MIGHT AS WELL BE OP Chapter 967: Martial Dimension

Kingsley attempted to channel the Martial Rhythm across his whole body just as he had done previously, yet he couldn't manage it; it was like pulling water through thick mud—if he even grasped that idea—the opposition was intense and unyielding, as if an unseen force burdened each effort to direct the flow through his arms and legs, turning the formerly smooth feeling into something remote and annoyingly elusive.

"You've barely awakened it, and earlier, you could only envelop your body in it because you slipped into your awakening mode," Anthony said while gazing at Kingsley, his voice steady and composed. "Martial Rhythm resembles mana and other energies in a way, even though you don't wield them, you're familiar with how they function; you'll need to practice it starting from scratch, much like you did with your Concept Of Destruction," he added in a relaxed manner, as if outlining something straightforward and expected, not challenging at all.

Kingsley paused in silence briefly before nodding with comprehension, since he'd never dealt with any energy type, but he possessed some understanding of their mechanics—after all, he wasn't foolish. Regardless, that point was irrelevant; Martial Rhythm wasn't an energy but a stream, a principle, an essence, almost like a Concept in its own right, something basic and unchanging instead of a resource to accumulate or expend, existing in all places and none simultaneously.

"No need to fret over years of practice, though. Given your existing insights and skills with Concepts Of Destruction and different martial techniques, you'll pick it up quickly and likely master it within weeks or even a month," Anthony remarked evenly, presenting it as entirely logical rather than a feat that eluded most people their whole lives.

Kingsley raised an eyebrow, questioning if it was really so simple, but Anthony offered no response to the unspoken query; Kingsley would grasp it through training, and with his extraordinary Physique and aptitude, he'd conquer what others found impossible—what even ancient awakeners had labored over for ages without full command.

Even though Kingsley had fallen to nearly all opponents here, that didn't diminish his status as a freakish outlier among them; he occupied his unique pinnacle where few could rival him, an isolated peak forged from bloodshed, trials, and unyielding determination, a stature not judged merely by wins or losses.

Noticing Anthony's silence, Kingsley just nodded without further words, opting to turn his attention inward, regulating his breathing and quelling the subtle thrill pulsing in his heart.

"I'm feeling generous today, so I'll assist with your Martial Rhythm training for a short while; I'll hold back on using it myself, slowing my pace to just slightly faster than what you'd handle without it—we'll go for precisely four minutes, with me attacking for the first two while you only dodge, then switching roles for the last two," Anthony declared once more, halting briefly before adding, "Whatever you learn in those four minutes depends entirely on you, Kingsley," his grin lingered, gentle but brimming with subtle assurance.

Kingsley agreed with a nod and dropped into position right away, and in the instant that followed, his awareness of the surroundings altered as Martial Rhythm coursed through him. No clock was necessary; at their caliber, they could track each second effortlessly if desired, their thoughts keen enough to measure time instinctively with perfect accuracy.

Anthony stepped forward with a grin, shifting his weight, but before his foot met the ground, he vanished, as if reality skipped a beat and forgot him. He materialized in front of Kingsley like he'd been standing there all along, not newly arrived, akin to a sudden cut in a film's sequence.

Under normal circumstances, Kingsley wouldn't have tracked it at all, but he perceived the incoming strike; he sensed the environment responding to Anthony's move, and even before the assault finished, he'd already discerned it as a Brazilian kick targeting his brow, with path, slant, and power laid out clearly, as if pre-scripted for him.

Enveloped in Martial Rhythm around his feet, he sidestepped effortlessly with little exertion, motion, or air, evading in a seamless glide he hadn't imagined before, his form weightless and free, like the pull of gravity had eased its grip.

The strike from Anthony whiffed, ripping through the atmosphere and void where Kingsley had stood, the gusts parting with a sharp snap. Yet Anthony pressed on, pivoting his grounded foot to realign, then redirecting the airborne leg from the prior assault into a fresh one, fluid and relentless like a river tumbling downward.

Once more, Kingsley perceived everything; he witnessed it all, experienced it fully, merging with the surroundings, the prior sense of flawlessness now appearing childish as a vast gateway to infinite potential swung wide open in his sight. Matching Anthony's rhythm, he aligned his breath with it, retreating soundlessly, his movements pristine and elegant, each action stripped of any needless effort.

Thus, they fell into sync, Anthony pressing the assault while Kingsley evaded purely, no counters or defenses. He flowed like performing to a hidden melody, his steps skimming the soil as if Anthony dictated the beat for his performance, every blow a musical cue and each dodge a part of some unseen routine.

Heavenly sensations returned to Kingsley, a sense of fulfillment and unity washing over him, like hidden cracks in his being had mended silently without his awareness.

The initial two minutes concluded, signaling his turn to strike, so he advanced steadily, without streaks or echoes or air ripples, all staying serene and attuned. His punch extended casually, as if half-hearted, yet those with sharpened senses would detect the deadly power packed within, tight and potent like a spring primed to unleash.

Heading for Anthony's midsection, his fist prompted Anthony to shift, replicating Kingsley's earlier dodges sans Martial Rhythm. But the instant he budged, Kingsley anticipated the muscular twitch, foresaw the escape, and launched another blow. Still, just as Kingsley read him, Anthony slipped away with absurd simplicity, asserting dominance in the bout, reminding that even with Martial Rhythm, Kingsley stayed the learner, the divide between them immense and clear.

In this isolated realm, their quiet exchanges unfolded, drawing them into a private martial realm visible and comprehensible only to each other. They exchanged smiles like partners enjoying a serene outing, oblivious to anything outside, their actions weaving, colliding, and parting in natural accord, turning the arena into a tranquil platform for their mutual rhythm.