Chapter 45: The Lost Master

  Marcus and Vira stood at the threshold of the next chamber, their breathing ragged, their bodies aching from the grueling trials that had pushed them to their absolute limits. The Battle of Wills had been unlike anything they had ever faced—not just a fight, but a war against their own minds.

  Marcus flexed his fingers, his knuckles still sore from the unrelenting struggle. He could feel it—a shift within himself. His Psycha, once an unstable force, was now something different. Stronger. Hungrier.

  Vira leaned against the cold stone wall, her eyes still distant. The battle had taken something out of her, but she had gained something too—an unshakable certainty in her own strength.

  "That was…" she started, but words failed her.

  "Yeah," Marcus muttered, rolling his shoulders. "That was different."

  Stem’s voice chimed in, calm and clinical as always.

  "Mental resilience increased. Psycha pathways stabilized. Probability of future mental interference success rate: Reduced by 64%, natural memory and compression increased 37%."

  Marcus exhaled, nodding. That was good. That was necessary.

  Vira pushed herself upright, looking at him. "How do you feel?"

  Marcus clenched his fist, feeling the new pulse of energy within him. It was subtle, but he could tell something had changed. Something was awakening.

  "Like I’m not the same guy who walked into this dungeon," he admitted.

  Vira smirked. "Good. Because we’re not done yet."

  With that, they stepped forward.

  As they approached the ninth boss chamber, the air changed. A deep, reverberating hum filled the space, vibrating through the stone beneath their feet.

  Marcus slowed. "That’s new."

  Vira nodded, her fingers tightening around the hilt of her blade. "Something’s different here."

  Stem hummed.

  "Warning: Anomalous energy detected. The dungeon structure is… shifting. Something is awakening."

  Marcus' eyes narrowed. "Define 'shifting.'"

  "Unable to determine. Data interference detected. Presence of foreign entity… confirmed."

  Marcus and Vira exchanged looks. That wasn’t normal.

  Then, a voice rippled through the chamber.

  Not a system prompt. Not Stem. Something else.

  "You are not the first to stand here, but I must admit it's been quite sometime Ive seen another living being."

  A deep tremor shook the walls, and for the first time since entering the dungeon, Marcus felt like something was watching them.

  The chamber was unlike any they had faced before.

  A vast hall lined with towering monolithic statues, each depicting warriors of different origins—orc, elf, dragonkin, human. Unlike previous rooms filled with decay and death, this place had a quiet serenity, an eerie sense of something unfinished.

  The walls were adorned with beautifully crafted weapons, each one radiating age and mastery. But none of it held their attention like the woman at the center of the room.

  She sat cross-legged on the cold stone, her back turned to them, painting on a massive canvas with smooth, deliberate strokes. The soft scratching of brush against parchment was the only sound in the chamber.

  Marcus and Vira slowed their approach.

  "Uh…" Marcus hesitated. "I think we’re supposed to be fighting or something?"

  The woman didn’t turn.

  Her voice was tranquil, distant, timeless.

  “…We will. It’s inevitable.”

  She dipped her brush into a tray of ink, moving with serene patience.

  "But first, come sit with me."

  Marcus and Vira exchanged wary glances.

  "Please," the woman added softly.

  Marcus stepped forward first, curious and cautious. There was something off about her presence—not malevolent, but deeply unsettling, like a song played slightly out of tune.

  As he approached, he finally saw her.

  And what he saw stunned him.

  She was… normal.

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  Not a monster. Not a spectral horror or a dungeon construct.

  She was human.

  Vira followed Marcus’ lead, still wary, as they sat on opposite sides of the woman.

  The painting was… hideous.

  A chaotic mess of brushstrokes, figures that barely resembled forms, an attempt at something beautiful but ruined by inexperience.

  Marcus, ever blunt, snorted. "That painting is hideous."

  The woman laughed. A soft, sad chuckle.

  "Yeah," she admitted. "It is. But one must learn new hobbies… or you’ll go mad in here. I’m sure you’ve met the others."

  Marcus studied her face. "You’re human."

  "So are you."

