Shi Hao's Mad Dog Fighting Style, Desolate Heaven Emperor

From the moment Shi Hao stepped onto the training ground, Dai Mubai felt that something was off.

It wasn't the pressure of soul power; Shi Hao's soul power fluctuations were indeed strong—a full level nine—but Dai Mubai was also level nine, so they were evenly matched in that regard.

It wasn't his physique! Shi Hao was half a head taller and his muscles were firmer, but Dai Mubai had seen too many opponents bulkier than himself, all of whom eventually collapsed beneath his White Tiger claws.

It was something indescribable, like being targeted by a ferocious beast.

Shi Hao stood opposite him, bare-chested—having lost his shirt somewhere along the way—his muscles gleaming with a bronze luster under the sunlight.

His eyes were bright, burning like two flames, and a hint of a smile hung on the corners of his mouth; it was a smile of excitement and endless fighting intent.

Arbitrating through the ages, who else but me?

Before he had transmigrated, he had loved drinking beast milk every day, breaking through the darkest of times with his own strength and enduring loneliness alone.

Some said he had suffered the most, but he knew it was all worth it.

Arbitrating through the ages and protecting the world was never just a slogan.

It was a fight until the very last moment.

I really want to drink some milk.

Shi Hao looked Dai Mubai up and down, his gaze not like that of an opponent, but more like a whetstone; to him, everyone was a whetstone that would only make him stronger.

"They say you are the strongest of the Shrek Seven Devils," Shi Hao said.

Dai Mubai nodded again, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly: "So what?"

Shi Hao clenched his fists, his knuckles popping with a crisp sound: "So, beating you is worth beating ten others."

On the sidelines, Flender raised his hand and took a deep breath: "Begin!"

Before the words had even faded, Dai Mubai moved.

White Tiger Rending Heaven! His first soul skill, the signature attack of the Evil-Eyed White Tiger, with enough power to split stones and shatter mountains.

Dai Mubai's right claw, wreathed in white soul power, tore through the air with a sharp whistling sound, heading straight for Shi Hao's chest.

The speed and power of this strike were enough to make even Zhao Wuji take it seriously; it was fast to the extreme. His tiger style was not only fast but also fierce and domineering, the roar of the tiger deafening.

Dai Mubai did not hold back, because from the start, he hadn't treated Shi Hao as an ordinary opponent; he knew the strength of these four monsters.

Shi Hao did not dodge, did not defend, and did not even retreat. He stood there, watching the claws draw closer.

The white glow of soul power reflected in his pupils like two stars about to be swallowed, and the claws slammed solidly into Shi Hao's chest.

"Bang!"

With a dull thud, Shi Hao retreated, but only three steps. He looked down at his chest; three bloody gashes extended from his collarbone to his heart, the flesh torn and blood seeping out.

Dai Mubai's White Tiger Rending Heaven would usually break at least two ribs of a soul master at the same level, leaving them unable to rise from the ground. Shi Hao's wounds looked terrifying, but that was all—mere superficial injuries.

He was a being with an invincible physical body; he was only slightly affected by this strange world, but it was of no consequence. If he were like that trash Tang San, he would have been shredded long ago—truly, comparing people only leads to frustration.

A floor tile is just a floor tile; there's no washing that away.

Shi Hao looked up and smiled: "Is that it?"

Dai Mubai's pupils contracted sharply. His White Tiger Rending Heaven, a full-force strike, was only a superficial wound? Was this man's body made of iron? Shi Hao didn't give him time to think and launched a counterattack.

A punch! A simple, straightforward punch, without any soul power fluctuations or martial soul enhancement—pure physical strength. But it was too fast, so fast that Dai Mubai couldn't fully dodge. He shifted his body, the fist grazing his shoulder, the wind from the strike scraping his cheek until it stung.

Dai Mubai retreated two steps to create distance, alarm bells ringing in his heart.

The power of that punch... a basic attack? Impossible, a basic attack couldn't have this kind of power.

Shi Hao didn't give him a chance to breathe, pouncing forward like a beast off its leash.

A punch, a kick, a headbutt—there was no technique to speak of, no patterns to follow. It was pure, wild, unreasonable violence. Dai Mubai was forced back step by step by this mad-dog style of fighting.

White Tiger Rending Heaven, White Tiger Intense Light Wave—his soul skills slammed into Shi Hao one after another, but Shi Hao seemed not to feel the pain, charging forward and smashing away regardless.

On the sidelines, Oscar's sausage dropped again. He hung his mouth open, his eyes wide as bells, his voice trembling: "What... what kind of soul skill is this? How have I never seen this fighting style? Is he using the legendary... sanctification of the flesh?"

