A bald man in a red hooded robe stepped off a train that had arrived in New York. He had come from Atlanta, high in the Appalachian Mountains.
A gourd hung from his waist, filled with baijiu. His left hand kept clenching at empty air, as if he were unaccustomed to something being missing.
The bald man had a fair, beardless face. His once-bulky muscles had gradually "atrophied," but concentration was the essence. After shedding his former bloat, he felt stronger from head to toe.
Because he was tall and broad-boned, he could not cultivate even a trace of feminine charm. Instead, he better suited the air of a refined young man.
If not for the tattoo atop his head and the savage scar running down between his brows, countless rich women would surely have pursued him.
But now, he felt nothing for women.
There was only one person in his heart: the powerful, mysterious, and beautiful Lord Dongfang!
"First, I need to get a good sword."
The bald man glanced at Adam Smith, who was basking in the spotlight on the station hall's screen, and revealed a bloodthirsty smile.
"Though you appeared before me, I am Lord Dongfang's most loyal believer!"
After one look, the bald man strode out of the station and headed straight for Chinatown.
This bald man was named Johnny Tyson. He had once been an underground boxer in Atlanta, risking his life for meager commissions.
Do not assume that underground fights made millions every night and think bare-knuckle boxing could make one rich. Most of the cut went to the organizers, and the clubs supplying the fighters took another huge share. What actually reached the fighters' pockets was a drop in the bucket.
Of course, if you made a name for yourself and brought your own following, the organizers would offer higher commissions and might even share part of the profits.
But all of it came at the cost of one's limited lifespan.
Few underground boxers died of old age. They either died in the ring or in a hospital bed. Even those lucky enough to retire suffered from old injuries in their later years, spending most of what they earned on medical treatment.
Johnny Tyson was one such miserable little fighter. Every time he went into the ring ready to die, he earned less than he could from a "zero-dollar shopping spree." After one severe injury, the club abandoned him. He could only rely on his last savings to seek treatment and scrape by.
That night, he had been completely penniless. He had planned to end his suffering by jumping from a building, but a black videotape appeared on his apartment floor.
A Qiang met A Zhen on a starry night.
From then on, his colorless life gained a vivid stroke of red, and Johnny Tyson's life found meaning.
But A Qiang could not tolerate A Zhen's past.
Johnny Tyson only discovered, after getting cut, that New York had produced another stinking man imitating Invincible East.
Jealousy kept A Qiang awake at night. He wanted A Zhen all to himself, completely and utterly!
The great Lord Dongfang did not need a second follower. Johnny vowed to eliminate every man who had received Invincible East's gift.
That was why he had come from Atlanta to New York.
He had trained especially hard for more than three months, then killed the club owner, the fighters who had conflicts with him, and the entire gang that organized the underground fights through actual combat.
Johnny Tyson was confident that his inner strength was no weaker than Adam Smith's. Combined with the fighting experience honed through years of underground boxing, he was absolutely stronger than that miserable office worker and pathetic green-haired cuckold!
After the ruthless and taciturn Johnny Tyson found a decent treasured sword in Chinatown, he immediately issued Adam Smith a challenge.
Under cover of night, he carved a sentence into the wall outside the Wall Street Securities Exchange building with his blade.
"Three days from now, atop the White House: to determine superiority, and life or death!"
The signature read, "The sun rises in the east; I alone remain undefeated," written in Chinese.
Clearly, A Qiang's feelings for A Zhen ran deeper. He had taught himself Chinese for three months for her sake.
At daybreak, Wall Street erupted in fury, New York boiled over, and all America was shocked.
Even Lin Hao, the instigator behind it all, was briefly stunned by the duel location before revealing a strange smile. "Interesting. Now Invincible East will become famous throughout America, and the Eunuch Chamber Brigade can finally hang out its sign."
After thinking for a moment, he summoned Sadako back and tossed her a sword—a sword forged from vibranium.
"Take this to Bald Qiang."
Over the past few days, he had noticed Adam Smith's sword in the news and guessed it was likely Adamantium. A sword Johnny Tyson bought on the market would not withstand more than a few exchanges.
