Chapter 690

"Hyah! Hah!"

"Hyah! Hah!"

Evenson woke to the sound of shouting.

He sat upright in bed, staring blankly at the window. Dawn had barely begun to break.

He’d already been fighting jet lag since flying from New York to Hong Kong. After finally managing to fall asleep sometime around two in the morning, being dragged awake at four-thirty was not exactly his idea of a good time.

He checked his phone.

4:30 a.m.

Two hours.

He stared at the screen for several seconds, then seriously considered pulling the blankets over his head and pretending the outside world didn’t exist.

Unfortunately, whoever was making that racket seemed determined to prevent him from sleeping.

With a groan, Evenson dragged himself out of bed, got dressed, washed up, and stumbled out of his room to find out what the hell the Hong Kong Sanctum was doing at this hour.

The answer stopped him dead.

The courtyard looked less like a magical sanctuary and more like a martial-arts academy.

Rows of men stood bare-chested in perfect formation, while the women wore athletic tops. Every one of them was holding a deep horse stance, throwing punches in unison.

Their muscles were corded with effort, sweat running freely down their bodies. Every punch was accompanied by a sharp stomp.

The blue-gray bricks beneath their feet had cracked under the repeated impacts. Some had been driven several inches into the ground.

Evenson’s mouth fell open.

And then he looked toward the other side of the courtyard.

That was worse.

A huge section of the grounds had been covered with gravel, scattered with fist-sized rocks, many of them jagged enough to draw blood.

A group of trainees was rolling across them.

Not practicing controlled falls.

Actually rolling.

From one end to the other, then turning around and rolling straight back.

Evenson sucked in a breath.

He slowly looked around.

Was he sleepwalking?

Had he somehow wandered into a martial-arts movie?

He distinctly remembered going to sleep inside the Hong Kong Sanctum. Yet he’d woken up in what appeared to be a monastery run by people who had decided magic wasn’t physically demanding enough.

Then he spotted one of the instructors.

The man wore robes that clearly carried the distinctive style of Kamar-Taj, but they had been modified with unmistakable martial-arts influences. Long hair fell down his back, streaked with gray. His face was lined with age, yet he moved with startling vigor, his back perfectly straight and his eyes sharp beneath thick brows. A pointed beard framed his chin like the whiskers of a tiger.

He paced among the trainees, barking instructions.

"If you want to master the higher arts, your body must be tempered like steel! Your stance must be immovable as a mountain! Your strikes must carry the force of a thousand pounds!"

Evenson stared.

What?

Was this supposed to be magic training or martial arts?

Maybe, in Hong Kong, they had simply decided the distinction was unnecessary.

He’d already known Kamar-Taj had some unconventional approaches to magic.

He hadn’t realized they’d gone this far.

"Morning."

Kreia shuffled up beside him, yawning.

Although she and Evenson had lived together for quite some time, they still observed certain formalities while staying at Kamar-Taj. They had slept in separate rooms the previous night.

Evenson pointed toward the courtyard.

"Morning? It’s four-thirty."

"I know."

"How are you this calm?"

"You get used to it. They’re doing their morning exercises."

"Exercises?"

Kreia nodded toward the trainees.

"The Hong Kong Sanctum has always been diligent. Their overall combat strength is among the best in Kamar-Taj. New York comes next."

"And London?"

"The worst."

Evenson blinked.

"Really?"

"They pride themselves on being gentlemen," Kreia said with a shrug. "Unfortunately, they’re also remarkably lazy."

Evenson nodded slowly.

"I see."

Before he could say anything else, the gray-haired instructor noticed Kreia and walked over.

He stopped in front of her, clasped his hands respectfully, and bowed.

"Little Martial Uncle, you’ve arrived. Would you care to offer the disciples some guidance?"

Kreia immediately looked uncomfortable.

"No, no, there’s no need for that. Really. You’re all doing fine. Just keep going."

The elder bowed again before returning to the trainees.

Evenson watched him leave.

"Who was that?"

"Victor Sterling," Kreia said. "He’s an elder of the Hong Kong Sanctum."

She paused.

"He’s also a master of Eagle Claw. His finger strength is strong enough to split stone, and he can pierce a skull as easily as pushing a hand into rotten wood."

