Looking for Death
Hassin, seeing stars after the fall, struggled to lift his head and glared at Li Bai, only to find him still looking utterly casual, as though he hadn't used much strength at all.
"You're asking for it!"
Jaharlal Choudhury's other attendants roared and charged forward.
Smack!
Li Bai swung a hand and knocked one of them flat. He shifted half a step aside, then slapped another one down.
Smack, smack, smack, smack...
He'd hit them so hard that not one of them could get back up anytime soon.
Within a space of just two steps, he moved back and forth with ease, knocking each of the Indians flat with a casual slap. It was like operating a precision printer, complete with an ink-spray effect—though it only printed in monochrome.
At last, he pulled out an alcohol wipe and slowly cleaned his hands.
Those Indians smelled absolutely awful.
"Good. Very good. It seems my judgment wasn't wrong."
Jaharlal Choudhury's expression changed ever so slightly, though he quickly regained his composure and applauded in approval.
When a big shot took the lead, it was easy to set the tone.
Elder Zhuo Yong, the former Nine Provinces Xuan Association member who couldn't quite figure out what was going on, joined in the applause. That made the Indians feel rather awkward. They were only clapping through gritted teeth to save face and show their "appreciation." What the hell was an outsider joining in for?
No matter who it was, if every single one of their subordinates had been beaten until they were crawling around like turtles on their backs, there was no way they wouldn't be furious.
Even when you beat a dog, you were supposed to consider its owner.
And these were loyal servants and followers, to boot.
But what