I Refused To Be Reincarnated-Chapter 868: Extreme Yang vs. Utmost Yin

The shadow of Tragg’s massive silhouette drowned Adam. The orc’s half-moon axe whistled in a diagonal slash, the brutal trajectory reflected in Adam’s sky-blue eyes; it would split him from his left shoulder down to his right hip.

Adam slashed upward, meeting the crushing blow with his own axe. A shockwave blasted outwards, his legs slightly bending under the force of the impact. The clangor barely lasted for a heartbeat before the cheers of the crowd overwhelmed every other sound.

Tragg pressed down, thick veins pulsing like snakes beneath his taut skin. His tusks jutted out from pursed lips that leaked ferocious saliva. Adam’s legs bent a little more, his arms straining to resist the pressure driving both axes closer to his chest. Beneath his feet, hairline cracks began to spread across the rocks’ surface.

Adam’s eyes narrowed into slits. Compared to other magical beasts, orcs processed mana differently. Even now, he saw Tragg’s green skin devour the energy surrounding him before his body used it to fuel his muscles. Not an ounce leaked out or remained. No spells or fancy use. Only might in its purest form. In cultivation terms, they were body refiners seeking extreme yang to shatter any obstacles in their paths. That, coupled with their brutality, bows, and siege engines, made them adversaries most would want to avoid on a battlefield.

Of course, he could match Tragg’s strength by reinforcing his muscles with mana or by unsealing his qi. But somehow, feeling his body lose to an orc made him puff out his cheek.

It was a challenge. Not extreme yang, but all the yin, all the flexibility Tragg had ignored. He’d win with his body alone. He’d also prefer to keep his magic hidden, at least until he understood why mana avoided Zul’Rakhan and likely the other shamans.

The pressure grew unbearable. Tragg’s roars and spit, too. With a burst of strength, Adam shoved his axe up, barely a few centimeters. Decisively letting it go, he spun three steps to the right.

Tragg pressed against a sudden void in resistance, stumbling forward. Mid-spin, Adam watched the orc pass beside him, then lifted his palm. Every joint, every tendon was relaxed. It hung at his wrist like a boneless appendage. On his third fluid step, he slammed it like a whip on Tragg’s back.

SLAP

Tragg’s head jerked upward, his shoulders thrusting out, as if to shield his agonising muscles with his scapulae. Adam thought it was also to hide the bloody palm mark impressed in the middle of his back. After all, the crowd fell silent around him, whispering about disrespect and women’s strikes.

They should try it. Tragg hid it as best as he could, but his skin must be searing, the outlines of the fingers like lines of ants gnawing at his flesh.

He didn’t linger on his successful strike and moved out of his adversary’s counter-attack range. Using the distance, he whispered to Bao, who clung to his neck with one paw, and covered herself with his hair with the other.

"Watch, Bao. This is how you can use what I taught you and Quintella for three months."

"RAHH!" Tragg lunged with a bestial roar, his axe carving a silver line through the air.

Adam matched his charge. He ducked beneath the arms as if they were the metal bars Quintella used to refine her dodging skills. A step forward brought him to the orc’s waist. He hugged it, using it as a clutch to pivot. His hold around Tragg’s waist firmed, and, flexing his back backwards, he lifted the orc off his feet.

With a low grunt, he slammed his adversary to the ground headfirst, then let him go and spun a couple of steps back, left arm stretched before him, right close to his jaw, both hands open, the fingers curled above his palms.

He had seen Tragg tuck his chin to his chest just before the impact. Had he not, he would have had his head cracked open on the stones, blood and brain matter melding in a gory pool.

Just as the thought flickered, Tragg sat up. He massaged his neck, suppressing a growl of pain. But it was his eyes that caught Adam’s attention. The red pupils burned with the desire to shred him into pieces.

And this desire translated into action the very next second. The orc still lunged like a beast, but he tightened his movements. Not more broad swings, a single hand gripping his axe, the other clenched into a fist. He waited, his legs bulging as if his knee would shoot up if Adam tried to grab him again. Exceptional battle instincts and experience.

Adam had them too, and something more. Thousands of years of cultivators’ accumulated techniques, all dissected, combined, and perfected into a single one.

His reach was a formation of golden diagrams. The moment Tragg stepped inside, his axe cutting from waist to shoulder, Adam moved. He lifted his foot, then slammed it against the orc’s hand as it began its deadly arc. His tassets fluttered, his toes curling around the fist. With a soft nudge to the left, he deflected the axe, exposing his adversary’s torso.

Tragg swung his left fist; Adam guided it gently with his left palm. A green leg shot in a frustrated front kick to shatter his approach; he simply used it as a springboard with feline grace.

He leapt in front of Tragg’s face, his palms moving like the closing jaws of a beast. He struck from top to bottom, as he taught Bao and Quintella: temples, nose, chin, upper neck, throat, chest cavity, solar plexus, lower abdomen.

Muscles burst and bones snapped under his palms. The Corinthian helmet shattered into glistening shards.

Tragg tried to cleave Adam in half despite the pain. Before his axe even moved, blood sprayed from his nose. He lurched, puking blood and bile. Then, he collapsed on the mixed liquid, his back barely rising and falling with his hissing breath.

Of course, a resilient orc like him didn’t die. No qi to blast the organs from the inside. It hadn’t been Adam’s goal in the first place, or he would have smacked his ears, punctured his eyes, or crushed his windpipe, among others.

He had wanted to win with his body and what he considered his insufficient understanding of fighting, and doing so felt refreshing. Slightly enlightening, even, when he classified his moves into yin or yang. Somehow, he wanted to fight someone else—someone who would push him closer to his limits.

He shook his head, sighing as he observed the silent crowd. For a moment, he waited. Then, he frowned at Zul’Rakhan as he pointed at Tragg. "He won’t get back to his feet, you know? Could you declare me the winner?"

Zul’Rakhan’s features were obscured beneath his hood, but his voice held no warmth. "I see that. What are you waiting for?"

"Waiting for?" Adam tilted his head. Didn’t he just say exactly what?

Before he could continue, the crowd erupted into mixed chants. Many cried over their lost wagers. Even more repeated the same word.

"Execution! Execution! Execution!" 𝗳𝐫𝚎𝗲𝚠𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝘃𝚎𝗹.𝗰𝗼𝗺

Zul’Rakhan leaned forward, his eyes blazing beneath his hood. "Orcs don’t play at duelling. When we fight, we kill. It is truer during the ancestral ritual fight. It would not come as a surprise if I told you how disappointed I am about your victory." His gaze shifted to Tragg. "I’m even more disappointed in him. At least, his defeat was anything but glorious."

With a wave of his hand, both axes flew to Adam’s hands. He caught them, alarmed by what he felt: nothing had moved them.

"Kill him," Zul’Rakhan commanded.

---

AN: This one was hard to write...