Evenson raised his eyebrows.

"Impressive."

And he meant it.

Victor Sterling wasn’t as powerful as Evenson, but that wasn’t a fair comparison. Judging by what he’d just witnessed, the man had spent decades hammering his body and magical abilities into shape.

The amount of work behind that kind of mastery was probably several times what Evenson himself had endured.

Still...

It didn’t exactly scream wizard.

"His family comes from a magical lineage," Kreia continued. "They were at their height during the final years of the Yuan dynasty. One of his ancestors was an anti-Yuan warrior who developed Eagle Claw himself. It’s said that his technique stood alongside Dragon Claw as one of the two greatest martial arts of the age."

Evenson glanced back toward Victor.

"That sounds less like a magical family and more like a martial-arts dynasty."

He fell silent for a moment.

There was something about that description that reminded him of a name from history, but he quickly dismissed the thought.

He had more pressing questions.

"Then why does he call you Martial Uncle?"

Kreia’s expression immediately soured.

"That’s complicated."

"Complicated?"

"Kamar-Taj technically has a system of seniority, but it’s an absolute disaster."

Evenson looked interested.

"Why?"

"Because everything ultimately traces back to the Ancient One."

Kreia sighed.

"Sometimes the Ancient One takes a group of children who have just begun learning magic and personally teaches the most talented among them for a while. But she doesn’t necessarily accept them as formal disciples."

"So they’re students, but not disciples?"

"Exactly. Except the Ancient One’s personal instruction can benefit someone for the rest of their life. Afterward, those students can simply continue learning on their own. They don’t necessarily need another teacher."

Kreia rubbed her forehead.

"So technically, they’re not her disciples. But they were personally taught by the Sorcerer Supreme. That creates a situation where everyone has to decide whether they’re senior or junior based on circumstances that nobody can agree on."

Evenson sighed.

"With an immortal Ancient One who apparently refuses to stop collecting talented children, I suppose that was inevitable."

"So you understand why I hate this system."

"You’re one of those students?"

"No."

Kreia shook her head.

"My connection is through Ollivander’s family. His father was personally taught by the Ancient One for a time. Then Ollivander himself was also..."

She hesitated.

"...corrected by the Ancient One."

Evenson raised an eyebrow.

"Corrected?"

Kreia looked away.

"Fine. Taught. For a while."

She sighed.

"My seniority comes through them."

"So you’re basically inheriting your rank through family connections."

"That’s one way to put it."

Kreia frowned.

"New York and London have mostly given up on this nonsense. It’s too complicated, so they just go by age. But Hong Kong takes hierarchy very seriously. Respect for teachers, respect for elders, seniority... all of it."

She glanced toward the trainees.

"Every time I come here, I feel like I’m walking through a minefield."

"You’ll get used to it."

Evenson shrugged.

What she considered inconvenient now was going to become downright ridiculous later.

If the Ancient One personally taught Kreia Void magic someday, she might technically end up on the same seniority level as the Ancient One herself.

At that point, her father might have to call her Grandmaster.

The thought alone made Evenson want to laugh.

Unfortunately, the courtyard was about to become even stranger.

Two people entered the training grounds.

Evenson’s expression immediately changed.

He recognized one of them.

It was Brother Fly, the gangster he’d beaten senseless the previous night.

Today, however, Brother Fly looked considerably more respectable in a black shirt and white suit.

More importantly, he wasn’t leading.

He was following someone else.

The person in front was short, roughly a head shorter than Brother Fly.

They wore heavy punk boots, leather pants, a black tank top, and a leather jacket. Short black hair swept diagonally across the face, covering the right eye.

Their features were delicate, almost pretty enough to be called feminine.

Evenson stared for a moment.

He couldn’t immediately tell whether he was looking at a man or a woman.

Then he decided it didn’t matter.

What did matter was the fact that a street thug who collected protection money had somehow brought someone who looked like a major underworld figure directly into the Hong Kong Sanctum.

Evenson was beginning to wonder whether he had somehow developed a talent for getting involved with organized crime.

First Wilson Fisk, the biggest crime boss in Hell’s Kitchen.

Now Hong Kong.

