MARD Chapter 17 Crushing Pulse

The dirt road of Meihua Crossing had turned into an arena. Dust hung in the air as a wide circle formed around the restaurant, the murmuring townsfolk pressed shoulder-to-shoulder as they craned their necks to watch. Merchants leaned out of their shuttered stalls, and children were pulled behind their parents, only to peek out with wide, curious eyes.

At the center stood two figures, facing one another in silence.

On one side, Issei planted his feet firmly into the packed dirt, the red changshan he wore swaying faintly in the breeze. His expression was calm, though his eyes burned with readiness. He rolled his shoulders once, letting his aura flow outward—a steady, controlled pressure of a Second Stage Fighter.

On the other side, Yao’s uncle towered over him, his bearded face twisted into a mocking grin. His muscles flexed beneath rough robes, the faint ripple of qi emanating from his body sharp and forceful. When his senses brushed against Issei’s aura, the older man sneered.

“Second Stage?” He scoffed loudly, his voice carrying over the crowd. “This is what had my dear nephew so worked up? I expected something more. This won’t even last long enough to dirty my hands.”

The crowd murmured at his arrogance. Some shook their heads, others chuckled nervously, but many stared at Issei with pity.

Issei didn’t flinch. Instead, he lifted his chin slightly and called out, his voice steady. “If you want, we can stop here. There’s no reason for a senseless fight. Nobody has to get hurt.”

For a moment, silence followed. Then the bearded man barked a laugh that boomed like thunder. “Stop? Boy, you insult me! You dare humiliate the mayor’s son and think you can just walk away? You’ve already signed your own fate.”

Behind him, Young Master Yao puffed up with pride at his uncle’s words, his blue hair gleaming under the lanterns that lit the street. He jabbed a finger toward Issei, his voice shrill with fury. “Uncle, break him! He dared to damage my face in front of the entire town—make him pay! Let everyone know what happens when they cross the Yao family!”

Issei exhaled slowly through his nose, tightening his fists at his sides. ‘Of course. It’s just about pride and showing off.’

From the sidelines, Wu Xiao’s eyes sparkling. “This is gonna be amazing! Big Bro’s totally gonna crush him!” She clapped her hands together in glee, bouncing on her toes like a child at a festival.

“Xiao,” Wu Lan said softly, her calm gaze fixed on the circle. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her trying to appear calm. Yet beneath it, her voice carried a bit of worry. “Do not treat this lightly.”

Mei clutched her robe tightly, her purple eyes wide with worry. Her lips trembled, and she couldn’t stop shifting on her feet. “What if Issei loses and gets hurt?”

Wu Lan placed a gentle hand on Mei’s shoulder, her touch steady and grounding. “Do not underestimate him. He is stronger than you realize.”

Not far away, Wu Ying stood with arms crossed, her sharp eyes locked on the bearded uncle. Unlike Wu Xiao’s excitement or Mei’s trembling worry, her gaze was cold and calculating. Every twitch of the man’s muscles, every flicker of his qi—she watched it all, her instincts sharp as blades.

‘Issei’s strong, but this old man has experience. If he tries anything dirty, I’ll be ready.’ She narrowed her eyes further, her expression unreadable.

Yao’s uncle cracked his knuckles, his grin spreading. “Prepare yourself, boy. You won’t leave this ground standing.”

Issei steadied his breathing, his gaze unwavering. ‘We’ll see about that.’

The air hung heavy with tension as the two fighters stared each other down. The murmuring crowd fell silent, every eye fixed on the dirt circle outside the restaurant. Even the street lanterns seemed to flicker as if holding their breath.

Then Yao’s uncle moved.

With a step, the bearded man charged forward, his boots pounding against the dirt. His fist swung like a boulder on a collision course, the sheer force behind it making the air whistle.

Issei’s instincts flared. He shifted to the side just in time, the strike passing by his face close enough that he felt the rush of displaced air whip against his cheek, the sheer force of it ruffling his hair as it whooshed by. Dust scattered from the ground where the punch landed, leaving a shallow crater.

