Merin’s palms flare white as he strikes down another Iron Tusk Boar, the beast collapsing in a heap of scorched flesh and ash.

He shifts to the next, weaving through the chaos, and lands a powerful blow that sends the creature flying with half its face melted away.

Breathing hard, Merin steps back, his chest rising and falling rapidly as the heat in his limbs dims.

His chakra stutters—the last attack drained more energy than he expected.

He pauses, standing among the scattered corpses, and scans the battlefield.

The tide is momentarily in their favour.

Boars lie dead or dying across the clearing, and martial artists shout to one another, coordinating their movements.

But Merin’s eyes narrow.

More thundering steps shake the earth.

From the treeline, fresh boars emerge—larger, faster, more enraged.

The horde hasn’t thinned—it’s growing.

Suddenly, a woman in a federation uniform sprints toward him, breathless, a vial in hand.

“Martial Artist!” she shouts, pushing it into his palm. “Energy recovery potion—standard grade!”

Merin nods, uncorking it without hesitation.

The liquid inside gleams with a faint blue sheen—familiar.

He gulps it down.

A sharp, cool surge rushes through his core, and in seconds, his energy returns, fully restored.

He steps forward, ready to attack.

Another boar charges—towering, monstrous.

Its tusks are longer than a man is tall, and its skin is like stone.

This one’s no ordinary beast.

Merin narrows his eyes, pushes his palm forward—Fire God Palm, second form.

The white flame strikes the boar’s shoulder.

But instead of piercing through, the flame splashes against its hide like water on steel.

The beast grunts, barely staggering.

Merin’s expression tightens.

A colossal-level giant beast. Unification Realm’s strength.

He exhales slowly, lowering into a stance.

This will take more than raw power.

Merin knows he could slowly wear the beast down with his Ice God Palm—its third move is already perfected, sharp and precise enough to pierce defences—but he refuses.

This is an opportunity.

He decides to test and refine his Fire God Palm instead.

The first two moves, powerful as they are, lack penetration—they can scorch flesh and crush bones, but against a beast with this level of defence, they’re useless.

The third move… doesn’t exist yet.

But it has to.

Merin rolls forward as the boar slams its massive hoof down, barely missing him.

Dust erupts in all directions.

The beast bellows, tusks tearing into the ground as it charges again.

Merin’s breath slows as he circles low under the belly—its height is a weakness.

His palm strikes upward, aiming for the creature’s underbelly.

But a translucent orange shield flares to life around the beast’s torso—the attack fizzles harmlessly against it.

He grits his teeth.

The energy shield is strong—too strong for raw flame.

He remembers the third move of his Ice God Palm, a jagged projection that channels the cutting nature of ice.

Then fire needs its nature, too.

Not heat.

Explosion.

He feels it—the violent tremble in his flame chakra, the hunger in the white heat.

Still dodging, he begins modifying the internal structure of his second move mid-combat, embedding nodes of compression and volatile rhythm pockets meant to destabilise.

The Fire God Palm flares as he shapes it, layering new instructions into the energy.

He rolls under the beast again.

This time, when his palm strikes, it’s not with pressure—it’s with ignition.

Merin’s palm slams into the beast’s underbelly—energy flares, and the modified attack explodes.

But it’s not enough.

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The shield ripples, absorbing most of the blast. The force disperses unevenly—some bursts are too weak, others scatter sideways, lacking focus.

He clicks his tongue and flips backwards, dodging a tusk swipe.

The core problem is instability.

He’s generating explosions, but without a single point of compression, the energy spreads chaotically.

Merin exhales slowly, sinking into stillness even as chaos surrounds him.

Another charge—he slides under it and skids on the dirt, dragging one palm behind.

He needs precision.

This time, as he builds the flame, he tightens the core—a dense nucleus surrounded by rotating layers of fire runes.

He attacks again.

A palm strike, a flash of white.

BOOM!

The shield dents, barely holding.

He grins. It’s working.

Again, he dodges and builds another. Each strike is tighter, more controlled.

The beast roars, swaying from the repeated hits.

On his fifth attempt, the explosion doesn’t scatter—it implodes first, then detonates all force inward.

The energy shield cracks.

Merin’s eyes burn with intensity.

“One more,” he mutters, shaping the sixth strike.

“This time… it’ll fall.”

Merin’s sixth strike lands with a sharp roar—fire compressed to a pinpoint detonates beneath the beast’s belly.

The energy shield shatters like glass.

The explosion tears through skin and muscle.

The beast’s roar cuts off mid-bellow as its massive form jerks, then slumps forward.

A long gash runs up its belly, steam rising from burned flesh.

Blood and heat spill out as the colossus crashes to the ground, dead.

Merin breathes hard, knees slightly bent, his palm still glowing faintly with white fire.

His whole body aches—not from wounds, but from the toll of repeated compression and explosive output.

Footsteps approach fast.

A train staff member—smeared with dirt, face flushed—rushes toward him, holding two potions.

“Sir! Energy recovery and healing potion!”

Merin takes both but immediately downs only the red vial of energy recovery.

A cooling warmth spreads through his body, fatigue washing away.

He studies the healing potion in his other hand, then pockets it.

“I’m not injured badly enough to waste this.”

The staff member nods gratefully and runs to assist others.

Merin looks around—the tide is turning.

Beasts are falling one by one.

And for now, there are no more giants.

Merin watches the battlefield—his help no longer urgently needed—but then a sharp, blaring trumpet splits the air.

