The Investiture: Unlimited Blade Works Nezha

Early the next morning, Nezha was still sound asleep when Chiron dragged him out of bed.

"A true warrior must be disciplined and never waste even a moment of time. Hurry up, eat your breakfast, and we'll train together!"

In a daze, Nezha was handed a big bowl of grass soup by the Centaur. He took a sip instinctively—hmm, it tasted like grass.

"I want meat!"

Chiron downed a massive bowl of grass soup with a blissful expression and then got into a combat stance.

"Alright, Hercules, defeat me, and I'll let you have some meat to eat."

Nezha casually set his bowl on the ground and stood up. Chiron asked with a puzzled face, "Oh? Aren't you going to finish it first? It'll get cold otherwise."

"I don't mind."

Three seconds later, Chiron, battered and bruised, was busy slaughtering a sheep, while Nezha sipped his grass soup with a contented slurp.

Chiron's mind was full of question marks. How could this happen? Impossible!

He was, after all, the son of Chronos, a Second Generation God. After countless years of honing his Martial Arts to their absolute peak, how could he end up with a bruised nose and swollen face, defeated by a mere youth in just a few moves? It didn't make sense! Even if this kid started training in his mother's womb, he shouldn't be *this* strong!

Watching Chiron spiral into self-doubt, Nezha found it amusing. Chiron's Martial Skill was indeed formidable, the kind that ranked at the top even in the Sealing God World. His prowess was such that, as a mortal, he could potentially kill an Immortal.

But when it came to the Witch Clan, who only knew "fight, enjoy," whose minds were made of muscle, Chiron was still far behind. In the Primordial era, Nezha's battles didn't entirely rely on Martial Arts. That didn't mean his Martial Arts were weak; it simply meant that in the Primordial world, pure Martial Arts didn't hold much appeal.

That said, there's a reason Chiron, this ancient relic of an old-timer, has lived so long—his cooking skills weren't any less impressive than his martial prowess. After taking a bite, Nezha gave Chiron's culinary skills an enthusiastic nod of approval.

Once the meal was done, Nezha sat cross-legged in quiet meditation, continuing to train his body. Chiron observed him silently, not interrupting Nezha's cultivation.

After fully absorbing the spiritual material, Nezha opened his eyes.

"Hey, buddy, it's lunchtime now."

Chiron: …

Lunch, huh? Does that mean dinner isn't far off? Your schedule sure is… consistent.

Chiron believed that Martial Arts required constant tempering to improve; slacking off would only dull the skills over time. Reflecting on his failure that morning, Chiron concluded that Hercules was simply too strong and too fast, leaving him no chance to counterattack.

"How about we wrestle this time? If I lose again, I'll take care of lunch."

"Sounds good."

The two drew a circle on the grass and stepped inside, immediately lunging at each other. Chiron's strength was leagues behind Nezha's, and he found himself pushed back continuously with every encounter.

Feeling it was time, Chiron tried to rely on technique, borrowing Hercules' strength to fling him out of the circle. However, Nezha's feet seemed rooted to the ground, utterly immovable.

"Master Ma, don't blame me for this young'un playing dirty."

With that, Nezha exerted some force and sent Chiron flying out of the circle. Chiron's four legs scrambled to find purchase, but all they managed to do was carve four long trenches into the earth.

Defeated yet again, Master Ma was undeterred. As he cooked their next meal, he replayed the morning's fight in his mind. Neither of his losses had discouraged him; in fact, they reignited a competitive spirit that had lain dormant for millennia!

The next day.

"Hercules, let's have a contest of archery today. If I lose this time, I'll make dinner tonight."

"Sure!"

Nezha followed Chiron, who carried a bow he had worked on all night, to the top of a hill. Pointing to a tree several kilometers away, Chiron said, "Do you see the fruit on the very top branch of that tree?"

Nezha nodded to indicate he had spotted it.

Muscles bulging, Chiron drew his bow and released the arrow. *Thwack!* The arrow hit its target dead-on, shattering the fruit into pieces.

Chiron, satisfied, handed the bow to Nezha and said, "Now it's your turn to hit the highest fruit on the tree."

Taking the bow, Nezha tested its tension. It felt too light—not even in the same league as the Sunset Bow, let alone the Qiankun Bow. He casually nocked an arrow, aimed at the fruit, and released.

The power of his blood and energy surged into the arrow, imbuing it with terrifying force. With a *whizz,* the arrow couldn't withstand the overwhelming pressure and exploded mid-flight. However, the energy within didn't dissipate; instead, it transformed into an air bomb that accelerated toward the opposing hill.

The moment the air bomb made contact with the fruit, it detonated violently, unleashing a devastating force that flattened the entire hill.

Chiron stood slack-jawed, staring at the obliterated hill. *We're comparing archery, not demolitions!*

While he could achieve the same result, it would require tapping into his Divine Power. Using only his physical body, such destruction was completely beyond him. Yet Nezha had pulled it off with a casual shot.

Even the bow, which he had painstakingly crafted overnight, only had one redeeming quality: its sturdiness.

*Crack!*

The bow snapped in half on cue.

Chiron: …

Alright, maybe it wasn't all that sturdy after all.

"Sorry, Master Ma, I broke your bow."

"It's fine; I underestimated your strength. Let's head back and eat."

"Aren't we continuing the competition?"

Chiron shielded his beloved treasure bow protectively with both hands. "Nope, you've already won."

"But I think—"

"I *think* you must be hungry!"

"Well, that's true. Master Ma, this sheep here seems to be suffering from altitude sickness. How about we eat it?"

Chiron scratched his head, confused about what altitude sickness even was. The sheep looked perfectly healthy to him. But, well, a meal's a meal.

The third day.

"Hercules, this time let's compete with swords!"

"Alright."

Half an hour later.

"I'll handle dinner again today…"

The fourth day.

"Hercules, today we'll compete with spears!"