Chapter 97: It Was Self-Defense...
I could feel the sixth stage cultivator trying to press his spiritual essence into my meridians – a common technique used to establish dominance among disciples. Too bad for him, my cultivation base was far more stable than he likely assumed.
I turned around slowly, deliberately, letting a small smile play across my lips. The registration hall had gone quiet, dozens of eyes watching to see how this would play out.
The disciple towered over me by at least half a head, his gray robes embroidered with golden thread that probably cost more spirit stones than most outer disciples saw in a month.
"I'm only going to say it once," I said quietly. "Remove your hand."
His face flushed red, whether from anger or embarrassment at my lack of fear, I couldn't tell. Behind him, his two teammates shifted their stances slightly, already preparing for violence. Their movements were coordinated – clearly a team that had trained together for some time.
"Listen here, you arrogant little first-year," he growled, his fingers digging deeper into my shoulder. "I am Feng Zhao, and I've been in this sect for five years. I've earned my place here. Who do you think you are, walking in here like you own the place?"
I remained silent, which seemed to infuriate him further.
"You think reaching the fifth stage makes you special?" Feng Zhao's voice dripped with contempt. "I bet you just got lucky with some stolen technique or family backing. Real cultivators earn their power through years of—"
The rest of his sentence was lost as his other hand shot forward in a straight qi-enhanced punch aimed at my face.