Challenge!

The ritual Harry had acquired was called 'Assimilation'. Unlike conventional training methods, this ancient practice focused on using blood sacrifice to strengthen a fighter's body. Through the ritual, the flesh and blood of the sacrifice would be transformed into pure life force, then absorbed to temper and enhance the practitioner's physical form.

Harry's brow furrowed as he reviewed the details of the ritual in his mind. The results it promised were extraordinary, far surpassing any normal training regimen. The greater the quality and quantity of the sacrifices, the more profound the effects. In theory, 'Assimilation' could allow even an ordinary person to reach the level of a seasoned fighter in a short span of time.

"There's no limit…" he whispered to himself, intrigued and cautious. If enough sacrifices were gathered, a person could, at least theoretically, grow endlessly stronger. But such a method couldn't be without consequence. There 'had' to be an upper limit, an unseen danger to balance its incredible promise. Otherwise, such power would have reshaped the world long ago.

Harry's thoughts were interrupted by George's voice calling out from ahead.

"Zack! How's it going back there?" George and Henry were standing near the altar, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. The rain of golden light that had engulfed the chamber was gone, leaving the ruins in a heavy silence. The inheritance had concluded, and both men were eager to know what Harry had gained.

Harry walked toward them, tucking the key back into his coat. He met their expectant gazes with a neutral expression. "I gained something," he said casually. "A complete training method."

The simplicity of his statement belied the weight of his discovery. Both George and Henry straightened, their eyes lighting up with excitement.

"A complete training method?" Henry exclaimed, his voice rising with enthusiasm. "That's incredible! Do you realize how rare that is? Most methods we find are fragments, incomplete pieces that require months or years to decipher!"

George meanwhile, looked at Harry with a mixture of hesitation and hope. Harry noticed the shift in his expression and, with a faint smile, spoke before George could. "Don't worry, brother. When we're back, I'll copy the method for you."

George's face lit up, but Harry raised a hand, his smile sharpening. "But it won't be free."

George's excitement faltered for a moment. "I… I understand," he said quickly. "I still have some savings from past commissions. I'll make sure it's enough to compensate you."

Satisfied, Harry nodded. Then Henry spoke up, his tone eager but calculated. "Would you consider making a copy for me as well? I can offer you something substantial; twenty bottles of body-building potion."

Harry's brow lifted at the offer. The body-building potion was a rare commodity, known for enhancing strength and stamina over time. It was the kind of item that even seasoned fighters would covet. He glanced at Henry, amused by the man's willingness to barter.

"Twenty bottles?" Harry asked, a hint of skepticism in his voice.

Henry nodded, his expression resolute. "Yes. I'm a scholar, not a fighter. This training method is invaluable to me, but the potions are an investment I'm willing to make."

Harry couldn't help but smirk. "Alright, you've got a deal." He chuckled quietly. "I didn't think this little inheritance would pay off so quickly."

Both George and Henry seemed pleased, though Harry made sure to add one more condition. "But you'll keep this quiet. No one else needs to know what we've uncovered here."

The two men nodded emphatically. "Of course," they agreed in unison.

With their plans settled, the trio decided to leave the ruins. The atmosphere had grown heavy, the silence pressing in on them like an unseen weight. Each man was eager to return to familiar surroundings and prepare for what came next.

Once outside, they exchanged parting words, agreeing on a time and place for the transactions. George and Henry departed quickly, their minds already occupied with their next steps. Harry, however, lingered for a moment, glancing back at the ruins. He felt a strange pull, a lingering sense of something unfinished.

Shaking off the feeling, he turned and began walking toward the Red Bird Martial Arts Dojo. The inheritance had left him with more questions than answers, and the training method begged for experimentation. If there was any place suited to test its potential, it was the martial arts hall.

But as he approached the dojo, he sensed something was off. The air was charged with tension, and as he stepped inside, the sight before him confirmed his suspicions.

The spacious arena at the heart of the dojo was alive with chaos. A fierce fight was unfolding, the sound of clashing weapons and grunts of exertion filling the air. A group of onlookers stood near the edges of the ring, their expressions a mix of frustration and helplessness.