Tang San's expression was even worse than Oscar's. He stared at Shi Hao's every punch and kick, his voice low as if squeezed through his teeth: "It's not a soul skill. It's just... basic attacks. A punch, a kick, a headbutt—all the most fundamental ways of attacking."

Flender stood on the sidelines, arms crossed, his brow furrowed into a knot: "Basic attacks can have this much power? His physical strength is at least ten times that of a soul master at his level. Dai Mubai would stagger from one of his punches, yet he can still stand after taking ten of Dai Mubai's. This isn't a fight; this is a crushing."

On the training ground, Shi Hao grew more frantic, his punches heavier, his kicks faster, his whole person like a tireless fighting machine.

With every punch he threw, he roared: "Arbitrating through the ages! Suppressing everything! Arbitrating through the ages! Suppressing everything!"

Dai Mubai was getting desperate. He, the Evil-Eyed White Tiger, the strongest combatant of the Shrek Seven Devils—when had he ever been so humiliated? When had he ever been chased down and beaten? He gritted his teeth and unleashed his martial soul to its limit.

White Tiger Vajra Transformation, his third soul skill, surged his defense and power, covering his entire body in a suit of white soul power armor, making him look like a humanoid beast.

"Come on!" Dai Mubai roared, both claws striking out to clash with Shi Hao.

Fist and claw met with a dull boom, and both men retreated. Dai Mubai took two steps back, Shi Hao three or four, but as soon as Shi Hao stopped, he charged again like a beast that didn't know how to retreat.

Then, he closed his eyes.

The crowd was in an uproar.

"He closed his eyes? He's closing his eyes in the middle of a fight?"

"Is he crazy?"

"What the hell, is he really that arrogant? Fighting Dai Mubai with his eyes closed?"

Tang San's pupils constricted sharply. He had seen Shi Hao close his eyes before, during their own spar. He had assumed it was a coincidence, thinking Shi Hao only closed them because he was flustered.

Shi Hao stood there with his eyes shut, his fists hanging naturally at his sides. His breathing was as steady as if he were sleeping, yet every muscle in his body was coiled tight, like a bow drawn to its limit.

He was listening, sensing, using his body to capture every trace of Dai Mubai's aura, every wisp of killing intent! Every muscle contraction. Throughout the fight, his body had memorized the rhythm of Dai Mubai's attacks.

Dai Mubai charged! A full-force strike under the White Tiger Vajra Transformation. White spirit power condensed at his claws into a massive, phantom tiger head, roaring as it lunged toward Shi Hao.

Shi Hao opened his eyes. In that instant, they shone like two suns.

True Meaning of the Turtle Fist. This punch had no technique, no flash, no added effects. It was simply fast—so fast that Dai Mubai couldn't react—and accurate, landing precisely on the weak point of the White Tiger Vajra Transformation's defense. It was so ruthless that it shattered the white armor into pieces with a single blow.

Dai Mubai flew backward, soaring over ten meters before slamming heavily into the training ground's perimeter wall. He left a human-shaped crater in the masonry as brick dust rained down. Dai Mubai remained embedded in the wall, eyes rolled back, motionless.

Shi Hao retracted his fist and looked at his hand, frowning slightly. "Seems I used too much force."

The crowd collectively fainted. You sent a man flying ten meters into a wall, and now you say you used too much force?

In the corner of the training ground, Yu Xiaogang adjusted his glasses, opened his notebook, and began his review.

Shi Hao's combat style could be summarized as having no technique at all, relying purely on intuition and raw physical dominance.

It looked like a mad dog brawling, but in reality, every punch landed on the most critical spot. This wasn't luck; it was combat instinct—an innate, reflexive sense for battle that required no thought.

Zhu Zhuqing stood behind Yu Xiaogang, looking at the analysis in the notebook, and asked coldly, "So, he's just playing the fool?"

Yu Xiaogang closed the notebook and watched Shi Hao, who was currently loosening his wrists on the field. He answered earnestly, "No, he is truly insane. But his madness happens to align perfectly with his combat talent. A person like this is a born fighting machine. He needs no strategy, no deliberation; his body finds the optimal path of attack on its own."

Shi Hao's ears twitched. He turned his head to look at Yu Xiaogang and Zhu Zhuqing, his expression as serious as if he were presiding over an academic conference. "I am not a machine! I am the Desolate Heaven Emperor who dominates the ages! The Desolate Heaven Emperor, do you understand? One punch to break the ages, one punch to suppress the heavens and earth, one punch..."

