If he could have maintained this fighting state all along, the disciples behind him surely would not have been so disappointed in him. Why did his disciples have so many complaints? Was it because they were not truly loyal to begin with, or because King of Fists had never taught them how to be good people? Actually, it was neither. In King of Fists' eyes, his disciples had only come to him because he could give them a meal or two to fill their stomachs. If the day came when he no longer had any ability and could no longer make money, these people would surely leave him behind his back. That was why King of Fists was now thinking about what his way out would be.
One of King of Fists' disciples said to him, "Master, you can't keep wallowing like this. You need to show your own bearing now. You... you can't let others shit and piss on your head. You know why we came looking for you in the first place—it was because your abilities were far above ours."
"That's why we were willing to call you Master, and why we were more than willing to follow you in private. But over these past few years, not only have you stopped fighting, but most of the time, you've been lazy. How are we disciples supposed to feel good about that?"
King of Fists had been fiercely competitive all his life. How could he possibly allow his disciples to speak ill of him like that? He immediately pressed a large blade to the other man's neck and said, "So now every stray cat and dog comes here to tell me what to do, huh? You lot are really bold beyond belief. Fine, sure, no problem. If you want