Yu Ang’s name carried weight across the Marl Kingdom, a banner snapping in the wind.
He’d become the Martial Sect’s grand disciple while still young; his fists weren’t silk flowers, they were iron under flame.
In the source tale, he was only a minor male support in Marl Kingdom—yet he was steel beneath the polish.
Among the young, aside from Ling’er Long, he was the one most likely to become a Martial Saint, a star rising through storm clouds.
When the two kingdoms went to war, Yu Ang served as Marl’s vanguard and won fight after fight, a spearpoint cutting dawn. He was a real rival to the Protagonist Lord.
But fate put a snake at his heel. He fell to a traitor’s ruse on the road to the Hedon Kingdom, lost both hands and feet, and faded like embers in rain.
Nana Toki held to one rule: the enemy of my enemy is a friend. She decided not to waste him. Let him live and clash with the Protagonist Lord later.
She slid into a fighting stance, a willow bending at the riverbank, and hooked her fingers at him from the arena’s edge. Come.
That single word was a spark in a powder keg. The colosseum roared like surf meeting cliffs.
Screams and shouts rose wave on wave, drumming the sky like thunderheads beating their shields.
Some yelled for Yu Ang to kill the proud woman. He only smiled, a blade catching light.
Heh. A woman unafraid of death.
Seeing her taunting guard, Yu Ang’s sneer deepened, frost over steel. Think you can take one move from me?
With those street-brawler swings of yours? Nana Toki’s laugh was sharp as a snapped icicle.
The referee between them felt the gunpowder in the air. He didn’t dither. His arm cut down.
Match, begin!
Whoosh.
The instant the words fell, Nana Toki saw the man drop his weight like an anchor. In the next heartbeat, a bandaged iron fist filled her vision.
Bang.
Bang bang bang.
She couldn’t slip the first rush. Her arms came up on instinct, a shield of reeds. In a blink, their exchanges flickered like lightning skittering across iron.
The crowd boiled, blood rising like a spring thaw. Their cheers hit higher and higher.
That woman’s a moldable talent.
High above, a narrow-eyed strategist beside Ling’er Long watched with a heavy face, like stone under rain.
Even he, no fighter, could see the force those two threw like mountains colliding.
Yu Ang, the brightest genius in Marl, was going fifty-fifty with her. Since when did a border village spit out a creature like that?
…
To his right, Ling’er Long lounged on a soft couch, legs crossed, a crane resting by a pool.
Watching the fight, a rare glint crossed her cool face, a firefly in dusk.
That woman had been under since the bell—yet in every exchange with Yu Ang, her control was exact, a blade finding the seam.
No matter how vicious his strikes, she softened, borrowed, returned—meeting blade with water. He couldn’t pin her shadow.
A man who abandoned defense to press offense to its limits. A woman who turned force on itself, the soft cutting the hard like water carving stone.
This one called Bingtang is a once-in-years, general-grade talent.
Found it.
The Dragon Princess on the couch let slip a line that meant everything and nothing, a pebble across still water.
Even the strategist leaned in, voice low as ash. The holder of the Demon Hand, right?
More or less.
She rose from the cushions like silk unrolling. Her gaze never once clung to the woman’s body below.
Bang bang bang.
Bang bang bang.
The fight burned white-hot. They tangled close, fist to fist, each strike like a drumbeat in a storm.
Fists, feet, knees, shoulders—every hinge of the body turned to the most natural weapon at hand.
Even inch-punches, low kicks, knee checks, shoulder bumps—simple forms became killing strokes, thorns hiding poison.
Pft.
A straight to the gut. Nana Toki slipped into his opening like a knife into a scabbard and blasted him back.
Bang.
He snapped a fierce roundhouse in return, hurricane fast. It missed. Tiles burst under the strike, dust lifting like a sandstorm.
Back and forth they went, neither bowing, two tigers circling a ravine.
Both hunted the same thing—fastest, cruelest, cleanest kill. Each breath a whetstone.
