His sharp gaze swept over the subordinates who wore the same baffled expressions.
"A bunch of idiots! Can't you see it yet? That guy's a tough nut! He's a martial artist—and definitely not one who's just gotten started!"
"Martial artist?" The constables were all startled, disbelief written across their faces.
"A martial artist could be hiding in this godforsaken backwater?"
They knew their constable captain was a First-grade Martial Artist, an existence they could only look up to!
What martial artist did not need copious amounts of meat and medicinal herbs to temper their body and condense their qi and blood?
In this remote, impoverished place, where people could barely fill their bellies, how could it possibly nurture a martial artist?
Seeing their doubts, the constable captain snorted coldly.
"Hmph! You think it's impossible? To maintain this first-grade cultivation of mine, I need several pounds of meat every single day!
"And every few days, I have to use medicinal herbs to nourish my qi and blood! But which one of you just now saw exactly how he struck? Even I didn't see it clearly!"
He pointed at the two injured men.
"If he'd meant to kill, that blow would not have smashed their wrists—it would have smashed their necks!
"And he would not have kicked their knees, but their temples! He already showed mercy!
"If it truly came down to a fight to the death, I'd be the first to die. How many of you think would make it out alive?"
Recalling those ghostly swift movements from before, movements they had not had time to react to at all, the two injured constables were immediately seized by lingering fear. Cold sweat poured down their backs, and their faces turned even paler than before. Neither dared utter another word.
Only then