Chapter 580: Meeting Zinnia Once Again

The young man’s expression didn’t change.

He tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing just a little.

“I’m in a bit of a hurry,” he said quietly. “Why don’t you just call Zinnia out or let me go in? I know she’s in there.”

His tone was calm, but something in his voice carried a weight that made the instructor pause for a brief second. The courtyard fell oddly still.

The instructor blinked, half amused and half uncertain, before chuckling again. “Heh, you sure talk big, boy. What are you, her old friend or something?”

The young man smiled faintly. “Something like that,” he said.

The instructor’s face tightened. He took a step forward, chest puffing out like a man ready to fight for honor. “Boy, show some respect,” he snapped.

“Master Zinnia is older than me. And you dare call her your friend? The young ones today don’t even know how to bow to their elders. Fine — I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t forget.”

He dropped into a fighting stance without another word. His hands were steady, his feet rooted to the ground. The students fell silent.

“I assume you’re a Bronze Body martial artist trying your luck to meet Master Zinnia,” the instructor said, his voice hard.

“I’ll limit my strength to the Bronze Body realm to give you a real chance. If you can land a single clean punch on me in three tries, I will arrange the meeting with Master Zinnia. Fail, and you go back from where you came.” His eyes narrowed, sharp as knives.

The young man sighed once, very soft. “You don’t have to hold back,” he said calmly.

He let a thin, silvery light run along his skin. It moved like smoke, then settled into a soft glow around his limbs. The air around him felt colder for a breath or two. The students gasped. The instructor froze mid-breath.

The young man was mysterious in that his aura didn’t allow for anyone to guess his martial powers. It was as if he was a commoner if one were to only look at his seemingly frail body. However, the silver Qi proved he was an Argent Body martial artist. For someone so young, that was rare. Even among the veteran teachers, few had seen a youth reach that level so early.

“No…. no way! That boy is already an Argent martial artist?”

“How… How can it be? Is he from some well-known martial family?”

“Martial family? What is he doing here?”

Murmurs rippled through the courtyard. Some students stepped back, fear and awe mixing on their faces. Others leaned forward, hungry to see how it would play out. The instructor’s jaw tightened. Pride and anger warred in him.

‘Damn it. I just wanted to show off in front of my students. I also wanted to bully a brat because it’s fun. How did it turn into this?’

He thought quickly. Maybe the boy had reached Argent Body by swallowing rare pills, or by drawing on family wealth and outside help. Maybe he had not seen much real fighting.

The instructor, who had fought for years and had scars to show it, felt a sudden surge of dislike for such “gifted” young masters. He did not like the idea of the rich buying power and stepping into the world without earning it.

Still, he was not a fool. He could not pretend he had not seen the silver Qi. He had to change his plan. A slow smile crept across his face, cutting the tension.

“Well then,” he said loud enough for everyone to hear, the edge in his voice gone and replaced by a rough laugh. “Since you’re Argent Body, we’ll fight without limits. Show me what your Argent can do.”

He pushed off and assumed a more serious stance, the kind that spoke of real experience. The courtyard went very quiet. Even the birds seemed to hold their song.

‘I might as well go all out from the start to settle this quickly.’

The instructor took a deep breath, his muscles tightening like coiled steel. The young man stood calmly, hands relaxed by his sides, his expression unreadable.

“Since you’re so confident,” the instructor said, his voice low but firm, “I’ll make the first move.”

Even though the instructor was indeed seeking vainglory in front of his students, he was not foolish. He had stopped underestimating the young man after seeing his martial powers. As such, he changed the rules of the challenge subtly to give himself an advantage without sounding like he was being cautious.

The young man gave a faint nod. “Go ahead.” It seemed he either didn’t notice the instructor’s sly tactics or he just didn’t care.

Without hesitation, the instructor’s foot struck the ground, cracking the dirt beneath it. He shot forward like an arrow, his fists blurring as he launched a barrage of strikes aimed at the young man’s chest and shoulders.

Swoosh. Swoosh. Swoosh.

Each blow was heavy, backed by years of disciplined training and refined muscle control.

The young man didn’t even flinch. His body shifted just enough for each strike to graze past harmlessly. When a punch came close, he raised a single arm to block it. The sound of the impact echoed through the courtyard—thud—but his stance didn’t move an inch.

The instructor gritted his teeth and changed tactics, mixing his fist strikes with swift kicks and rapid steps. His Qi flared, coating his fists in a silvery hue as he moved through the patterns of his technique. His footwork grew faster, lighter, and he darted around the young man in a blur, looking for an opening.

The young man followed every move effortlessly. His eyes remained calm, almost bored. His feet glided across the ground, each step measured and sure. He turned slightly, lifted his hand, and parried strike after strike as if brushing away falling leaves.

The two exchanged blows at a speed that left the younger students wide-eyed. Qi ripples spread with each impact, and dust began to swirl around them.

Yet, even as the instructor poured more power into his strikes, his opponent’s breathing didn’t change. The young man’s movements remained simple—minimal effort, maximum precision.

After a while, it became clear to everyone watching. The instructor was fighting with everything he had, his face flushed, his fists trembling slightly from the strain.

The young man, on the other hand, looked as if he were merely studying the fight rather than taking part in it.

Finally, the instructor took a step back and shouted, pushing his Qi to its peak. “Take this!” He lunged in with a full-force strike aimed at the young man’s chest.

But before the punch could land, the young man sighed softly. “I think I’ve studied your martial arts enough,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “Time to end this.”

In the next instant, the time seemed to have slowed down for the instructor, which felt like a torture to him because he couldn’t do anything to stop the incoming attack.

The young man stepped forward, twisting his body slightly as his silver Qi surged. His fist moved in a smooth arc, clean and controlled. There was no wasted motion, no sign of strain—just perfect form.

His punch connected squarely with the instructor’s abdomen.

Swoosh. Zoom. Boom.

The sound was like thunder.

The instructor’s eyes widened in shock as the force lifted him off his feet. He flew backward several meters before crashing into the ground with a dull thud. The courtyard went silent.

Dust settled slowly. The instructor lay motionless, unconscious but breathing.

“Oops! I guess he fainted. Who will take me to Zinnia now?”

The young man muttered to himself and lowered his hand and exhaled softly, the silver glow around him fading away. He glanced around at the stunned faces of the students before saying, in a calm tone, “I didn’t mean to hurt him too much. He’ll wake up soon.”

No one spoke. They could only stare, realizing that what they had just seen was not a contest between equals—it was a demonstration of absolute control and overwhelming strength.

The young man then turned his gaze toward the two-story building where Zinnia had gone earlier and said quietly, “Now then… shall we talk?”

A sudden gust of wind swept through the courtyard, scattering the dust still hanging in the air from the earlier fight. The students flinched and turned toward the sound of quick, firm footsteps.

Before anyone could react, a figure appeared between the young man and the fallen instructor—her movement so fast that it seemed like she had simply materialized there.

It was Zinnia.

Her eyes burned with sharp, silvery light. A dense aura surrounded her, pressing against everyone like a heavy storm. The air trembled slightly as her Qi surged—thick, refined, and unmistakably powerful.

The students stumbled back, gasping as they felt the crushing weight of her presence.

Zinnia’s gaze locked onto the young man, cold and fierce. Her hand hovered near her weapon, her stance ready to strike at any moment.

“Who are you, boy?” she demanded, her voice calm but edged with killing intent. “Were you sent here by those wretched old bastards?”