These two eunuchs were both talents of the Eunuch Chamber and could serve as explosive advertising. They could not be lost for the time being.
If only Adam Smith appeared, most factions would assume he was an isolated case, impossible to replicate. Once they saw Johnny Tyson as well, they would understand and begin investigating the reason behind it.
By then, whether to cut or not would become a dilemma for many American men.
In the future, as the environment grew ever more dangerous, there would definitely be more and more people willing to take the cut.
Early in the morning, inside the S.H.I.E.L.D. director's office.
"Black Nick Fury," Nick Fury, sat behind his desk while Phil Coulson stood nearby, reporting newly discovered information.
"This Japanese man is named Kurosaki Ichigo. He acquired more than one-third of Stark Industries' stock and held a shareholders' meeting with Tony Stark yesterday. The meeting's contents are currently unknown..."
Nick Fury rapidly reviewed Kurosaki Ichigo's file and found him to be an entirely ordinary Japanese businessman. He had businesses he had run for years, was also involved in finance, and traded stocks, with both gains and losses.
This time, he had bought in at the bottom while Stark Industries' stock price fluctuated, becoming a major shareholder in one leap.
"Something's wrong."
Nick Fury spotted the problem after only a moment. "If his latest bargain purchase was because he blindly believed in Tony Stark, then his short-selling operation three months ago... was far too decisive."
"Five million dollars at ten times leverage was indeed somewhat risky, but he had made similar moves before. He had even suffered major losses several times." Coulson was not as certain as his boss.
"Do not care about what he did in the past, because his past experiences may have been a perfectly arranged setup."
Nick Fury always thought like an agent, maintaining suspicion toward everything.
"We need to see what he is doing now and what he hopes to accomplish."
"Fine, I'll keep watching him." Coulson immediately listed Kurosaki Ichigo as a priority surveillance target on his tablet, then continued, "Adam Smith—the Red Swordsman—has been particularly active lately."
Surveillance footage and news reports from several television stations began playing on the screen.
"Chief, this man is not simple. I investigated those reporters' backgrounds and recent financial records, but found nothing suspicious at all."
The fact that even Coulson could find nothing suspicious was suspicious in itself.
"No need to investigate. He is Pierce's man." Nick Fury directly revealed the answer. "Pierce is trying to build a superhero team."
"This..." Coulson considered his words carefully before finally stating his position. "He is no longer director. It seems he has no authority to do that."
"He lacks S.H.I.E.L.D.'s authority, but he possesses the authority bestowed by wealth."
Nick Fury took such matters in stride. He himself used funds allocated by the Security Council to secretly sustain the Skrulls' survival, in exchange for their assistance with intelligence work.
Besides, Alexander Pierce was still a senior executive of the Security Council. If he persuaded the Council to establish a special operations unit independent of S.H.I.E.L.D., many people would likely agree.
Since taking power, Nick Fury had kept a tight grip on S.H.I.E.L.D., and many had long been dissatisfied with him. Though he did not know that his control amounted to nothing, S.H.I.E.L.D. had already become a nest of snakes.
After delivering his morning report, Coulson left the director's office.
The tablet was still playing footage of Adam Smith cutting down an armed robber with his sword.
"As expected of Pierce. It is rather similar to my own plan..." Nick Fury muttered.
Less than a moment later, the office door was violently shoved open.
Phil Coulson looked frantic. "Director, something big has happened!"
Seeing the two lines of text in the live footage, Nick Fury's face turned black as... well, there was no way to tell.
"Bastard, he is provoking America!"
I originally wanted the duel to take place atop the Statue of Liberty, but the boss said the White House was fine too—just do not expose Comrade Ocean View. So brothers, when commenting, make sure not to mention it!!!
PS: Up to now, I have not deleted a single comment. If some of you notice your comments disappearing, it was not me deleting them. The boss is protecting this book. I sincerely ask everyone to be more tactful from now on; use more substitute names if possible.
I sincerely thank Boss Penglai for giving me this opportunity and showing me such favor. From now on, I will strive to improve my driving skills and make the boss revise less for me.
Before you continue