Yu Xiaogang interrupted him, expressionless. "Right, right, sure, whatever you say." His tone was like someone humoring a three-year-old child.

Shi Hao opened his mouth, wanting to continue explaining the greatness of the Desolate Heaven Emperor, but seeing that Yu Xiaogang had already turned to discuss something else with Zhu Zhuqing, he gave up.

He looked down at Dai Mubai, still embedded in the wall, crouched down, and poked his face. "Hey, are you still fighting?"

Dai Mubai didn't react.

"I'll take that as a forfeit." Shi Hao stood up, dusted off his hands, and walked off the field.

Tang San had watched the entire battle between Shi Hao and Dai Mubai. His eyes had never left Shi Hao's movements—from the moment he closed his eyes, to when he opened them, to the execution of that True Meaning of the Turtle Fist.

He recalled his own spar with Shi Hao. Eyes closed, then a single punch—exactly the same.

So, when he fought me, he wasn't even taking it seriously.

Tang San clenched his fists! He took a deep breath and walked toward the training ground.

Xiao Wu called out from behind, "Third Brother, what are you doing? Isn't your match already over?"

Tang San didn't look back. "I'm fighting one more."

Xiao Wu was stunned. "Against who?"

Tang San didn't answer; he had already reached Zhu Zhuqing.

"Zhuqing, I want to spar with you," Tang San said.

Zhu Zhuqing was cleaning her nails. She looked up at Tang San's words, her face showing an expression somewhere between confusion and disgust. "Didn't you just lose?"

Tang San said, "No spirit skills. Pure physical combat, just like Shi Hao."

Zhu Zhuqing was silent for a moment. She glanced at Shi Hao, who was sitting on the sidelines drinking water, then back at Tang San. The disgust in her eyes deepened.

"You are not him," Zhu Zhuqing said.

Tang San persisted, "I know I'm not him. But I want to try."

Zhu Zhuqing stood up. She agreed, not because she thought Tang San could win, but because she felt that while this person was weak, at least he wasn't a coward.

The match began.

Zhu Zhuqing didn't use her martial soul, relying only on pure physical techniques. Her speed remained astonishing; before Tang San could react, she was already in front of him.

One kick, and Tang San flew backward. Tang San scrambled up from the ground and charged again. Another kick, and he flew again. Tang San climbed, charged, and flew.

This repeated until the fifth time he stood up. Tang San's lip was bleeding, his knees were scraped raw, and he was covered in dust.

He stood on the training ground, swaying like a tree about to be toppled by the wind. He took a deep breath, clenched his fists, and charged again.

One kick, and Tang San flew even further. He lay on the ground, unable to get up immediately this time.

Shi Hao sat on the sidelines drinking water, shaking his head as he watched Tang San get kicked away for the fifth time.

Xiao Yan scoffed and turned his face away.

Wang Lin hadn't opened his eyes from start to finish. Han Li remained expressionless, but in his ledger, he added a line under Tang San's name: Knowing it is impossible yet doing it anyway—courage is commendable, intelligence is concerning.

Tang San lay on the ground, his face pressed against the cold stone floor. The wound on his chest had reopened, blood seeping out to stain his clothes.

He heard footsteps. Xiao Wu ran over. "Third Brother! Are you okay?" Her voice was choked with tears.

Tang San lifted his head, his face a mixture of dust and blood. He looked at Xiao Wu, his lips moving.

Xiao Wu's expression changed. "Don't speak."

Tang San opened his mouth: "Resurrect..."

Xiao Wu slapped him across the face, fast and accurate, covering Tang San's mouth precisely before he could utter the words "my lover."

"Shut it!" Xiao Wu snapped.

With his mouth covered, Tang San blinked at Xiao Wu, unable to say a single word.

Xiao Wu let go, and Tang San obediently kept his mouth shut.

He climbed up from the ground, brushed the dust off his body, and limped toward the edge of the field. After two steps, he looked back at the center of the training ground. Shi Hao was already gone, off to who knows where, but the ground remained scarred by the pits from his fists, the cracks from his footsteps, and the human-shaped crater left by Dai Mubai.

Tang San lowered his head and continued to limp away.

Behind him, Xiao Wu caught up. "Third Brother, why are you trying to imitate Shi Hao? You are you, and he is him. You can't copy him."

Tang San remained silent for a long time—so long that just as Xiao Wu was about to ask again, thinking he hadn't heard, Tang San finally spoke. His voice was so soft that only Xiao Wu could hear it.

"I just... wanted to know if I could walk his path."

Xiao Wu asked, "Can you?"

Tang San shook his head.

Xiao Wu said nothing more, simply walking silently to Tang San's side and supporting his arm.