The Almighty Dominance novel Chapter 618

Alex felt the surge of power settle deep within him as he broke through to the first stage of Foundation Establishment.

The metal element coursed through his meridians like liquid steel, sharp and unyielding, born from the long hours of enlightenment.

The knowledge had flooded him, reshaping everything he thought he knew about combat and cultivation.

He opened his eyes and scanned the plaza.

Dozens of outer disciples stared at him in open-mouthed awe, their faces frozen between disbelief and reverence.

But Alex had no time for their stares. He did not care what they thought of him.

Without a word, he flicked his wrist and hurled the white sword skyward. It spun once, then hung motionless in the air, humming with quiet power.

In one fluid motion he leaped, landing lightly on its flat blade.

“Go,” he said.

The sword shot forward like an arrow released from a bow, carrying him high above the peaks in a streak of white light.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Shock turned to frenzy. A handful of elders exchanged quick glances, then flung their own swords into the air and gave chase.

Most of the outer disciples could only stand rooted to the ground, eyes wide, mouths moving in silent questions.

“What… what is happening?” one finally whispered.

No one answered. No one knew.

Three elders pushed their qi to the limit, faces tight with effort, yet they still fell farther and farther behind. They had never imagined a Foundation Establishment cultivator could make a flying sword move with such blistering speed.

The wind howled past them as they strained, refusing to give up, but Alex’s blade was already a distant white speck racing toward the next mountain’s peak.

By the time the elders caught sight of their destination, they had arrived at Heavenly Fist Peak.

Ten of them landed in a rush of robes and swirling dust, drawing startled cries from the disciples gathered in the plaza.

The young men and women dropped into hurried bows, hearts hammering.

“Where is the disciple who just arrived?” one elder demanded, voice sharp with urgency.

A disciple lifted his head, voice trembling. “He… he went straight to the Heavenly Fist test stone, Elder.”

The words landed like a thunderclap. The elders froze.

“The fist test?” another elder blurted. “Does that boy even know how to throw a punch?”

They stared at one another, utterly stunned.

They waited in tense silence, eyes fixed on the glowing ranking stone at the center of the plaza.

At first nothing changed. Then, slowly at first and then with startling speed, the name Jun Jiu began to climb the list.

Higher. Higher. Each new position came faster than the last.

The elders watched in growing disbelief. Their confusion deepened with every rank the name gained.

“How is this possible?” one muttered. “Does this man truly understand fist techniques?”

Inside the test chamber, the world felt strangely familiar to Alex. The stone arena mirrored the sword trial exactly, except there were no blades this time—only fists and kicks, raw and unadorned.

Opponents materialized from light, striking with precise, brutal forms. Alex moved without hesitation.

Gaia had already recorded every motion, every shift of weight, every angle of attack, feeding the data straight into his mind.

He had realigned his understanding of fist work during the sword enlightenment, and now the knowledge flowed through him like second nature.

It was easier than the sword trial. Much easier.

He struck, dodged, countered—each movement clean, economical, and devastating.

The test stone drank in his performance, and outside, the name Jun Jiu kept rising, unstoppable.

Alex condensed his newly formed Foundation Establishment core in a single, deliberate breath and sealed it deep within his dantian. The power folded in on itself, vanishing completely.

In an instant, his aura dropped back to Greater Qi Condensation, smooth and unremarkable.

He wanted it this way. Only when he had mastered all five elements would he allow his true foundation to shine.

Anything less felt incomplete, unfinished—like leaving a blade half-forged.

For the next few days, he lived inside the fist trial without pause. Strike after strike, the stone arena tested him relentlessly.

On the morning of the fourth day, his name on the ranking stele climbed to second place. Moments later, it surged into the final stage of first rank.

He stepped through the shimmering barrier and found himself in a vast inner chamber. All around him, phantom figures of ancient masters moved in perfect loops.

Shaolin disciples flowed through iron-hard forms, their fists cracking the air like thunder.

Nearby, beggars from the Beggar Sect demonstrated the legendary Eighteen Dragon Subduing Palms—each palm strike rippling with dragon-like force—and the wild, unpredictable Drunken Fist that turned drunken stumbling into lethal grace.

Alex watched, heart pounding with quiet awe.

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