‘He’s slower than Wu Ying!’ Issei thought, his heart hammering. But his body was already reacting. He twisted, throwing a counterpunch at the man’s ribs.

But the uncle’s arm snapped down like a steel gate, blocking the strike with minimal effort. His sneer widened. “What’s wrong, boy? Already desperate?”

The two clashed repeatedly—fists meeting, arms blocking, legs sweeping. Each strike cracked through the air like snapping whips, the shockwaves of qi making the dust whip up in small clouds around their feet. Issei ducked under a hook, only to block a knee that nearly caught him in the stomach. His own counterpunch skimmed the man’s chin, enough to make the older cultivator grunt but not enough to faze him. He then lashed out with a kick to the shin, but his opponent barely flinched.

The gap between them was clear.

The crowd gasped with every exchange, the people of Meihua Crossing pressed in tight, eyes wide.

“He’s holding out against a Third Stage…?” One random man said.

“It’s unbelievable… he’s only in the Second Stage, but he’s keeping up!” Another man muttered.

“He should’ve been crushed by now,” Another whispered, awe creeping into his tone.

“No, look he can’t keep this up!”

“But how is he not already beaten?”

It was becoming obvious to all, the difference in speed and power between a Second Stage and Third Stage was immense. Yao’s uncle moved like a raging bull, his strikes heavy and his defenses solid.

But Issei wasn’t collapsing.

Each time the man pressed in, Issei moved just enough to slip past, his footwork sharp, his eyes scanning. He wasn’t being crushed the way most Second Stage fighters would be.

Wu Xiao cheered unabashedly from the sidelines, waving her arms in excitement. “That’s it, Big Bro! Show him what you’ve got! Beat up Beard-o!”

Mei’s hands were pressed against her chest, her purple eyes wide with fear as she watched. Every blow that landed on Issei made her flinch as though she had taken it herself. “He’s holding on, but… oh no…”

Wu Lan’s winced as she also saw the blows that were landing on Issei, but still she did not lose hope that Issei will win.

Wu Ying, arms crossed, narrowed her gaze. ‘He’s using what he picked up from sparring with me. He’s still weaker, but at least he doesn’t look like he’s losing out there.’

Wu Xiao continued to bounce on her heels, clapping loudly. “Go Big Bro! You can do it!”

Mei clutched her flowers tightly to her chest, her knuckles white. ‘He’s… amazing. But he’s still in danger!’

Issei’s body ached with every impact. His lungs burned as he sidestepped another strike, his fist slamming against the uncle’s shoulder only to rebound against muscle like iron. Sweat trickled down his brow.

‘He’s strong. Too strong. If this keeps up, I’ll lose.’

Yao’s uncle smirked, his strikes coming harder now. “Not bad for a Second Stage brat. But you’ll never bridge the gap.”

His fist came again, crashing downward. Issei blocked, but the impact sent him stumbling back several steps, dirt scraping beneath his heels. His chest heaved. ‘He’s right. I can’t win like this. Not without—’

Then the moment came.

The uncle surged in again, pressing with relentless arrogance, leaving his guard open in his overconfidence.

Issei’s eyes sharpened.

The red gauntlet of the Boosted Gear materialized on his left arm with a flare of light, its emerald gem gleaming.

[BOOST!]

Power exploded through him, flooding every muscle, every vein. His speed and strength doubled in an instant.

The uncle’s eyes widened. “What—?!”

Too late.

Issei’s fist shot forward, faster and heavier than before, the gauntlet gleaming red as it drove straight into the man’s unguarded chest.

BAM!

The impact echoed like a cannonshot, sending the bearded uncle staggering backward, dirt and dust flying up from the sheer force.

Wu Xiao jumped into the air, pumping her fist. “YEEEES! Did you see that?! Big Bro just floored Beard-o!”

Mei hugged herself tighter, her heart hammering, her face glowing crimson as her eyes never left Issei.

Wu Lan’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles.

And Wu Ying? She smirked, her voice carrying a hint of satisfaction as she muttered under her breath. “Hmph. About time.”

The crowd erupted in shouts and gasps, the atmosphere electric.

