Chapter 9
Meanwhile, Claire backed up as one of the ninjas approached. She ducked a slash and drove a heel into his shin, then jabbed her elbow into his throat just as he leaned forward. "Thanks for the lessons, Colleen," she muttered, before delivering a final punch to the attacker's jaw, knocking him out cold.
Ash was surrounded by the last three. One came at him with a wild overhead slash. Ash stepped in, grabbed the man's wrist mid-swing, and headbutted him hard enough to knock the mask off. The ninja dropped. The second came from the side, low and silent. Ash pivoted, caught the incoming strike against his forearm again, then delivered a spinning back kick to the attacker's sternum. A loud crack echoed. The final ninja tried to retreat—but Ash didn't let him.
The floor creaked beneath Ash's boots as he moved—just two steps and he closed the gap, hand locking around the ninja's collar. With one sharp pivot of his hip, the man was airborne. A moment later, the wooden rack near the edge of the dojo exploded into splinters as the ninja's back shattered it. Blades clattered onto the floor with metallic shrieks. The echo barely faded when the entrance slid open and Danny Rand stepped inside, eyes wide and alert. His gaze swept over the unconscious men, the splintered weapons, and the debris-littered ground, stopping on Colleen.
"Are you ok?" he asked, reaching her with concern, threading his voice. Colleen wiped a bit of sweat from her brow, exhaling slowly as she replied, "Yeah, I am not hurt." Her eyes drifted to the ninja Ash had thrown, his body crumpled amid the wreckage. Ash stood in the middle of the chaos, chest still, breath even. The shell across his body faintly glimmered, like fractured light rippling off invisible glass. Colleen watched him, her lips drawn into a thin line.
"You weren't holding back right now," she said, almost more statement than question. Ash gave a slow nod, rubbing his hand. "They didn't seem all that friendly." Claire slumped down beside the wall, brushing dust from her jeans, her gaze flicking over the carnage. "You're both insane," she muttered. The room smelled of old wood, sweat, and faint ozone. Ash reached down, tugged his backpack open, and retrieved a crumpled envelope, handing it to Colleen. "Tuition fee for today."
Colleen raised her hands. "No, lessons are free today," she said as Claire nodded. "Yeah, would've been dangerous without you." But Ash shook his head, shoving the envelope into her hand. "Please, they were no trouble, just consider them part of the lesson. They gave me real-life experience." Colleen hesitated, then nodded slowly, accepting. Danny stepped forward with a hand out. "Thank you—for helping them." Ash offered a dismissive smile. "No problem." He turned to walk out, boots brushing against splintered floorboards.
Claire called out as he reached the door. "You don't want to ask who they are? Am I the only one who finds it weird? I mean, they did just attack you with katana. I remember my first time meeting them—I asked a ton of questions." Colleen cut her a warning look, voice soft. "It's fine. We all have our secrets. I wouldn't want to pry." Ash glanced over his shoulder with a faint smile, nodding. "Well then, good luck—with whatever this is." His voice echoed slightly against the cracked walls as he stepped into the hallway, light catching on broken glass from a shattered mirror nearby.
The three remained in silence, staring at his back. Danny finally asked, "What did you think about him?" His tone hinted more curiosity than concern. Colleen folded her arms, eyes still on the door. "He tends to hold back when we're sparring, so I was worried he'd do the same with the Hand. But he didn't. In fact, he went the extra mile—hit them hard enough that they won't be waking up soon." Danny tilted his head, absorbing the words, the smell of dust and blood still thick in the air as he stood in the middle of a wrecked dojo.
-scene change-
Ash stepped out of the noodle shop, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, the distant glow of the harbor casting long shadows over the cracked pavement. The wind carried the salty bite of sea air mixed with hints of soy and smoke. His thoughts circled back to the dojo. "What was that?" he asked himself again. He could have questioned them—asked who the attackers were—but that would have opened him up to questions of his own. About how his skin deflected a katana without breaking. About what he was. "So… an organized group," he muttered as he made his way toward the shipping yard, the ground crunching under his boots.
His pace slowed as he neared the empty lot by the docks, rusted containers stacked like looming tombstones. The metallic tang of saltwater thickened in the air. Then he stopped. Two shadows moved between the containers, slipping out into the open. "Hm, I guess once wasn't enough," he thought as he spotted them—two more Hand ninjas. They didn't draw their blades, approaching with confidence, maybe even arrogance. Ash tilted his head slightly, amused. "They haven't clocked what happened to their nine companions," he muttered, stepping forward. This time, he wasn't interested in raw power. He wanted to test something. Just technique—no mana, no shell.
The first ninja lunged forward with a jab, hand angled for a grapple around Ash's collarbone. Ash stepped into the motion, twisting his hips just enough to turn the grab into a harmless brush past his shoulder. His palm slapped the man's wrist away, redirecting the arm with ease. The second ninja held back, observing. Ash's right foot slid in, elbow bent, and he jabbed gently into the first ninja's ribs—light contact, not even enough to bruise. Perfect sparring partner, Ash thought as the ninja's eyes narrowed. The next move came quicker: a high punch aimed for Ash's temple. Ash ducked low, rotating around the planted back foot, his leg sweeping wide in a check that the ninja barely stepped over.