Alright. I take back the disrespect. You’re strong.
After driving the last intact patch of floor into a pit, Yu Ang’s face lost its easy calm. His breath came heavy, a bellows after the forge.
Across the Hedon Kingdom, you won’t find two who walk out whole under my chase. She did. She did better. Even before the end, he knew this one was his loss.
Want to keep going?
Nana Toki stood by a heap of shattered tiles, smiling light. Her breath was steady as a still lake, as if she’d just strolled a garden path.
Up in the seats, doubt rippled. Had she really fought Yu Ang just now?
You’re called Bingtang, right?
At some point, Ling’er Long descended from the highest tier and came to stand before Nana Toki. Pretty name. And a fine match.
The woman’s mouth tipped up, a crescent over calm water. Even Nana Toki could see her mood was bright as morning.
So this is the Nesting Phoenix of this plane.
Feels a bit alpha. Sharp. Good to steal.
Nana Toki eyed her, already stitching a plan to bag this Dragon Princess like a night fisherman setting nets.
This match was splendid. The winner should be settled by now, yes?
Unaware of Nana Toki’s thoughts, Ling’er Long glanced at Yu Ang, who stood respectful as a spear at her side. Her tone already named the victor.
Yes.
He didn’t like it, but truth is a cold mirror.
I lost.
His voice echoed through the colosseum. A sigh rolled through the stands like a tide retreating.
Since the match is done, I’ll grant you the winner’s reward.
Wait!
Ling’er Long reached toward the item at her waist. Nana Toki cut in first, a fan snapping shut.
Before that, may I ask the Dragon Princess one bold question? A smile sketched across Nana’s face, fox-bright.
No harm. Ask.
Puzzled by Nana Toki’s unreadable beat, every gaze, including Ling’er Long’s, gathered on her like birds on a branch.
It’s nothing important, really.
Nana’s hands drifted behind her back, her eyes half-mooned. I just wanted to know… do you like pink burlap sacks?
Eh?
Boom!
While everyone blinked, an explosion cracked around the arena’s rim.
In the next breath, a cloud rose like spun sugar blooming inside a cotton-candy machine. Pink smoke flooded the colosseum, sweet and thick.
The strategist nearest Ling’er Long reacted first—too late. Nana Toki had planned for this.
One long leg scythed out, clearing the circle around Ling’er Long—Yu Ang included—like wheat before a wind. With both hands, she flicked out a pink sack and dropped it over the stunned princess.
She cinched, lifted, and under sugary fog, packed up the wriggling Dragon Princess and vanished like a fox into reeds.
Hurry! After her!
The strategist scrambled up, dusty and furious, and bellowed at the mercenaries till his voice rang like iron.
Mercs scattered in a panic, a hive kicked open. Many froze, minds blank as snow.
On the stands, the crowd sat dumbstruck. Did someone just bag their Dragon Princess?
In broad daylight? With a sack?
Are kidnappers this bold these days?
No time to chew on it. Others rallied fast, mustering mercs to seal every gate of the capital like lids on jars.
Yu Ang took a team and ran toward the direction Nana Toki had vanished, a hawk chasing a shadow, hoping to catch the brazen thief.
General Kurus, the city gates are fully sealed! a mercenary yelled, breath smoking.
Go! Throw everyone at that woman! Turn the capital upside down if you must—bring her to me!
The one called Kurus clenched the roster etched with Nana Toki’s name. His face shifted like a sky before rain.
He was loyal and urgent, yes—but he knew his mistress wouldn’t be taken by a sack that tears with a tug.
He also didn’t know why the other side would snatch the Dragon Princess. The knot only tightened.
Bingtang… Bingtang… Bingtang…
The name rang a bell like a distant temple gong. He murmured it, checked the list, then barked orders, voice hard as a thrown spear.
Stay on this. Every thread. Until the Dragon Princess is found, this doesn’t end.