“Did you see that?!”

“He—he struck and pushed him back?!”

“What was that red gauntlet?!”

Yao’s smug smirk shattered, his face twisting into shock as he stumbled back a step. “W-what?! How… how did you—?!”

Issei lowered his fist as he straightened. His eyes narrowed, his breathing steady despite the ache in his body.

“Guess I’m not as easy as you thought.”

A hush fell over the dirt road, broken only by the whispers of the crowd. All eyes locked onto the red gauntlet gleaming on Issei’s arm, its green gem pulsing faintly with power. The shock of the last strike still lingered in the air, the imprint of Issei’s punch carved into the chest of Yao’s uncle.

“What… what is that?” one man muttered, his voice trembling.

“A weapon? It appeared out of thin air.”

“Could it be… a Spirit Weapon?”

The words spread like wildfire through the gathering. The very mention of it shifted the mood, disbelief and awe twisting quickly into greed.

Spirit Weapons were rare—legendary treasures said to bond with cultivators, amplifying their power beyond normal limits. For many, it was a dream just to see one. For cultivators without such a treasure, the thought of taking it was enough to cloud their judgment.

Hidden among the onlookers, several cultivators narrowed their eyes, their expressions twisting with hunger. To own a Spirit Weapon was the dream of many—it could elevate one’s strength to new heights, turn a nobody into a powerhouse, or even allow a weak sect to rival the great clans. 

Yao himself clenched his fists, his earlier arrogance curdling into obsession. ‘If that’s really a Spirit Weapon… then it should belong to me. Not him. Me!’ His lips curled into a smile, already planning how to pry it from Issei’s corpse. ‘If I kill him and take it, then I’ll surpass even Father’s expectations. It’ll be mine—mine alone!’

Even the bearded uncle, groaning as he pushed himself to his feet, felt the same desire spark in his heart. He rubbed his chest where Issei’s strike had landed, his beard twitching as a greedy hunger flickered into his expression.

“So that’s how you managed it…” he muttered, his voice dark with envy. “That gauntlet—if it’s truly a Spirit Weapon, then I’ll rip it off your corpse and claim it for myself.”

On the sidelines, Wu Lan’s expression wavered, her gaze darted across the gathered crowd, catching flickers of avarice in more than a few faces. Men and women who had been content to watch now leaned forward, their qi stirring faintly as if weighing their chances.

Wu Ying scowled, her blue eyes narrowing on the shifting crowd. ‘Damn it. If word spreads that Issei wields a Spirit Weapon, we’ll be hounded by enemies at every turn.’ Her fists clenched tightly. ‘This is going to bring nothing but trouble.’

Wu Xiao tilted her head, her excitement dimming slightly as she looked around. Even she could sense the shift in atmosphere, though she still clenched her fists in support of Issei. “Big Bro better finish this quick…”

Mei looked around and felt her chest squeeze. She couldn’t hear the whispers, couldn’t sense the greed of cultivators, but she saw the way people were looking at Issei now—not with awe, but with hunger. Her fingers trembled. ‘Why does it feel like… everyone wants to hurt him now?’

Issei, however, ignored the crowd. His eyes stayed fixed on the uncle, his stance steady. The gauntlet hummed faintly, its weight both comforting and familiar.

The bearded uncle shook off the last of the impact and straightened, his earlier smugness replaced with a colder seriousness as he cracked his neck, the earlier arrogance tempered now with focus. “Don’t think that one strike makes us equals. You’ll learn the difference between playing at fighting and using true martial skills.”

He lunged forward again, his strikes sharper, heavier. But this time the rhythm had changed.

Issei steadied himself, planting his feet firmly, gauntlet raised. He met him head-on, his movements faster and stronger than before. Each block of his gauntlet reverberated with a heavy clang, each dodge carried him just beyond the reach of his foe. He countered with hooks and jabs, his gauntlet fist colliding with the uncle’s guard hard enough to rattle his arms.