Was there some universal law stating that anyone who became acquainted with Evenson had to be a gangster?

"Martial Uncle!"

Victor Sterling spoke again.

This time, however, he wasn’t addressing Kreia.

He was bowing toward the punk-clad newcomer.

Kreia covered her face.

"Oh, no."

Evenson looked at her.

"What?"

"My senior sister is here."

"That’s your senior sister?"

Evenson looked again.

So she was a woman.

That made more sense.

Then another thought struck him.

"Wait. Your senior sister is involved in organized crime?"

"Wizards need to eat too."

Kreia shrugged.

"No matter how much spiritual nourishment you get from studying magic, it doesn’t put food on the table. Everyone here spends their lives studying magic. They don’t farm, run businesses, or work normal jobs. Somebody has to make money."

She gestured toward the woman.

"My senior sister is the owner of the White Rose chain of hair salons. They’re all over Hong Kong."

Evenson nodded.

"That sounds respectable."

Kreia gave him a look.

"She also has some side businesses."

"Ah."

"In Hong Kong, if you mention the name of my senior sister, Lily Grant, the Tiger of Kowloon, people from every industry know better than to cause trouble."

Evenson nodded again.

"Fair enough."

He understood completely.

If he spent all day training his magic without a business on the side or some investments bringing in money, he’d probably starve too.

Brother Fly leaned toward Lily and whispered something in her ear, pointing discreetly toward Evenson and Kreia.

"That foreign guy," he whispered. "And that foreign woman he’s involved with."

Lily’s fist moved before Brother Fly could finish.

Crack.

Her punch slammed directly into his nose.

Brother Fly’s eyes rolled back, and he collapsed onto the courtyard floor.

Lily spat beside him.

"Watch your mouth, asshole."

Evenson stared.

He’d hit Brother Fly pretty hard the night before.

Apparently, he’d been showing restraint.

Lily pushed her bangs aside with one finger and looked toward Evenson.

Her eyes were sharp.

Her lips curled into a knowing smile.

Evenson barely had time to react before Kreia took a small step backward.

He glanced at her.

"You two don’t get along?"

"We were close when we were children."

Kreia lowered her head.

"But childhood friendships have a remarkable way of collapsing over the strangest things."

Evenson glanced at her.

"I’m getting the impression you’re afraid of her."

"I can’t beat her."

Kreia muttered the words under her breath.

"Don’t let the age difference fool you. She’s only a few months older than me. She spends most of her time running businesses."

She swallowed.

"But she’s the strongest person in the entire Hong Kong Sanctum."

Lily dropped her bangs back over one eye.

Then she shrugged off her leather jacket and tossed it onto Brother Fly’s unconscious body.

Only then did Evenson notice the tattoos covering both of her shoulders and upper arms.

Two enormous tigers seemed to leap across her skin.

Lily rolled her neck, then cracked her knuckles.

"Victor, go get that guy."

Victor Sterling’s mouth twitched.

Apparently, he knew exactly what was coming.

But seniority was seniority.

He bowed.

"As you wish."

He turned and walked away.

The trainees immediately began clearing the courtyard.

Nobody needed to be told twice.

A few minutes later, Victor returned with a slightly overweight middle-aged man.

The man’s face was calm, but Evenson noticed something strange.

A faint glow surrounded his body.

He focused.

Protective spells.

One.

Two.

Three.

There were at least a dozen layered across the man’s body.

And he wasn’t finished.

His right hand was still fumbling around inside his robes.

Evenson happened to have the perfect angle to see what he was doing.

The man was trying to wedge a protective chest plate into place.

Evenson stared.

"It’s just a spar. Does he really need all that?"

Kreia sighed.

"My senior sister hits hard."

The middle-aged man finally stopped adjusting his defenses.

Lily planted her hands on her hips.

"You took your time."

She tilted her head.

"What, were you scared?"

The man’s pride clearly refused to let him back down.

"Scared? Me?"

He puffed out his chest.

"If I’m afraid, I’ll change my family name."

Lily laughed.

"King Punk, do you really think that line means anything?"

The courtyard fell silent.

The middle-aged mage’s face darkened.

And Evenson suddenly had a feeling this was going to be entertaining.

...