The Fist That Wasn’t Enough

They walked back from the underground ring in silence. The air was cool, the streets mostly empty, and both of them kept their heads low like two guilty kids sneaking home past curfew.

Ren’s body didn’t ache at all.

Not even a little.

It was strange. Just hours ago, he’d been getting tossed around by a man the size of a boulder. But now, walking under the soft light of a sleepy town, he felt perfectly fine. No soreness. No bruises. Just... dirty clothes and a shirt that looked like it had been chewed up and spat out.

He glanced at Kazuma, who was still grinning like he’d just won a bet.

They tiptoed up the stairs of the inn, making sure not to wake anyone. Especially Rachel. If she found out what they’d been up to, they’d both be in for a full lecture — maybe even a punch or two.

The next morning, Ren and Kazuma woke up early. As promised, they snuck out before anyone else stirred and found a quiet clearing just outside the town. The grass was still wet with morning dew, and the sun hadn’t fully risen yet — just enough light to stretch in.

Kazuma cracked his knuckles. “Alright. Rule number one — no matter how strong your body is, if you don’t know how to fight, you’ll lose. Plain and simple.”

“I know,” Ren said, already moving his shoulders around to loosen up.

“You feel any pain from yesterday?”

“None. It’s like... the fight never happened.”

Kazuma gave him a sideways look. “You’ve got the kind of body people would kill for, you know that? Warriors train their whole lives to survive hits like that. You just walk away like it was a nap.”

Ren gave a small smile. “Still didn’t win though.”

Kazuma grinned. “That’s why we’re here.”

They started with the basics. Dodging. Countering. Finding balance. How to move your feet when you’re on the defensive, how to strike when you see an opening. Kazuma didn’t go easy, either — every move came with an explanation, a demonstration, and sometimes a light tap to the ribs just to remind Ren when he messed up.

Ren soaked it all in.

Maybe it was his body. Maybe it was just how badly he wanted to improve. But something about the way his limbs moved, the way his instincts kicked in — it all felt natural. Like his body had been waiting to fight all along.

Hours passed. The sun climbed high, birds chirped, and the sound of fists hitting open air echoed through the clearing.

Eventually, they both dropped onto the grass, flat on their backs, staring up at the blue sky. A few clouds floated lazily overhead. The breeze was cool. Peaceful.

“We should head back,” Kazuma said, breath still heavy.

“Yeah... but let’s do this again tomorrow,” Ren said.

Kazuma smirked. “Every morning, till you stop getting your ass kicked.”

Over the next few days, they moved from town to town — walking, eating cheap food, and slipping in early morning training whenever they could. Ren and Kazuma kept it consistent, always up before the others, drilling footwork and strikes in quiet fields or empty alleys. The rest of the group knew what they were up to, but no one said much. Maybe they just figured it was better to let them be.

Ren was improving fast.

He adapted quickly, like his body was built to learn under pressure. His movements got sharper. His footwork cleaner. He still had a long way to go, but the difference was already noticeable.

---

They followed the dirt path as it curved uphill, brushing past tall grass and scattered stones. When they reached the top, they stopped.

The view opened wide.

Below them, the town sat at the edge of the land, pressed gently against the sea. The rooftops were close together, red tiles and chimneys sticking out at odd angles. Winding streets led downhill toward the water, where thin masts poked up like needles, rocking in the breeze.

From up here, the ships looked distant and small — like they were part of a quiet painting.

Ren took a slow breath. The air smelled different now — sharp with salt, damp with seaweed, and something else... something fresh.

Seagulls circled overhead, their cries clear against the soft wind. Somewhere below, wooden beams creaked with the tide.

The ocean stretched out in front of them, deep and endless. The way it shimmered under the sky made it feel alive — like it was breathing.

Somewhere beyond that line where blue met blue... was the Northern Continent.

And whatever truth was waiting there — Ren would find it.

---

They entered the town.