  Marcus’ brows furrowed. "What are you doing in here?"

  The woman paused.

  "I’m trapped." Her voice barely carried weight. "I’ve been in here… a long time."

  Marcus’ stomach tightened. "How were you trapped?"

  Her eyes flickered, as if searching for something that wasn’t there. "I don’t remember. I think… I was like you."

  "What do you mean by that?"

  The woman took a breath.

  "I had a life before this one… I think. I was a warrior. I died. I was offered the opportunity to save another world…"

  Her voice cracked.

  A single tear ran down her cheek.

  She shook the feeling off. "I can’t even remember my own name."

  She looked down at her hands. "Was it Chun… or was it Yim?"

  Stem’s voice hummed in Marcus’ mind.

  "Marcus… she was reborn. Like you."

  Marcus felt his throat tighten.

  Vira’s voice was softer now. "Do you know when you arrived at this tower?"

  The woman’s tears fell freely now.

  "I found this place. I remember thinking… I could gain more power. I climbed so many floors. I thought I was becoming stronger. But I think I’m part of this place now."

  Then—the air changed.

  An oppressive aura left her body.

  She stood.

  Her presence shifted—what was once soft and lost was now solid, sharp, unbreakable.

  She turned to face them.

  Marcus’ heart stopped.

  The stance.

  The way she held herself.

  The way her feet rooted to the ground, her arms held firm yet fluid in front of her, fingers lightly curved, palms open—ready to absorb, redirect, counter.

  It hit him all at once.

  He knew who she was.

  Yim Wing Chun.

  The creator of Wing Chun.

  The master of redirection, deflection, efficiency.

  Marcus stood slowly.

  A brief moment of reverence passed between them.

  Then—he slid into his Philly Shell stance.

  Two masters.

  Two styles.

  One fight.

  The silence broke in an instant.

  Yim Wing Chun glided forward, her movement like a whisper against the stone floor. No wasted motion, no telegraphed intent—just pure, controlled aggression. Marcus barely had time to react before her palm strike shot forward, targeting the center of his chest.

  He twisted his body at the last second, rolling the strike off his shoulder in a textbook shoulder roll—redirecting the force rather than absorbing it. His counter was immediate: a sharp rear straight aimed at her chin.

  But she was already gone.

  Yim Wing Chun deflected the punch with a seemingly casual flick of her wrist—Páak Sáu—and stepped inside his guard with terrifying efficiency. A chain punch flurry followed, her fists striking like a relentless machine, targeting Marcus’ ribs, throat, and face.

  Marcus barely managed to weave between them, but one clipped his jaw, sending him stumbling back.

  "She’s fast," he muttered, shaking the sting from his face.

  Vira fired a mana bolt to cover him, but before the spell could reach, Yim Wing Chun raised a single hand—and with a precise, fluid motion, she redirected the attack, sending the bolt curving through the air.

  Marcus’ eyes widened.

  It was coming right at him.

  The bolt rammed into his guard, sending him flying.

  Vira was shocked, but she prepared another spell. As she gathered Mana between her hands, she studied Yim's movements intently.

  But suddenly Yim vanished from her view...

  Teleportation? Vira said astonished...

  But before she could form another thought

  Yim was upon her she hit the orc mage with a tight barrage of rolling punches, she swept her legs from underneath her and sent her hurling across the room with a double palm strike.

  "Yeah, okay," he exhaled as he recovered. "That’s new."

  Yim Wing Chun didn’t pause. She flowed forward again, stepping into Chi Sáu—the sticking hands drill—her arms snaking around Marcus’, feeling, measuring his movements before attacking.

  Marcus fought instinct against instinct, rolling his forearms, trying to counter her redirections, but she was too efficient, too practiced. Each time he tried to create an opening, she closed it—absorbing his movements and using them against him.

  Then she shifted.

  Her footwork changed. The smooth circular movements sharpened, and suddenly she was mirroring him.

  The Philly Shell.

  Marcus’ heart pounded. "You gotta be kidding me."

  She bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, her lead hand loose, her rear hand coiled like a snake at her ribs.

