a tiger descending from the mountains. His fist lashed out, wind swirling as it connected.
A hush fell.
Dust cleared.
Gasps rang out.
"This… is this real?!"
The imprint wasn't just deeper—it was sharp and ferocious. It took the shape of a tiger's roaring maw, lifelike and vicious.
"By the heavens! It's the Tiger Head Form!"
"Isn't Dragon Tiger Fist a second-rank martial art? How did he master it to this level?!"
Even those who moments ago taunted Dustin now stared with slack jaws, shock gleaming in their eyes.
Gavin's face drained of color. No matter how he looked, the imprint he left paled in comparison to Dustin's.
"It's impossible…" Gavin's lips trembled. He felt as though the world was spinning.
Dustin turned toward him, voice flat, cold. "Well, Gavin Zhoa, ready to kneel and admit your mistake?"
The crowd fell silent, eyes glancing between the two.
Everyone knew—this game was over.
Gavin's fists clenched. Embarrassment surged in his chest. If he knelt now, it wouldn't just be today's shame; it would follow him for years.
His lips curled into a snarl. "Don't go too far, boy."
Dustin's gaze pointed. "You suggested the bet. What, attempting to back out now? Everyone here heard."
Some of Gavin's usual lackeys shouted in unison nervously.
"Come on, Dustin, no need to push it—"
"Yeah, we're all Martial Hall students, no need to ruin harmony."
Dustin swept his cold gaze over them. "Tell me—if I'd lost, would you be saying the same?"
Their expressions froze.
At that moment, Gavin snapped.
"Die!"
With a roar, he thrust, twin fists like intertwining pythons. Double Python Fist—swift, ruthless, and utterly dangerous.
But Dustin had been ready.
"Soaring Dragon Style!"
His body shot upward, a blur of motion. Arms unfurled like a dragon in flight. His fist collided with Gavin's mid-air, a thunderous boom echoing.
The sheer force shook the courtyard.
Gavin staggered, blood surging wildly. His arms screamed in pain—numb, useless.
Before he could react, Dustin was upon him.
"Kneel."
With a cold grunt, Dustin's palm slammed down on Gavin's forehead. His legs gave out, crashing to the ground with a sickening thud.
"A man who gambles must be prepared to lose," Dustin said flatly, pressing Gavin's head to the earth.
Another heavy crack as Gavin's forehead met the ground. Blood trickled down. His body shook before falling—unconscious, broken not just in the body, but in spirit.
The courtyard remained eerily silent, the crowd staring at Dustin as if seeing him for the first time.
From this day on, no one would dare call him weak.