As fists and kicks kept flying. Where before Issei had been forced onto the defensive, now he was meeting each strike head-on. His gauntleted arm deflected blows, his body twisting to dodge, his counterstrikes landing with sharp precision. The clash rang out again and again—fist against gauntlet, kick against shin, each impact like drums echoing across the street.

The crowd gasped as the tide shifted.

“He’s holding his own!”

“A Second Stage… keeping up with a Third?!”

The bearded uncle’s grin faltered. With every clash, his advantage shrank. The boy’s strength and speed were no longer inferior—each exchange rang with equality.

‘Impossible. He should be crushed by now. Fine. Let’s see how you handle this!’ The man’s thoughts churned, frustration bubbling beneath his skin.

With a growl, he leapt back, drawing in his qi, the bearded man’s aura flared brighter, his muscles tightening as he pulled his palm back. A dangerous pressure filled the air, making the ground tremble faintly. “Enough playing. Let me show you what real power looks like—Crushing Pulse!”

He thrust his palm forward.

A wave of force exploded outward, invisible but undeniable. The very air trembled, the dirt beneath his feet splitting as the martial skill surged toward Issei. The pressure hit like a hammer, making the onlookers stagger back, gasping at the sheer force of it.

Wu Ying’s eyes widened, her voice sharp. “A Martial Skill—!”

Issei’s instincts screamed. He raised his gauntlet in front of him just in time.

The pulse slammed into the crimson scales with a booming crack, rattling his entire arm. Sparks of qi flared against the gauntlet’s surface, but no damage seeped through. Still, the sheer momentum pushed him backward, his boots carving lines into the dirt as he skidded several steps.

When the energy finally dissipated, Issei shook his stinging arm, lowering the gauntlet. He exhaled sharply, sweat dripping down his brow. “That… was a Martial Skill.”

His opponent sneered, baring his teeth. “Hmph. Surprising that a country bumpkin even knows what that is. But knowing won’t save you.”

Issei flexed his gauntleted fist, his eyes narrowing. ‘If he has more like that, this is going to get ugly fast.’

The crowd buzzed, the whispers louder now. Some were awed. Others… already plotting.

“He blocked a Martial Skill?!”

“With just his arm?!”

But the two ignored the crowd in favor of starting their fight again.

The dirt road trembled under the repeated shockwaves of clashing fists and palms. Issei and Yao’s uncle moved in a blur, fists and palms striking with bone-rattling force. Dust swirled around them, their qi clashing and snapping like sparks in a storm.

“Crushing Pulse!” The bearded man bellowed, qi surging through his palm. He thrust forward again and again, waves of invisible force hammering the air. Each strike cracked the dirt beneath their feet, throwing ripples of pressure that made the onlookers stumble backward.

Issei gritted his teeth, the Boosted Gear flaring as he brought it up to meet each blow. Every pulse slammed into the crimson gauntlet with a thunderous boom, his arm aching from the repeated shocks. ‘I can’t keep letting him push me back. If I give him ground, I’ll lose control of this fight.’

Digging his heels into the dirt, Issei held his ground. The soles of his shoes gouged deep lines into the road, but he stood firm, blocking and deflecting each strike while slipping past others by inches. His breath came ragged, sweat dripping down his cheek, but his resolve only sharpened.

Still, the fight was taking its toll. Bruises began to form on both fighters where strikes had landed. A mistimed step left his ribs grazed by a partial strike, making him wince as pain flared across his side. Another blow clipped his shoulder, leaving it bruised and aching. Yet across from him, the bearded uncle bore his own marks—red welts across his forearms and jaw where Issei’s gauntlet had struck home.

The crowd roared with every exchange.

“He’s still standing! Against a Martial Skill!”

“How can a Second Stage last this long?!”

“That gauntlet… it really must be a Spirit Weapon!”

Yao, standing behind his uncle, clenched his fists, his earlier arrogance replaced with nervous sweat. His smug grin had long vanished, his lips curling downward as the battle dragged on.

The two clashed again and again, sweat flying, dirt scattering, the crowd gasping with each near miss and landed hit.

Then, a familiar sound came out.

[BOOST!]