Ash's movements flowed smoothly, like water coiled tight around a solid core. The ninja attacked again, but with more force now. He threw a left hook—tight elbow, twisted core, pivot from the back foot. Ash blocked with his forearm, using a slight rotation to disperse the impact, feeling the sting through the bone. The ninja followed up instantly, low kick to the knee. Ash caught the foot with his opposite hand mid-air, shifted his weight, and spun him away. The clang of a loose chain swinging in the wind echoed between them. The air had grown colder. Containers groaned around them as the tide crashed harder below the dock.
The ninja exhaled sharply, rage in his movements now. His punches turned reckless—raw power, no precision. But still, they were fast. He twisted into a spinning backhand. Ash ducked, then blocked the next punch to his ribs with both arms, the impact sliding through his stance. He shifted back and circled, analyzing. His perception caught the micro-shifts in weight, the slight telegraphs of shoulder movement. Ash adjusted—when the ninja feinted high and went low, Ash stepped diagonally, checking the shin with his knee and nudging the strike off-path with his elbow.
The second ninja finally joined in, slashing a horizontal palm strike meant to disrupt Ash's balance. Ash pivoted, turning his back briefly to both of them to redirect momentum and slide between their advance. The asphalt underfoot cracked faintly under a misstep. A distant foghorn called out from the harbor. The first ninja hissed, rage boiling to the surface, and in one smooth motion unsheathed his katana with a sharp metallic ring. The steel gleamed under the moonlight. Shadows flickered across the containers as he advanced again, blade arcing fast and low. Ash parried the flat of the blade with the outside of his forearm—no mana, just timing.
Ash's feet glided along the ground. Each slash from the ninja was tighter, more calculated. A diagonal slash from shoulder to hip—Ash sidestepped and pushed the blade aside at the midpoint with a two-hand parry. A low upward swing—he hopped back just enough to let the blade pass inches from his abdomen. He was sweating now, but not from exertion—from the focus. Every time the ninja advanced, Ash retreated just far enough to break rhythm, then circled back in. The clang of steel hitting concrete rang out as Ash redirected the blade into the ground with a redirected palm, controlling not the sword, but the angle of the ninja's wrists.
The dock lights flickered overhead. Somewhere in the distance, a seagull called out. The second ninja tried again—another angled jab, aimed at Ash's side. Ash twisted in a tight arc, used the ninja's own momentum to pull him forward, and let him crash against a shipping container, the thud vibrating across the metal. The katana-wielding ninja growled and stepped in again, eyes now cautious. Ash still hadn't countered with power, hadn't hit back hard, and yet—he was in control. Every missed strike, every redirected swing, was sharpening him, "that is enough for today" he though as he activated his mana, and with his enhanced strength, he palmed the both of them to the chest, slightly to the left, stopping their heart, he looked at the ninja, with no remorse in his eyes, ash was not a psychopath but he was not stupid, if someone wanted to kill him, they will die, no hesitation.
[ 1 month later ]
Still in New York Manhattan, it was early in the morning in a parking lot. A campervan could be seen with one of its windows open, giving us a look into its interior. The campervan's interior looked fresh from the factory, every surface clean and polished, the scent of new upholstery still lingering in the air. Along the left side, a compact L-shaped sofa upholstered in soft gray fabric hugged the wall, its cushions plump and untouched. Beneath the seats were built-in storage compartments, the seams barely visible in the sleek design.
Toward the back, there is a neatly fitted fold-out bed built into a wooden frame, topped with crisp white sheets and a firm, brand new mattress. The head of the bed rested against the rear wall, while overhead cabinets stretched along the top, their doors smooth and fitted with silver handles. The right side of the van was a tidy little kitchenette. A two-burner stove was inset into a black marble-style countertop, next to a small square sink with a shining chrome faucet. Underneath, pale wood cabinets and drawers provided storage space for cooking supplies and utensils.
Above the counter, more cabinets were mounted, perfectly flush with the wall, their doors held in place by magnetic catches. A small, glass-paneled shower cubicle had been installed in the back corner, neatly tucked away but just large enough for one person to wash comfortably. The floor beneath it was fitted with waterproof tiling, blending smoothly with the camper's new wood-effect vinyl flooring. Sitting on the bed was Ash, who again changed after another month of hard work. His hair has grown taller, darker, and fuller, his skin was still pale but it was healthy.
Since he was currently shirtless, we could see his muscles and boy was there a lot. They were combat and looked like someone who has been living in the gym for years, but it has only been 2 months since he was reincarnated. So these muscles were attributed to his special breathing method, mana absorption, passive permanent dormant mana enhancement, and of course his constant workout. As for his progression in his powers, Ash was still on the second stage, but his shell was denser than it has ever been, and of course the dormant mana surging in his body was full and just as dense.
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A/N another long chapters, i am really spoiling you guys, NOW HAND OVER THE STONES OR I WILL ASH BOLD.