Even Fenric had to admit it: the three commanders moved well together.
Commander Ding’s probing thrust flowed straight into Commander Wu’s aerial power‑cut, while Commander Chen’s arrow angled in to seal the retreat line. Against most "masters," that layered timing would land clean. Someone else would be eating floorboards right now.
But Fenric hadn’t been "most people" for a long time.
He watched the pattern form—measured, unhurried—and didn’t so much as shift his feet.
Up on the dais, GeneralShaw and Lin Mei exchanged a glance. He’s not moving? The General opened his mouth to warn—
But before he could,
Fenric’s left palm slid forward. A casual push.
Crack‑thump, thump, thump! Commander Ding’s snake‑spear lurched sideways as though struck by a battering ram. Commander Ding staggered three full steps before he muscled the haft back under control. He nearly lost his grip.
That bought zero time for Commander Wu’s overhand chop. The heavy saber was already coming down, full weight committed. Behind it, the thwick of bowstring—Commander Chen’s arrow whistling in.
Fenric’s expression never changed.
His right hand curled. Armament Haki
He punched—straight into the falling saber.
"No!" General Shaw barked, but it’s too late to stop the collision.
Boom!
Steel screamed. The saber’s edge exploded in mid‑air, the saber cleaving apart in a shower of sparks. Fragments rang across stone.
Fear rippled through the ranks.
Before shock could reach Commander Wu’s eyes, Fenric opened his fist into a palm and tapped the broad‑shouldered Tiger Commander in the chest. Commander Wu flew backward, armor clanging, and hit hard—but alive. Mercy, delivered like thunder.
The arrow arrived.
Fenric didn’t hurry. His mind power snared the shaft mid‑flight; it stalled in the air just long enough for his left hand to close casually around the shaft.
Empty‑hand arrow catch.
The hall’s breath caught with it.
Then he flicked his wrist and sent the same arrow whipping back across the floor. Guided by that invisible thread, it rang off Commander Chen’s helmet, snapping the chin strap and spinning the helm off instead of skewering the man beneath.
Had he aimed for the brow, it would have punched through. Everyone knew it.
Silence. Then Awe.
When the last scrap of broken steel clattered still, no one spoke. Hundreds of eyes fixed on the young stranger.
God of War. The thought passed through the hall like wind through banners.
Lin Mei stared openly now. She’d seen men who were brave, men who were skilled—but never this. Raw power, precision control, and restraint in the same breath. He had killed no one when killing would have been easy.
"Good!" General Shaw’s shout shattered the hush. He stepped forward and cupped his fists. "Unparalleled Warrior. On behalf of these three commanders, this general offers an apology to the warrior!"
No one protested. Who would dare grumble in front of a man who could shatter a war blade with his knuckles?
Fenric waved off the formality. "General, you honor me." The old soldier had treated him fairly; no need to grind faces.
General Shaw laughed, tension breaking. "I heard you slaughter seven taotie alone and doubted the tale. Now I believe."
Commander Wu—still winded, eyes wide—blurted, "Warrior... how did you break my saber with your fist?"
He knew: that punch, unpulled, would have caved his chest. Gratitude and awe tangled in his expression.
Fenric’s answer was smooth as he lied without batting an eye. "An inherited art. Cultivated to the point of imperviousness."
"Ancestral art..." Commander Wu murmured, clearly hooked. Then, impulsively, "Warrior, would you take me as a disciple?"
"Insolent!" General Shaw snapped. Asking to learn a guarded lineage so bluntly? Outrageous.
Fenric let it roll and smiled. "Family rules. Not taught outside the clan."
Commander Wu deflated—but the respect in his eyes only deepened.
Commander Chen of the Eagle Army stooped to retrieve his helmet, then straightened and bowed from the waist. "Mighty Warrior, another day—permit me to exchange archery with you."
Still a sliver of competitive pride there; he hadn’t forgotten that returning arrow ringing his helm.
Fenric grinned. With mind power guiding a shaft? "Gladly."
"May I know the hero’s full name?" someone asked.
Fenric chose his wording with care. "Surname Fenric. One single given name." Nothing more; no courtesy name, no clan origin—nothing to trace.
Around the hall, shoulders eased. Laughter broke out in low, relieved waves. Tension dissolved into admiration. Where moments ago blades had half‑drawn, men now clapped forearms and traded nods.
He had strode into the Great Wall’s command hall a stranger in torn, "barbarian" garb.
He stood now accepted—respected—because he let strength speak. One punch, one palm, one caught arrow had done what explanations never could.