The voice of the Sacred Gear echoed across the street like a dragon’s roar, and a surge of red light flared from Issei’s gauntlet. His strength doubled again, energy flooding his muscles until every fiber of his body thrummed with power. His eyes lit with fierce determination.

The bearded uncle’s expression faltered. ‘Another surge of power?! Impossible…!’

Issei didn’t hesitate. With his new strength coursing through him, he surged forward. His fists blurred, each strike slamming into his opponent with brutal precision. One strike. Two. Three. Each blow forced the uncle backwards, his guard crumbling under the relentless barrage. Issei’s movements grew faster, sharper, heavier—each punch accompanied by the metallic ring of the gauntlet and the dull thud of flesh giving way.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

The older man staggered back, his arms raised desperately to defend. But Issei’s onslaught was relentless, blow after blow crashing against him like a storm. Every time the uncle tried to retaliate, the crimson gauntlet slammed into his guard, breaking through his defense and forcing him further back.

“Damn it—!” Yao’s uncle spat blood as his defenses buckled. He tried to form another Crushing Pulse, qi gathering in his palm, but Issei’s fist crashed into his chest before he could release it, sending him staggering.

The crowd gasped in awe, some even stepping back instinctively at the sheer ferocity of the exchange.

“He’s overwhelming him!”

“That’s not a Second Stage anymore… that’s strength equal to a Fourth!”

“Who… who is this boy?!”

Many of those who had moments ago been licking their lips with greed now paled. The thought of jumping Issei after the fight melted away, their courage burned out by the terrifying sight before them.

At the edge of the circle, Wu Lan exhaled softly, her shoulders easing. “Thank heavens… it seems we won’t need to fight our way out after all.”

Beside her, Wu Ying’s sharp gaze narrowed, though her lips twitched as though fighting a smirk. ‘Idiot.’

Wu Xiao, on the other hand, jumped up and down, clapping her hands in pure delight. “I knew it! Big Bro’s amazing! Beat him up more!”

Mei pressed her arms to her chest, her purple eyes wide and shining. Her heart pounded in her ears as she watched Issei push back someone far beyond his supposed level. ‘He’s… incredible. He’s fighting like his life doesn’t matter, just to protect others.’

Yao, however, was frozen in fear. His uncle—the man, who had the respect of his father was being pummeled mercilessly. The brat who had dared stand up to him was now a demon in red, each strike pounding away at his arrogance.

At the center of it all, Issei pressed forward, his teeth grit. His body screamed with exertion, but the power rushing through him drowned out the pain. With one final step, he drew back his fist, crimson light flaring along the gauntlet.

“This ends now!”

CRACK!

His punch smashed into the bearded uncle’s jaw with a bone-cracking CRACK! The man’s eyes rolled back, his body crumpling as he fell into the dirt with a heavy thud, unconscious and beaten beyond recognition.

Silence followed for a long moment. Dust hung in the air, the only sound was Issei's ragged breathing. Then the crowd erupted in gasps and whispers, some in awe, others in terror.

Issei stood over the fallen man, chest heaving, his gauntlet lowered from the exertion. He exhaled sharply, then turned his gaze to Yao.

The young master had gone pale, his earlier arrogance shattered. He stumbled back a step, his eyes wide in fear as he watched his uncle’s limp body at Issei’s feet. ‘He… he beat him? He’s stronger than a Third Stage…’ He tried to speak, but only choked noises came out.

Issei’s voice was low, firm, and carried across the hushed street. “Pick him up. Take him home. And never show your face to me again… or else next time, I won’t hold back.”

The words struck like knives. Yao’s legs trembled as he scrambled forward, grabbing his unconscious uncle’s arm. His hands shook as he struggled to drag the broken body away, too terrified to even glance back.

But if anyone had looked closely, they would have seen it—the flicker of rage and greed buried beneath his fear. The tightening of his jaw. The glare hidden beneath lowered lashes.

‘This isn’t over,’ Yao thought bitterly, his heart consumed by resentment. ‘Not when I know what you carry. That Spirit Weapon… it will be mine.’

