The Legend of Fist God

03 - A Song Without A Sword

If you believe in your fists, you shall find freedom here.

“Who wrote these words on this boulder?” the boy’s voice barely stirred the damp air. 

He stood before the big stone slab embedded at the heart of the chamber. Time had gnawed at its edges, smoothing the corners, yet the words carved into it remained sharp, as though they refused to fade.

“Fists…” he murmured. “Not weapons… Not weapon techniques…”

Something in his chest stirred.

Beyond the slab, the walls stretched outward, carved from pitch-black stone. The surface wasn’t smooth. It was scarred with fist marks.

Hundreds, no, thousands of them.

Some shallow. Some deep. Some so violent they seemed to have crushed the stone inward rather than struck it. It was like watching a painting come to life.

The boy’s heartbeat quickened.

“The Seven-Stellar Mountains used to belong to the Fist Clan,” he muttered, piecing together half-forgotten stories. “Before weapons ruled everything.”

“Does that mean these words were written by one of our clan’s ancestors? It would have been nice if they left a book or drawings, but I don’t see anything like that anywhere. How am I supposed to get what I want when there’s nothing to learn from except fist marks on the walls?”

His gaze swept the chamber again.

He roamed the chamber’s perimeter. At each corner stood a stone door, thick and seamless, as though grown rather than built. He braced his shoulder against one and pushed.

It didn’t budge.

He tried another.

Nothing.

All four doors were heavy as a mountain peak.

“Krgh.” He tried hard but also grew worried that his shoulder might pop or break if he recklessly kept pushing.

Left with no other choice, he returned to the girl lying near the pool.

He cupped water in his hands and splashed it across her face.

No response.

He pinched her cheek.

“Aiee!” She quickly opened her eyes. Seeing his face from a low angle, she shrieked and scrambled back. “Aiyaa!”

“That’s not the reaction I was expecting from someone whose life I saved,” he said calmly.

“Y-You saved me?” She tried to sit up and immediately hissed, clutching her shoulder. Her left arm was gone, and the pain stung her body and soul.

He briefly explained to her what happened and tried his best to not be raw and blunt.

Still, her expression darkened with every word.

“I called you weak, and yet… you are the one who saved me.” Her gaze lowered. “I’m pathetic.”

“Don’t be too harsh on yourself. You fought King Croc, one of the top beasts of the seven stellar mountains,” he said. “It requires multiple masters to just subdue such monsters. There was no way you would have won against that thing. We’re incredibly lucky to have just escaped from that disaster.”

Her eyes still flickered with negative emotion.

“I’ve heard that the king crocodile comes up to the tallest mountain top and goes down the stream and devours everything in its path for fun,” he added . “I thought it was just a joke made to scare the kids into not going anywhere near any waterfall, but they weren’t joking. I nearly lost control of my bowels when I saw the crocodile coming down the waterfall.”

Despite what he was saying, she just stared.

“My name is Gunnar,” he said, smiling a bit, trying to lift her spirit. “What is your name?”

She kept staring at him.

“If you don’t tell me your name, I’ll have to make one up,” Gunnar said. “How about bluebird?”

“Raha,” she muttered. “A member of the Immortal Sword Sect.”

Gunnar’s eyes widened as it was a pretty famous sect. “Isn’t that a far away sect? What are you doing here in the seven stellar mountain range?”

Raha frowned and lowered her head a little. Her jaw tightened. “My luck is cursed,” she said flatly. “All five of my companions are dead. I survived… without an arm.” Her voice faltered. “My dad isn’t going to like this. My grandfather will—”

Gunnar’s mouth turned down. “Can’t your sect regrow your arm? They must have some rare elixirs.”

“I’m still only an outer disciple. Why would they give me such precious pills?” Raha said in a weak voice. “Besides, pills that can regenerate an entire arm? I’ve never heard of such pills.”

“But I did,” Gunnar said. “My grandma used to tell me that our ancestors used to regularly get their arms cut when fighting the weapon masters. That’s why they found a way to not just reattach but even regenerate lost arms. I don’t know if such methods exist in this day and time, but if you roam around the world, then who knows, one day you might find a way. By the way, will you help me open those doors in the four corners? I think those doors are either our way out, or they might be rooms holding some treasure.”

“What if there are traps inside?”

“Then you will take care of them,” Gunnar said, grinning.

She snorted despite herself.

Raha pushed herself up, steadying her breathing. Only then did she notice her missing pouch and scabbard.

Her gaze swept the chamber, then froze.

“These walls…” she whispered in a bit of amazement. “This cold ethereal energy that makes my skin tingle… It’s Immortium.”

“What? The black wall? Isn’t that just marble rock?”

“Not just a marble rock,” she corrected him. “It is immensely sturdy and also absorbs aura endlessly. Touch it wrong, and it drains you dry. Leaving imprints in this material means the person who did it was terrifyingly skillful.

“It’s quite mysterious and doesn’t easily take one’s aura into it like iron and steel can, so nobody wants to make a weapon out of this material.” She looked down at the floor. “Even the ground seems to be made out of Immortium.” The ground was a bit uneven because of the foot imprints left there. “It’s not safe to stand on this thing barefooted for long. Let’s get out of here.”

Soon, they both went to one of the rooms at a corner of the chamber.

“You lost your sword,” Gunnar stated. “Can you execute your technique without the sword and break this stone door?”

Raha spun and slashed her arm diagonally. “Swordless Song.”

A blade of compressed wind tore through the stone. Another followed. And another.

The door collapsed into fragments.

Gunnar stepped back, half in awe and half in fright.

Raha’s arm trembled in pain. She clenched her fist and hid her hand behind herself. “It’s far less potent yet far more self-destructive compared to when I do it with a sword,” she muttered to herself.

Gunnar’s jaw, on the other hand, still hung low. He wanted to tease her when he asked her if she could break the door without using a sword, but he didn’t expect her to really attempt it and pull it off. “A-Are all the outer disciples of the Immortal Sword Sect as strong and capable as you are?”

“If they were, my friends wouldn’t be dead,” she coldly blurted, visibly angry at herself.

Gunnar’s lips pressed together.

Raha entered the room. Racks of weapons and equipment lined the wall. Swords, shields and even footwear.

While Gunnar wore the footwear, Raha checked all the items.

She tested one sword. Her shoulders eased, and the sword danced in her palm.

“Every item here could sell for a lot of gold,” she said. “But this—” she smiled faintly, feeling the weight and balance of the sword. “This will do.”

But the swinging of the sword caused her left shoulder to bleed.

“Krgh,” she let go of the sword and clutched her injured shoulder.

“Be careful,” Gunnar scuttled over. “You’re not fully healed yet.”

As he tended to the shoulder, she hissed in pain and tried to stop him.

He had to lock his fingers with her hand to stop her from stopping him.

As he was busy treating her, Raha’s gaze gravitated, unbidden, to the joining of their hands.

No man outside her family had ever touched her like this.

Then, instead of pulling away, her fingers curled around his hand, just slightly, drawn to the warmth.