In the center of the arena stood a young man, his powerful frame radiating confidence. He wielded a heavy blade with ease, laughing wildly as he dispatched his opponents one by one. His voice boomed across the hall, dripping with arrogance.

"Hahaha! Is this all the Red Bird Martial Dojo has to offer?" he taunted, kicking one of his fallen opponents aside. His eyes gleamed with malice as he scanned the crowd. "Come on! Is there no one left who can challenge me? Where is Steven? Tell your so-called master to face me!"

Harry's eyes narrowed as he took in the scene. The young man's presence was disruptive, his bravado grating. He glanced around the arena, noting the unease on the faces of the dojo's fighters. They were demoralized, clearly outmatched, and the challenger knew it.

Harry's hand drifted to the hilt of his sword. He didn't like bullies, especially not in his own dojo. With a calm, measured step, he moved toward the arena, his gaze locked on the laughing intruder.

"Well," Harry muttered under his breath, his lips curling into a faint smirk. "Looks like I'll get to test that training method sooner than I thought."

The man standing on the platform was in his early thirties, his physique radiating raw power. His muscles were as taut and defined as steel cables, and his sheer presence was as commanding as that of a tiger stalking its prey. The broad shoulders, solid stance, and fierce confidence in his eyes made it clear, this was no ordinary fighter.

Facing him were three elite fighters of the Red Bird Martial Arts Dojo, each of them experienced and formidable in their own right. Yet, as they stood across from this man, their faces were etched with tension, their bodies taut with the knowledge that they were up against an opponent unlike any they had faced before.

When the fight began, it was over in the blink of an eye.

The man attacked with the speed and power of a storm. His movements were fluid yet devastating, each strike carrying a force that seemed to defy human limits. The three elite fighters barely had time to react before they were sent flying like ragdolls, their bodies hitting the ground with a heavy 'thud'. Groans of pain filled the air as they struggled to rise, but it was clear, they were utterly outmatched.

"Is this the best the Red Bird Martial Arts Dojo has to offer?" the man sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. He crossed his arms and looked down at the fallen fighters as if they were insects beneath his feet. "If this is your so-called elite, you should all quit while you're ahead."

He turned his gaze to the crowd surrounding the arena, his voice booming. "I want Steven. Bring him out now! Or else…" He let the threat hang in the air, his meaning unmistakable.

A young woman stepped forward, her fiery eyes locking onto the man on the platform. Her name was Ellie, a senior student of the dojo and a trusted protégé of Steven. Her voice trembled with anger as she pointed at the man.

"Giroud, you know Master Steven is injured!" she shouted. "You've timed this on purpose, haven't you? You're nothing but a coward, taking advantage of his condition to challenge him!"

Giroud laughed, his deep voice echoing in the hall. "And what if I have?" he replied, his tone mocking. "I'm here, and Steven isn't. Either he faces me, or you all pack up and hand this place over to me. It's that simple."

Ellie's hands clenched into fists, her face flushed with fury. "You won't get away with this!"

Giroud smirked, shaking his head. "Get away with what? Look around, Ellie. Steven's not coming, and no one here is strong enough to stop me. You'd all be wise to clear out now. I'm being merciful; for now."

The crowd around the arena bristled with frustration and fear. They knew Giroud wasn't bluffing. He was a dojo Master-level fighter, a rival to Steven, and a constant thorn in the side of the Red Bird Martial Arts Dojo. His arrival now, while Steven was injured, was no coincidence. It was a calculated move to take the dojo by force. If Steven fought him in his weakened state, Giroud would likely kill him and take control of the dojo. But if Steven didn't appear, Giroud would claim victory by default and seize the arena anyway.

The mood was one of hopelessness, the tension in the air so thick it was almost suffocating.

Then, a quiet sigh broke the silence.

Giroud's smug grin faltered as he suddenly felt a strange pressure, a sense of danger prickling the back of his neck. He spun around, his voice sharp. "Who's there?"