Issei turned away from the sight of Yao dragging his uncle’s limp body down the road. As he walked back toward the restaurant, the crowd began to thin. Murmurs followed him like shadows.

“Did you see that strike? He knocked out a Third Stage…”

“That red weapon… it really was a Spirit Weapon.”

“Best to stay clear of that one…”

The thrill of the fight had already given way to wary distance. One by one, the onlookers scattered, some shaking their heads, others darting glances at Issei before melting into the alleys. The cultivators hiding in the crowd—the ones whose eyes had burned with greed at the sight of the gauntlet—slipped away too. Not in fear, but with quiet calculation.

By the time Issei reached his group, the street was nearly empty. Wu Xiao beamed, clapping her hands together. Mei purple eyes locked on him with wordless admiration.

But Wu Lan and Wu Ying…

Issei frowned. Their faces weren’t relieved or celebratory. They were serious—too serious. Wu Ying’s blue eyes followed the cultivators that had melted into the shadows, her lips pressed tight. Wu Lan’s composure remained, but the slight crease in her brow betrayed her concern.

“Hey,” Issei said as he stopped in front of them. “What’s with those looks? I won, didn’t I?”

Wu Ying didn’t take her eyes off the road. “I’ll tell you later,” She muttered, her tone clipped.

Issei blinked. “Later? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Later,” She repeated firmly, crossing her arms.

He scratched the back of his head, clearly not understanding but sensing enough not to push further. ‘Guess it’s important… but if she says later, then later it is.’

Shaking his head, Issei turned his attention to Mei. She hadn’t moved, still watching him like he had descended from the heavens. Her lips parted slightly, her cheeks pink, her hands trembling.

Issei smiled warmly. “Don’t worry. They won’t mess with you anymore. But…” He extended his hand toward her, the red light of the Boosted Gear flickering one last time before it vanished from his arm. His bare hand hung there, open, steady.

“My offer’s still open.” His voice softened, but his eyes were serious. “If you come with us, things are bound to get dangerous and… weird. But I promise, I’ll protect you.”

The words struck her like lightning. Mei’s breath caught, her cheeks flushed crimson. For a moment she hesitated, staring at his hand as if it were something too precious to touch. Then, slowly, with trembling fingers, she placed her hand into his.

“I…” Her voice cracked, then steadied with quiet resolve. “I’ll go with you.”

Wu Ying groaned loudly, throwing her head back. “Great. Just what we needed. Another mouth to feed and another problem to drag around.” She muttered under her breath, “And she’s already clinging to him…”

Wu Lan, though outwardly calm, felt a faint twist in her chest as she watched Mei’s blush deepen at Issei’s words. ‘He’s too kind. Too careless. Letting someone so easily into his life… into our lives.’ Her fingers tightened slightly at her side. Still, she inclined her head, serene as always. “Very well. If that is your choice, Mei, then we will respect it.”

Wu Xiao, unlike her sisters, bounced on her toes, grinning. “Yes! Someone new to talk to! Finally!” She darted to Mei’s side, looping an arm around her with surprising energy. “Don’t worry, Mei, I’ll tell you everything about us! Well—except the secret parts. Lan and Ying would kill me.”

Mei blinked at her, startled, but couldn’t help smiling faintly.

Issei chuckled, feeling the tension around him ease slightly. He squeezed Mei’s hand gently before letting go. “I’m glad you’re coming with us. And listen—if you ever discover your missing memories, if you find where you really belong, I’ll do everything I can to help you go home.”

Mei’s purple eyes shimmered, tears threatening to form as she bowed her head. “Th-thank you, Issei. Truly.”

Issei scratched his cheek awkwardly, a faint blush on his face. ‘Man… why does she look at me like that?’

Behind him, Wu Ying grumbled under her breath, Wu Lan’s serene smile remained unshaken but faintly strained, and Wu Xiao simply beamed with uncontainable excitement.

For better or worse, Mei Ling was now one of them.

Done. Tell me what you think and if I made any mistakes. What do you think will happen next? Many people have discovered the Boosted Gear and are sure to bring trouble. How do you think Mei will react to meeting Ddraig?