From the depths of the forest, massive figures emerge—giant white elephants, their tusks like curved spears, their size towering over the train.

Some reach twenty-five feet in height, matching the height of the train itself.

This is why trains in the Federation aren’t built long, but tall, to prevent being overturned by such beasts.

Only the raw force of Karst energy in the engine gives these trains enough power to move at all.

Merin doesn’t wait.

He sprints up the train wall, launching himself with a leap to land on the roof.

His palms glow—white fire roars to life, forming into orbs that he hurls down at the charging elephants.

The lesser ones stagger, scorched and slowed.

But the colossal ones? They don’t even flinch.

The tide shifts in seconds—panic spreads like wildfire.

Martial artists begin to retreat.

Passengers climb over to the far side of the train, fleeing into the forest.

But Merin stays.

It’s not the end—not yet.

He knows reinforcements will come.

And even if they don’t, there’s still a chance to win.

If true doom falls, then and only then will escape be justified.

Until then, he fights.

Gritting his teeth, he forms a spiralling orb of energy between his palms.

Pain lances through his arms—his meridians scream.

His body isn’t ready yet for the third-stage strain of the two breathing techniques.

But he forces it anyway.

Fire and ice collide—burning white core surrounded by jagged frozen spikes.

The sphere hums with unstable energy.

He hurls it at the nearest colossal white elephant.

The sky howls as the spiked ice-fire bomb streaks forward.

Merin’s attack strikes true—the colossal white elephant roars in pain and crashes to the ground, its massive body sending tremors across the battlefield.

But it’s not dead.

He knows that a few more Icefire energy balls could finish it, but his body screams in protest.

His meridians are fraying under the strain, torn and scorched by the raw force he’s channelling.

Unable to take the risk, he drinks the healing potion the staff gave him.

Relief comes fast.

In just a minute, his wounds fade—only ten per cent of the internal damage remains.

Encouraged, he looks around and spots the same staff member distributing potions.

He dashes over to her.

“Give me a few more healing potions,” he says.

She eyes him with doubt, noting his uninjured exterior.

“You don’t look hurt.”

“It’s inside,” he replies, panting.

Reluctantly, she hands him two more.

He drains one on the spot, returns to his position on the roof, and conjures another Icefire energy ball.

His meridians tear again—but the lingering effect of the potion instantly begins repairing them.

Pain and healing alternate with every breath.

He grits his teeth and fires two Icefire blasts in rapid succession.

The downed elephant bellows, but still doesn’t die.

He knows the next one will end it.

Without hesitation, he drinks the final potion, feels the warmth spread through his core, and forms the last Icefire sphere.

The burning white core spins violently, surrounded by jagged frost, and when he launches it, it drills through the weakened beast’s belly.

With a final groan, the elephant exhales and falls still.

Merin exhales too, trembling slightly from exertion.

But there’s no time to rest.

More white elephants still crowd the forest’s edge.

Now, he targets the inferior ones.

He doesn’t hold back, unleashing Icefire spheres crafted with only the second level of each palm technique.

This time, no pain lances through his body—no tearing, no internal bleeding.

Because while he conjured the third-stage attacks, the healing potion had slowly rebuilt his body, refining and strengthening his meridians under stress.

Now, he’s stronger.

And with every attack, he hones control.

A few minutes later, the female staff member runs up to him, panting.

“Can you kill the colossal realm white elephants?” she asks. “The inferior ones can be handled by the guns now.”

Merin wipes the sweat from his brow and says, “You must’ve noticed—I’m still in the lower Unification Realm. Using both Ice and Fire true energy damages my meridians. So no, I can’t. Not constantly.”

Without hesitation, she presses three healing potions and two energy recovery potions into his hand.

“Take these. I’ll get you more.”

Merin shrugs, watching her dash away again.

He downs an energy recovery potion, feeling his true energy replenished, then immediately targets another colossal white elephant.

The third-level Icefire energy ball slams into the beast, forcing it to stagger.

He fires a second shot and quickly drinks a healing potion as the strain creeps in.

Thanks to repeated healing cycles, his meridians have grown tougher.

Now, he can fire two Icefire energy balls in succession without collapsing.

The second volley kills the beast.

Taking the last energy potion, he goes after the next giant.

Two shots. One healing potion. Another two shots.

The elephant falls.

When he stops to inspect his condition, he realises something new—he can now fire a third Icefire energy ball in a row without injury.

His meridians are adapting faster than he expected.

He doesn’t push it yet.

Instead, he scans the crowd for the staffer and gestures her over.

She runs to him again, handing over two more healing potions and two energy recovery potions.

An hour later, with the combined effort of Merin and the other martial artists, the tide turns.

The white elephants are finally retreating.

Merin exhales, exhausted but satisfied, the battlefield now favouring the defenders.

As the adrenaline fades, he sighs.

He should’ve bought healing potions long ago.

If he had, he might’ve already reached the upper Unification Realm by now.

He’d assumed there’d be no more life-threatening danger after the realm battlefield.

But that assumption nearly cost him.

Now, he plans to stock up the moment he arrives in Nova Super City.

With proper healing support, he can finally train the fourth level of the Icefire technique.

The fourth Ice God Palm evolves the sharpness and cold to another degree—blades of freezing energy.

So for the Fire God Palm, the next level must go deeper.

More explosions. More heat.

More destruction.

He grits his teeth.

The fourth level of Fire God Palm awaits.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep