The instant their bodies crossed, Tiger Head began to question his entire life.
His Tiger Iron Rod!
That top-tier weapon he rarely used had been swatted by a battered old sneaker, knocked off course. Hun Tiangang instantly arrived before Tiger Head and reached a palm toward his face.
Tiger Head was initially stunned, then every hair on his body stood on end.
In an instant, he drew his second iron rod. Bang!
It was very strange.
When the iron rods met the sole of the shoe, the sound was peculiar—somewhat gentle and muffled, yet carrying a faint metallic hum.
Two iron rods against a single shoe sole, and Tiger Head was actually thrown into a frantic scramble!
Hun Tiangang kept going, "Eh!?"
"Huh!?"
"Oh!?"
"Heh!"
"Whoa!?"
Tiger Head gradually realized that he could no longer see clearly.
It was not that there was something wrong with his eyes. He simply could not keep up.
A terrifying suspicion slowly surfaced in his heart:
This old man... he did not intend to kill him. He was playing with him!
He... had found something amusing!
Lu Chengwen and the other two had already started putting lamb into the hot pot.
One glance was enough to understand.
Tiger Head, trapped inside the battle, had already begun losing his sense of direction.
This was an utterly despairing omen!
It had been many years since he had last felt this way.
Under the opponent's high-intensity, high-density assault, his vision was filled with the opponent's afterimages and weapon trajectories. His mind could not relax for even a second, not for an instant, not in the slightest, because if he fell behind once, he would not know where the opponent's next move would come from.
And that meant death.
Beaten to death by a shoe.
But this sort