"Eight Trigrams Palm, Song Xu!"
The man with withered hair clasped his fists and announced.
An Yi returned the gesture, also clasping his fists: "Wolf Fang, Lin Chen!"
As he spoke, An Yi had already charged forward, throwing a punch straight at Song Xu’s face.
The punch was razor-sharp!
Its angle was tricky—specifically aimed at the face!
Combined with the element of surprise, it was nearly impossible for an average person to defend against.
Song Xu remained composed, swinging his palm in a broad, sweeping motion, the wind whistling in its wake.
An Yi countered with his first Flash Fist, meeting the attack head-on!
Both men were forced a step back.
"Impressive strength," Song Xu began, ready to exchange the usual compliments.
Normally, at this point, the opponent would reply with something like, "You’re no slouch either!" to maintain mutual bravado.
But An Yi ignored him entirely. His second Flash Fist struck like lightning, again targeting Song Xu’s face.
"No martial virtue!"
Song Xu, now furious, dodged the punch and pressed his palm against An Yi’s body, redirecting his force—Single Exchange Palm!
The strike landed on An Yi’s chest, forcing him to stagger back slightly.
The onlookers gasped.
The Eight Trigrams Palm, derived from saber techniques, was known for its wide, aggressive movements. Once its rhythm was established, the opponent would be like a lamb to the slaughter, completely at the user’s mercy!
"Is this kid really that weak?"
"Five billion for sword skills, and he just lets them go? We should’ve stepped in earlier!"
"Backhand Palm!"
A cold smirk curled on Song Xu’s lips as he pivoted, using his footwork to prepare a Backhand Palm strike aimed at An Yi’s ribs.
But the moment he turned, An Yi’s eyes gleamed with a dazzling light.
"Now’s my chance!"
"Flash Fist! Third strike!"
An Yi’s speed suddenly surged as his fist connected with Song Xu’s spine, sending him flying.
Thud!
Song Xu crashed to the ground, gritting his teeth as he struggled to stand.
Then, almost instinctively, he roared: "I surrender!"
The sole of a shoe hovered just millimeters from his face.
An Yi grinned, retracting his foot and clasping his fists. "I yield to your mercy."
Song Xu was still shaken, his back drenched in cold sweat.
A moment later—just a moment—and that shoe would’ve flattened his face, leaving his features beyond even plastic surgery’s repair.
The crowd sighed in disbelief.
"This kid’s got no honor!"
"He attacks while the guy’s down? Doesn’t even wait for him to stand!"
"And what’s with the obsession with hitting faces?!"
"Next!"
An Yi stretched his arms casually, as if this were just another day.
Song Xu was stunned.
His palm had struck this kid—yet it had no effect?
That could only mean one thing: this kid’s strength far surpassed his own!
"Damn it!"
"Then why fight so dirty?!"
"I’ll go!"
A burly, bare-chested man with a thick beard stepped forward.
An Yi frowned.
"Tch, no bounty on your head? Why bother?"
Twenty seconds later.
"Ah—!"
The bearded man let out a bloodcurdling scream as An Yi hurled him through the air.
He flew a good forty or fifty meters, crashing into a trash bin and toppling three more, sending flies buzzing under the streetlights into chaos.
An Yi dusted his hands off angrily. "If you’re weak, stay out of it! Waste my time again, and I’ll break your legs!"
The crowd fell silent, now realizing something was off.
How had this kid derailed their plans?
They’d come to rob him tonight—not to fight in some makeshift tournament!
"What’re you staring at? Keep staring, and I’ll rip this book to shreds!"
Noticing their dazed expressions, An Yi pulled out The Nine Dragon-Slaying Swords from his robe and casually tore a small section from the middle.
The martial artists nearly fainted in horror.
"Easy there, young man!" Fu Changchun, leader of the Surging Waves Palm School, spoke up.
They all knew the legend of The Nine Dragon-Slaying Swords. Owning this manual could alter the fate of an individual—or even an entire family!
So even if this brat was toying with them like children, they had no choice but to play along.
It was like a five-year-old holding a gun to your head, demanding candy.
Would you buy it or not?
This was their chance to leap through the dragon’s gate. None of them wanted to miss it.
If this little bastard got too emotional and shredded the manual, where would they go to cry about it?
"I’ll go!"
A lean, wiry martial artist stepped forward.
An Yi beamed.
"Good! This one’s got a bounty!"
Three punches later, the wiry fighter was overwhelmed. An Yi seized the moment, delivering a swift chop to the back of his neck, knocking him out cold.
A glance at his system: Tyrant Quest Progress: 4/10!
Six more to go!
Next, two more weaklings insisted on challenging him. An Yi swiftly dealt with them.
Then he found another worthy opponent—a fighter with a bounty.
Using his superior speed, An Yi circled behind and unleashed two air blades straight at the man’s rear, forcing him to wave the white flag.
Progress: 5/10! Halfway there!
"Brother Chen, you’re unstoppable!"
"Brother Chen, you’re invincible!"
The two monks, A-Long and A-Hu, showered him with praise.
An Yi waved them off. "Stay calm, stay calm. Who’s next?"
The crowd was eerily quiet now.
Several skilled fighters had fallen in succession. It was clear—this kid was trouble. And his fighting style? Downright shameless!
After tonight, the name "Lin Chen" would be reviled across the martial world.
His reputation was ruined. No one had ever seen a fighter this underhanded!
"You—the guy in the tank top! Step up!"
When no one volunteered, An Yi scanned the crowd and pointed at a man with a bounty.
The man’s face was rugged, his expression unyielding—clearly not someone to mess with.
"Me?"
The man shook his head. "No thanks. I can’t even beat Song Xu. No way I’m a match for you."
An Yi gave an earnest pep talk. "How will you know if you don’t try? The Nine Dragon-Slaying Swords—worth five billion—are right here! Beat me, and they’re yours!"
"Then… I’ll give it a shot?"
The man hesitated but finally stepped forward.
He channeled his energy, throwing a punch that sliced through the air toward An Yi.
A minute later, he was pinned under An Yi’s foot, utterly defeated.
"Pfft. You thought you could take me? Know your place!"
An Yi sneered arrogantly.
Progress: 6/10!
Four more to go.
The tank-top-clad man under his foot nearly sobbed. "Dammit, I told you I couldn’t beat you! You’re the one who made me try!"
"Oh, sorry. Don’t recall that."
"This farce ends now!"
Fu Changchun’s eyes darkened as he prepared to strike.
Kill this brat, seize the manual, and escape.
With these fighters as they were, he was confident he could pull it off.
"I wonder… do I have what it takes?"
A cloaked figure emerged—a gaunt man with a scruffy beard, sunken cheeks, and hollow eyes.
Fu Changchun froze mid-step.
"Viper Dart… Xiang Chun!"
The martial artists paled, instinctively backing away.
Even Zhang Fan, who had been idly twirling a dagger against the wall, stiffened.
Chen Bing adjusted his black-framed glasses and muttered, "Now we’ve got a real fighter."