Chapter 70: The Shadow of the Dragon, the Name of the King
Looking at the slightly plump Old Wang, Matt felt as though he were gazing at a mountain.
In truth, Old Wang was actually a little shorter than Matt, still within the years of growth. Men at twenty-three could still shoot up a bit, but Old Wang was only eighteen, not particularly tall, half a head shorter than Matt.
Yet in Matt’s heart, Old Wang was as mighty as a mountain, as vast as the sea, as lofty as the sky, as enduring as a river.
His own physical prowess was lacking, but his senses were exceptionally sharp—so sharp, in fact, that he could barely track the path of a bullet.
Old Wang catching a bullet barehanded without a scratch had not escaped his perception.
Unimaginable speed, unimaginable precision, and the ability to withstand the impact of bullets—these were abilities Matt could not even dream of possessing. Add to that the fact that Old Wang’s senses might rival his own, and perhaps even surpass him in “super vision”—was this the strength of a true master?
Relying solely on the enhancement of body and spirit by “Qi” could raise the five senses to the level of a naturally gifted individual like himself, but then on top of that, there was “super vision”?
As soon as he heard Old Wang’s deliberately deep and husky voice, Matt didn’t hesitate; he helped Erica and Stick up and headed for the gymnasium.
Worried about Old Wang? Was there any need for an ordinary mortal like himself to worry about the Iron Fist of Kunlun?
Erica and Stick were clearly even more astonished than Matt.
Seeing Old Wang roll over like a ball, Erica could not help but find it both hilarious and astounding. Such a bizarre technique, yet it unleashed speed far surpassing her own—a combination of panda and cheetah!
And the way he caught a bullet barehanded—how dashing! With that level of physical strength, was he Captain America reborn?
Stick, whose body was nearly riddled like a sieve, trembled violently.
He knew, of course, that Captain America couldn’t actually be resurrected, but he also knew what kind of person could accomplish such a feat.
Madam Gao was already among the five with the most abundant Qi. If she was prepared, she could even wrap her body in Qi and resist the damage of a pistol shot. But her greatest weakness was her age—she was much slower than Murakami or the Gambler.
Catching bullets barehanded? Impossible.
Perhaps Madam Gao could intercept a hail of bullets, but not like this.
Only a master surpassing Madam Gao could achieve this.
In Stick’s limited understanding, only the people of the Seven Heavens could do this.
And according to the latest intel, someone from “Kunlun,” one of the Seven Heavens, had indeed arrived—none other than the most powerful “Immortal Iron Fist.”
“Let me go! I want to help Iron Fist!” Stick shouted, moved to tears.
He had been worried before—what if the legendary “Immortal Iron Fist” wasn’t as mighty as rumored?
Every time an Iron Fist is born, the Dragon of Longevity must reincarnate. The shorter the time between reincarnations, the weaker the dragon, and thus, the weaker the Iron Fist who obtains its power. If, by chance, it had only reincarnated for a few years or decades, and the new Iron Fist was untalented, wouldn’t it be shockingly weak?
But now it seemed his worries were unfounded.
Although not a martial arts master himself, and thus unable to truly sense the power of this generation’s Iron Fist, at least it was clear he was far from weak.
As the current leader of the True Purity Society,
I, Stick, must pledge my life to follow the Immortal Iron Fist and fight the Hand to the death!
Bang!
Seeing Stick struggle desperately, Matt, losing patience, knocked him out with a punch.
In a little while, your blood will run dry—will you even be able to fight, or will you just be a burden?
Matt suddenly felt a pang of sadness for Master Wang.
Such a mighty Master Wang, the formidable Immortal Iron Fist, yet his followers were so few, just a couple of stray cats. Stick, your existence is truly questionable—does he even need you to deal with the Hand?
“Iron Fist! Immortal Iron Fist!” cried Nobu Yoshioka, who had charged over, astonished at the sight.
The power of the Iron Fist shocked him, but it did not seem as overwhelming as Master Murakami had described—one punch shattering mountains, one palm splitting rivers, waterfalls reversing course, phoenixes wailing.
The Immortal Iron Fist, terrifying as it was, perhaps was not quite the invincible legend told by the tales. Perhaps such an Iron Fist could still be killed.
“Attack!” Yoshioka commanded, opening fire.
Everyone else opened fire as well.
Old Wang sighed, then smiled.
This feeling amidst a hail of bullets reminded him of the dwarven riflemen’s volleys. He wondered if “Brann Bronzebeard” was still searching for Titan relics, or if “Hemet Nesingwary” was still out hunting.
My followers, are you all well?
Profound Qi surged throughout his body. At this moment, Old Wang was like a peerless master from a wuxia novel, unflinching even if beset by the sweeping palms of a monk or the combined might of the Five Greats of the Central Plains.
The green Qi transformed into gold, forming a glowing shield around his body.
This was the monk’s skill: “Golden Bell Shield.”
Under Old Wang’s development, even the Blademaster’s Invincible Slash would not faze him, let alone mere pistols.
With enemies of this caliber, there was no need to use his most powerful skills. Surely the Hand had observers hidden nearby, perhaps even disguised among Columbia University’s students. Old Wang had no intention of revealing all his secrets.
A spectral azure dragon coiled around him as Old Wang leapt into the air.
Spirit Dragon Form!
The Dragon’s Might!
Soaring Dragon in the Heavens!
Three techniques in quick succession—the eruption of Qi stunned every enemy present, and the swiftly moving azure dragon phantom inflicted real harm upon them.
For resilient foes like demon guards or dwarven warriors, even one as powerful as Old Wang could not annihilate them instantly with these wide-area skills, which were not known for their offensive power. But for the ninja, whose bodies were still ordinary, it was absolutely deadly.
Bang!
Smack!
Bang bang smack!
Most of the ninjas had no time to cry out before their hearts were destroyed and they fell dead on the spot.
Those farther away were lucky enough to survive, but were seriously injured, while the dragon’s might radiating from Old Wang left them paralyzed with fear.
This was the Dragon’s Might from the “Supreme Celestial” azure dragon, “Jade Dragon.”
How could mere mortals compare?
Yes, mortals.
In Old Wang’s eyes, these so-called “world’s most elite ninjas” might indeed be expert assassins with indomitable will, but compared to the battle-hardened veterans of the World of Warcraft, they fell far short. Nor could they compare to the undying soldiers who fought on the front lines during the War of Resistance.
“A dragon! It’s a dragon!”
“By Amaterasu, it’s the Chinese Divine Dragon!”
“Isn’t the dragon from Korea?”
“No, it’s Kunlun’s Divine Dragon, the Dragon of Longevity!”
“Wait, wasn’t the Dragon of Longevity supposed to be red? Why is it blue now?”
“We’re all about to die, and you care about that?”
The ninjas were terrified, on the verge of panic, yet none retreated.
Yoshioka’s voice rang out at just the right moment: “Don’t be afraid! Qi is limited, and the Dragon’s power isn’t easily controlled! He’s expended so much Qi—his body won’t withstand it, and he’ll fall into weakness. Now’s your best chance—kill him!”
Even he didn’t quite believe his own words, but he had to rally his troops—what if he was right?
What if?
Trained to obey orders, the ninjas immediately began firing again.
The bullets were quickly spent, blocked by the Golden Bell Shield. They drew their katanas and charged.
In terms of lethality, cold steel was certainly deadlier than a pistol!
Old Wang almost laughed out loud.
Qi exhausted, falling into weakness?
Sorry.
Except for the weakest Iron Fist in history, there was no such thing.
And I am not him!
Endurance battles—those are my forte!