Isekai Murim In The Apocalypse

"Who do you think will win?"

"I'm betting on Zhao Tiexin. He's a formidable disciple of the Unyielding Mountain Fist Sect and has already ascended to the Adept Realm's Fourth Layer.. When it comes to Qi mastery, he won't lose to anyone."

"I'll wager on Wei Huang from the Soaring Mist Academy. He's also in the Heavenly Spirit Realm. While his Qi control may not be as refined, the raw power he wields is overwhelming."

A stiff wind swept through the crowd, tugging at their robes as anticipation crackled in the air. Wei Huang sneered, drawing his sword in a slow, deliberate motion, the steel whispering against its sheath.

Aziel observed the gathering, watching as eager hands clutched onto betting slips.

'They're wagering on a fight… but what are they talking about? Adept Realm? Qi?' he mused, absently chewing on his food. None of it made sense to him.

Before he could dwell further, a commanding voice rang out. "Begin!"

A thunderous clang split the air as metal met metal, the impact sending a shockwave rippling through the street. Aziel's hair whipped against his face as he flinched, instinctively turning toward the source. His eyes widened.

Two warriors clashed, their weapons colliding in bursts of force that sent them skidding apart. Dust spiraled from the cracked stone beneath their feet as they circled each other, their movements smooth and precise, like predators sizing up their prey.

With a battle cry, they lunged. Blades and fists struck with dizzying speed, so swift they blurred before the eye could fully process each exchange.

Zhao Tiexin infused his gauntlet with scorching yang Qi, flames igniting around his fists. Every strike he threw shimmered with crimson fire, exploding on impact with blistering heat. He aimed devastating blows at Wei Huang's head and chest, his attacks relentless.

Wei countered with a lethal elegance, his sword enveloped in frigid yin Qi. Each slash left shimmering, frozen afterimages, his strikes weaving through Zhao's offense with uncanny precision. Razor-thin lines of frost trailed across Zhao's skin where Wei's blade had grazed him, numbing the flesh beneath.

"Your Frosty Mist Technique is as fluid as ever," Zhao growled, pressing forward.

Wei's sword danced, its silvery glow carving patterns in the air. "And your Iron Mountain technique remains as unrefined as ever," he countered coolly, unshaken by the ferocity of their exchange.

Zhao's Qi flared. His gauntlet gleamed, each punch carrying the force of a battering ram, gouging deep furrows into the stone where Wei dodged. But Wei was just as relentless, his blade singing through the air, seeking any chink in Zhao's defenses.

The crowd stood enraptured, breath held tight in their throats. Even Aziel found himself unable to look away.

'This… he's summoning fire with his hands. There's no doubt about it. They're using Mana.'

The realization struck him with the force of a hammer. This was a battle between the Awakened. He had seen such fights countless times before—brutal clashes where strength dictated survival. In his world, getting caught in the crossfire of such a battle meant death. Yet here, these warriors carefully controlled their strikes, ensuring that not a single stray attack harmed the spectators.

His eyes stayed locked on the duel, his breath shallow. His heart pounded not from fear, but from something far deeper. Awe. Amazement. And most of all—envy.

He wanted it.

Power. Speed. Strength beyond mortal limits. He wanted it so badly that it hurt.

His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms. Unable to bear it any longer, he turned away, forcing himself to leave.

With an icy gaze, he pushed through the crowd, his discarded wooden skewers clattering to the ground.

"I'm done eating," he muttered. "Now that I'm feeling better, I can finally start searching… I don't know how I got here, but I'll find a way back. There's no time to waste."

The city sprawled before him as he combed through its winding streets, searching for answers. But his efforts bore nothing. No gate. No key. No sign of the path that had brought him here.

"Damn it," he growled, his boot splashing into a puddle. "Nothing?"

Frustration clawed at his chest. He had hoped to find some trace of the portal's existence, some artifact that could send him back. Instead, he had nothing but questions and dead ends. And worse yet—this body.

Aziel stared down at himself, his fingers tightening into a trembling grip.

At first, he had assumed his appearance had simply changed, but the truth was far worse. His body was weak. Hollow. He had seen frailty before, but this was beyond anything he had ever known. How had he even survived this long?

His legs gave out, and he sank to the ground, resting his forehead against his knees.

"What happens if I can't find a way back?" he whispered. "What will happen to Anais?"

His hands tangled in his hair, his breath shallow and ragged. For a moment, despair threatened to consume him. Then, with a sharp exhale, he forced himself upright.

"No. There's a way. There has to be. I just have to keep searching."

If simply wandering wouldn't yield answers, he would change his approach. He needed information. People who might know something. He scanned his surroundings, eyes narrowing as they landed on an old man seated by a nearby alley.

The elder's long gray hair fell in unruly waves, his beard thick but well-kept. His clothes were tattered, but still in better condition than Aziel's. A battered hat lay in front of him, a few copper qians scattered inside.

'Perfect.'

Aziel approached swiftly, crouching down with a practiced smile.

"Oi, old man," he said, dropping a few coins into the hat. "I've got some questions. Mind answering them?"