  Then she attacked.

  She moved in exactly like he would, cutting off his escape angles with precise lateral footwork. She threw a lead hook to the body, but Marcus knew that was bait—so he stepped back.

  She anticipated it.

  A rear uppercut followed, rising like a piston aimed at his chin.

  Marcus barely blocked in time.

  Then she switched again—flowing seamlessly from boxing back to Wing Chun, smothering him with tight, fast centerline strikes, forcing him into close-quarters where her style thrived.

  She wasn’t just fighting him.

  She was studying him. Adapting to him.

  And Marcus could feel it—the gap between them.

  Marcus gritted his teeth, slipping a rapid three-punch combination, trying to push her back.

  But Yim Wing Chun didn’t just dodge.

  She vanished.

  Marcus barely registered the movement before her fingers pressed against his solar plexus.

  Pressure point strike.

  His body locked up for a split second, his breath hitched—and that was all she needed.

  Her palm strike crashed into his ribs, sending him skidding across the floor.

  Marcus gasped, sucking in air. His body felt sluggish, his muscles dulled by the precise strike.

  She’s not just using technique, he realized. She’s using Ki, Mana, and Psycha in perfect balance.

  Yim Wing Chun’s form flickered, and suddenly she was moving again—faster, sharper. Her Ki-enhanced strikes left trails in the air, she utilized wind Mana to enhance her movements giving her an unnatural flow, and her Psycha aloud her to delete the space between her and what ever she wanted giving the illusion that she could teleport, she pressed down on Marcus like an unshakable weight.

  Then he felt it.

  Not just her body—her intent.

  She wasn’t fighting for power, or for survival.

  She was fighting because she had no choice.

  This dungeon, this cycle—it had bound her.

  And Marcus was starting to understand why.

  Yim Wing Chun struck again, her chain punches hammering against Marcus’ guard, her speed increasing, her intent sharpening.

  Marcus’ arms burned from the sheer number of impacts, his muscles screaming.

  Then, something clicked.

  She was fighting to trap him.

  Every move she made forced him into a specific sequence.

  A sequence he couldn’t break.

  That’s what this dungeon did. It didn’t just test warriors. It consumed them.

  Marcus growled.

  "To hell with that."

  He let his Psycha flare— "I've been studying you too".

  Marcus used his Psycha to delete the space behind to seemingly vanish then reappear

  In front of Yim, his strike ready to go

  Then

  A raw, explosive right hook shot through Yim Wing Chun’s offense, landing flush against her guard.

  The force sent shockwaves up her arms.

  For the first time, she hesitated.

  Marcus pressed forward, dipping under her next strike, getting inside her range.

  His lead uppercut slammed into her midsection, forcing her back.

  His left hook tore across her ribs, unbalancing her.

  Then he finished it.

  A final, crushing overhand right, charged with every bit of ki he had—collided against her head.

  She flew back, slamming into the floor.

  Silence.

  Marcus stood there, panting, his fists still clenched.

  Yim Wing Chun stared up at the ceiling, her chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths.

  Then—

  She laughed.

  Soft. Broken. But happy

  "...I think I'll remember you.

  She turned her head toward Marcus, smiling through her exhaustion.

  "I've defeated every worrior who came to me, you beat me soundly."

  Marcus took a shaky breath. "...I wouldn't say soundly, but I guess I did."

  Vira rushed to his side, still stunned by what she had witnessed.

  Yim Wing Chun slowly sat up, her form flickering, her presence fading.

  "Thank you." It's been so long...

  Marcus felt a lump in his throat.

  Before she faded completely, she met his gaze one last time.

  "For your win I'll give you this warning, no matter what leave this place the first 'opportunity' you get."

  Then—she vanished as if, snapped out of existence, reappearing in front of her canvas. She looked around as if lost, then she looked down, she stared at the canvas for a while, and then quietly sat on the floor, crossed legged...and continued to paint.

  Marcus not knowing what to make of the situation, simply said, "Thank you, for the lessons...you're a true master"

  And then—the final door creaked open.

  Beyond it, the final challenge awaited.