The Mandarin's eyes didn't just narrow—they practically vanished into a mask of disbelief. He had spent centuries perfecting his control over the Ten Rings, viewing himself as the undisputed sovereign of the physical world. Yet, in the span of thirty seconds, this brat had broken through the specialized frequencies of two of his most powerful artifacts.
"Impossible..." he hissed.
There was no time for grace. Realizing his defensive fire was being eaten alive by Huang Wen's superior internal qi, the Mandarin snarled and threw his left hand forward. The third ring—the one pulsing with the jagged, restless energy of a brewing storm—flared to life.
Arcs of blinding lightning erupted from the band, weaving into a chaotic web of high-voltage plasma. Boom! The lightning slammed into the oncoming wall of fire, creating a cascading explosion of sparks and embers that rained down like a dying star. The air smelled of ozone and burnt earth.
But as the smoke billowed, the Mandarin realized a terrifying truth: the fire was just a distraction.
Huang Wen was already there.
Encased in the golden radiance of the Indestructible Vajra Divine Art, Huang Wen looked less like a man and more like a descending deity of war. He didn't use a flashy move. He didn't need to. He simply put the full weight of his unified essence, qi, and spirit into a single, straightforward punch aimed directly at the Mandarin's head.
"Protect!" the Mandarin roared, throwing his right arm up in a desperate block.
CRUNCH.
The sound was sickeningly clear in the quiet of the wasteland. It wasn't the sound of a glove hitting a sleeve; it was the sound of structural failure. The Mandarin's forearm, reinforced by centuries of internal cultivation, snapped like a dry twig under the sheer, localized pressure of Huang Wen's fist.
The warlord gasped, his face turning a shade of sickly gray as the bone-deep agony flared. Ordinarily, a fracture like that would end a fight. But the Mandarin was a monster fueled by hatred and ancient tech. He flooded his shattered limb with a desperate surge of dark internal energy, forcing the broken bones to hold their shape through sheer willpower.
He didn't counter-attack. He did something Huang Wen hadn't expected: he fled.
With a ragged push of his air-manipulation ring, the Mandarin propelled himself backward, trying to put distance between himself and the golden juggernaut.
"Trying to run? I don't think so!" Huang Wen's eyes flashed with the hunger of a hunter. In his mind, the Mandarin wasn't just a terrorist—he was a walking, breathing 'Legendary Character Draw.' This was a fat sheep that had delivered itself to his doorstep, and there was no way he was letting it get back to its pen.
Stepping on Snow Without a Trace.
Huang Wen's silhouette blurred. Combining the high-speed lightness skill with a telekinetic push, he bypassed the laws of physics, appearing in the Mandarin's path before the old man could even blink. He reached out, his golden fingers snapping shut like a vice around the Mandarin's remaining 'healthy' left hand.
He intended to crush it. To strip the rings and end the threat right there.
But the Mandarin wasn't done playing dirty. Even with his right arm hanging at a grotesque angle, the rings on those fingers were still slaved to his nervous system.
"Die, you arrogant whelp!" the Mandarin screamed.
Suddenly, five different types of hell broke loose at point-blank range. From the shattered right hand, a cocktail of devastation erupted: a cloud of corrosive, toxic gas; a kinetic shockwave that could level a skyscraper; a localized hurricane of rotating air; and a high-intensity cutting laser.
Huang Wen didn't flinch. The Indestructible Vajra Divine Art was at its peak. The poison hissed against his golden skin and dissolved; the shockwave felt like a stiff breeze; the laser merely scorched the air around his cheek.
However, it was the fifth ring—the one the Mandarin used last—that changed the game.
Before Huang Wen could finish the bone-crushing squeeze, the world vanished. A sphere of absolute, unnatural darkness expanded from the Mandarin's hand, swallowing them both. It wasn't just a lack of light; it was a sensory void. Huang Wen's vision went black, his hearing died, and even his spiritual perception felt like it was being muffled by a thick, heavy shroud of silk.
Shit! Huang Wen didn't panic. He relied on his touch. He still had the Mandarin's hand. He poured his qi into his grip, feeling the fingers of the warlord crack and pop under the pressure. He was going to rip the arm off if he had to.
But then, he felt something strange. The Mandarin's arm seemed to... shrink. It felt as if the bone and muscle were collapsing in on themselves, sliding right through Huang Wen's fingers like a greased eel.
By the time Huang Wen felt the solid resistance again, the Mandarin was gone. He was left clutching nothing but a single, cold metal band that had slipped off the man's finger.
Swish!
Huang Wen didn't waste time in the dark field. He used Dream Butterfly Escape, his body turning into a phantom as he flickered out of the black void and reappeared next to Belle.
He landed on the frozen ground, his chest heaving slightly from the sudden exertion. He looked back at the sky, but the Mandarin was gone. The sphere of black gas was shrinking rapidly, dissipating into nothingness.
"Where did he go?" Huang Wen demanded, his head pivoting as he searched the horizon.
Belle's brow was furrowed, her hands still raised in a defensive telekinetic stance. "One second you were both inside that black cloud, and the next... a pillar of light just hit him. It looked like a transport beam from a sci-fi movie. He was pulled up and then he just... vanished. I can't sense him anywhere within five miles."
"A transport beam?" Huang Wen wiped a smudge of soot from his face, looking frustrated. "That's not right. If he had that kind of tech, why fly out here like a bird? Why bother gliding?"
"It looked different from your movement," Belle explained, trying to find the words. "It wasn't a martial art. It was like... a machine claimed him. It was too fast to track."
Huang Wen cursed under his breath. He looked down at his hand. Nestled in his palm was a single ring—the one that controlled the dark field. He had managed to snatch one, but the 'fat sheep' had escaped the slaughter.
"Belle, let's sweep the area," Huang Wen said, his voice tight. "He was talking about his 'seclusion' being nearby. If he's injured—and I know I broke at least one of his arms—he can't have gone far. We find the base, we find the man."
"I'm with you," Belle nodded.
They spent the next hour scouring the jagged peaks of North Asia. They pushed their senses to the limit, scanning for heat signatures, qi disruptions, or hidden doors in the rock. But the tundra was silent.
Miles away, hidden beneath the crust of a frozen mountain, lay the wreckage of an ancient, silver craft. It was a vessel from a civilization long dead, repurposed into a fortress of solitude. Inside, a beam of light flickered out, depositing the Mandarin onto a cold metal floor.
He looked pathetic. His right arm was a purple, swollen mess, and his left hand was bleeding from where the rings had been ripped or crushed into his flesh. His breathing was ragged, and his eyes were bloodshot with a mix of pain and pure, unadulterated hatred.
"That... that monster..." the Mandarin wheezed. He dragged himself toward a glowing console. "He's no martial artist. No human should be able to ignore the Zero field like that. He stood in the void and kept squeezing..."
He looked at his hands and realized with a jolt of horror that he was missing a ring. The Black Light ring. One of his most precious tools for assassination and escape.
"He stole it. He actually stole it!"
With a trembling hand, he activated the ship's cloaking and defense systems. A shimmering barrier of blended magic and alien technology rippled into existence around the mountain, masking its energy signature from the world.
"I need time," the Mandarin muttered, sinking into a meditative state. "I will heal. I will find him. And when I do, I won't talk. I'll just erase him from existence. I'll remember that face... Huang Wen..."
Back on the surface, Huang Wen suddenly stopped mid-air.
[Ding! Mission: 'Sir, Times Have Changed' - Part 1: Defeat the Mandarin, has been marked as Completed.] [Status: The target has successfully retreated and is now outside the active mission zone.] [Reward Issued: One Legendary Skill Draw.]
Huang Wen let out a long, heavy sigh that turned into a cloud of steam in the cold air.
"What is it?" Belle asked, hovering next to him.
"He's gone," Huang Wen said, his shoulders slumping with a mix of relief and intense regret. "I can feel it. The 'connection' is severed. He's hidden himself behind something even my system can't track right now."
He looked at the sky, feeling a bitter taste in his mouth. To anyone else, a 'Legendary Skill' was the prize of a lifetime. It was the peak of power. But in the world of the System, there was a hierarchy.
A legendary skill was a tool. A legendary character was an upgrade. It was a fundamental shift in his potential. It was the difference between learning a great move and becoming the man who invented the move.
"No comparison, no harm," Huang Wen muttered to himself, shaking his head. "I was staring at a gold mine and I walked away with a silver bar. Damn that old man and his teleportation beam."
"Hey," Belle said, gently bumping her shoulder against his. "You beat him. You broke the 'God' of the Ten Rings and sent him crying back to his cave. That's not a loss."
Huang Wen looked at the ring in his hand and then at Belle. He managed a small, wry smile. "You're right. Besides... I still get a prize. Let's see what the system thinks is 'Legendary' enough to compensate me for my missed character."
As they turned to head back toward civilization, Huang Wen opened the system interface. The golden light of the legendary draw began to swirl, and for a moment, the disappointment faded, replaced by the electric thrill of the unknown.