It was big — not as massive as the one where they’d found the underground fight club, but still large and full of life. This was clearly a hub of trade. Workers moved crates across the streets, carts rattled past with supplies, and the scent of salt mixed with the earthy smell of cargo. They could hear ship horns echoing from down near the water.

This town was the heart of business in the Southern Continent. Most imports and exports passed through here — cargo, passengers, goods from all over.

They headed closer to the docks. The day was still bright, not even close to evening, so they figured they’d check if any ships were heading to the Northern Continent.

Ren looked around, eyes wide. Ships of all kinds were docked — massive cargo vessels, sleek passenger ships, even a few luxurious ones with flags fluttering high. It was all new to him. He’d never seen a port in his past life either. The sea, the scale of everything… it was overwhelming in a strange, exciting way.

They reached the far end of the harbor, where the noise of the busy port faded into the creak of old docks and the cry of gulls. Unlike the bustling terminals filled with clerks and passengers, this part was quiet — forgotten, almost. A few worn boats bobbed gently in the water, tied to splintered posts with fraying ropes.

An old man sat near the edge, legs kicked up on a barrel, puffing slowly on a wooden pipe. His coat was faded, patched in too many places to count, and his wide-brimmed hat drooped over tired eyes.

Rachel stepped forward. “Excuse me. Do you know if any ships are heading to the Northern Continent?”

The old man looked up, squinting against the sun. He sized them up — one by one — then let out a low chuckle.

“You lot chasing that Immortals tale too?”

Rachel glanced at the others, then back at him. “What do you know about it?”

He took the pipe from his mouth and gestured toward the sea. “You wouldn’t believe how many have come through here lately. Treasure-seekers, mercenaries, even some priests talking prophecy. All of ’em looking for the truth. Or power. Or whatever it is they think is out there.”

Kazuma raised an eyebrow. “And?”

The man leaned forward, voice quieter now. “Most don’t come back. Sea takes some. The land past the coast takes the rest.”

For a moment, no one spoke. The wind tugged gently at their cloaks.

Ren stepped up. “Do you take people there?”

The man gave him a long look, then nodded slowly. “Aye. Got a ship that can make the trip. Not pretty, not fast — but she’ll hold steady if the sea stays kind. Already got a few others boarding.”

He tapped the side of the barrel with his foot.

“Price ain’t cheap. But I don’t take coin for this kind of trip. You pay me in stories. Real ones. One from each of you before we sail — and one more when we reach the other side.”

Rachel blinked. “Stories?”

He smiled, just a little. “That way, if you don’t make it back... at least your stories will.”

There was a pause. The wind rolled in off the sea, cool and quiet.

Rachel turned to look at the others — Ren, Kazuma, Melissa, Alex. Each of them met her gaze. 

Some looked nervous, others excited, but none of them backed away.

She nodded slowly, then turned back to the old man with a small grin.

“That’s it,” she said. “We’re actually crossing to another continent.”

Even she looked excited. None of them had ever traveled this far before. It felt like stepping off the map.

Ren looked out past the docks. The sea stretched wide and endless — but it wasn’t the waves that stirred something in him. It was the question.

Why had he come to this world?
Why didn’t his body bleed like the others?

The answers weren’t behind him.

They were out there — somewhere beyond that endless blue.

And he was going to find them.

They gathered their bags and stepped toward the ship.

It wasn’t massive — just a sturdy, timeworn vessel tied to the dock with thick ropes. Its sails were patched, its deck scuffed from years of use, but it looked steady. Reliable. A few other passengers were already climbing aboard.

The old man gave a small nod from the ramp. “If you're coming, now's the time.”

One by one, they climbed onto the deck. The wood creaked beneath their boots, and the salty wind brushed against their faces.

There were no cheers. No send-off.

Just the quiet lapping of waves and the promise of something waiting beyond the horizon.

And just like that — their next journey began.

To be continued...