If only I'd known not to help Luo Batian fight...
Qin Xinghai groaned inwardly, regretting it so badly his guts had turned green.
As a martial artist at peak bright force, he might not have ranked among the area's finest experts, but he could still swagger around unchallenged. Ordinary gangs could not hire him even if they tried.
If he had not been short of money lately, and happened to owe Luo Batian a modest favor, he would never have bothered taking an arena job in such a backwater.
He had thought he could simply go through the motions and earn thirty taels of silver. Who could have imagined he would kick an iron plate?
No, how was this an iron plate? It was a mountain!
At that thought, fear sprouted in Qin Xinghai's heart, and his punches began to fall into disarray.
Mo Yun keenly caught the wavering of his opponent's resolve.
He stepped straight down the center, aligned his waist and hips, and unleashed another punch.
This punch was even fiercer than the last. As his fist tore through the air, the faint roar of a tiger followed it, as though an invisible beast were pouncing on its prey with claws and fangs bared.
Qin Xinghai struggled to block, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
Boom!
Their fists collided, and an overwhelming surge of power came crashing toward him like floodwaters bursting through a dam.
Qin Xinghai felt the bones in both arms creaking. The webs between his thumbs and forefingers throbbed with pain, and crimson beads of blood had already seeped into his palms.
He slid backward uncontrollably, his soles grinding two white streaks into the blue stone slabs beneath him. The piercing scrape echoed over the Martial Training Ground.
No, I can't keep fighting...