One-Eyed Monster

Guru Mountain, Dawn Peak, halfway up the mountain.

Musa still couldn’t believe what had just happened. His entire body ached, especially his head, which throbbed so intensely it felt detached from him. He remembered the surge of excitement he’d felt earlier. Facing fools who willingly walked into a trap, the only way to fail was if he himself were a complete waste.

Am I useless? The thought, like a bamboo shoot, pierced through the soil of his mind, appearing abruptly and without warning. By the time Musa acknowledged these shoots, they had already grown tall and firm, unwavering, reaching ever higher, threatening to become a dense bamboo forest.

The seeds of this forest had been sown an hour ago during that strange "capture operation"—a failed, bizarre, indescribable, shameful operation that had led to his now, or rather, already, tarnished reputation.

Musa’s muddled mind couldn’t fathom why he had loosened his grip on the New Fool’s wrist. Was it because the other fool’s audacious and absurd proclamation, "You’re in big trouble!" had made him laugh too hard? Or had his own arrogance made him overconfident? Even if an odd mishap had led to a small mistake, with his abilities, shouldn’t taking care of those two fools have been a certainty?

At this thought, Musa’s fist throbbed faintly. The sensation of hitting that "wall" was deeply unsettling. My Bouncing Fist is known for its speed, accuracy, and ruthlessness in Physique Techniques. Normally, one punch would shatter or at least crack an opponent’s Spirit Defense Wall. But when I hit that boastful fool, there was no reaction at all! Instead, my own fist was left trembling... Under the veil of night, Musa couldn’t see his aching fist, but the throbbing, swollen sensation told him his precious fists were likely bruised purple.

Could it really be that I am useless?

The bamboo forest in his mind swayed and rustled again.

Motan supported the staggering Musa. The proud expression Motan had worn after his earlier successful mission was now replaced by a gloomy pallor. The events that had just transpired were so bizarre that Motan knew it would take him a long time to process what had actually happened. The details were obscured by the darkness, but the outcome was painfully clear: Musa had failed to subdue the two fools and was now rolling on the ground, clutching his fists.

The New Fool had seemed concerned about Musa’s injuries, but in less than a few Gudu Time, he suddenly appeared terrified by something and bolted off like a rabbit. What happened next was unimportant. The fool Musa had attacked didn’t fight back. Stranger still, that fool acted as if nothing had happened and continued to spout nonsense only a fool could comprehend.

Motan couldn’t sense Spirit Power—a fact he hated to dwell on. At that moment, he could only stand there like a wooden stump, swallowing hard again and again. He knew Musa’s capabilities; Musa was counted among the top fighters in Black Mountain, and his previous missions had never ended in failure. This inexplicable defeat could only be attributed to Motan’s own inability to perceive the Spirit Power involved in the fight.

"Useless... I’m useless..." As the bamboo forest rustled in his mind, Musa’s gaze grew listless, and he began to mutter dejectedly.