One

Lu Heng charged out, knife in hand.

In that instant of close contact, he figured out what the other person was capable of.

The armor plates weren't pieced together; they grew out of the flesh, with the edges seamlessly integrated with the flesh. The joints had three layers that fit together perfectly when the body moved. The head was hidden beneath the breastplate, with only a horizontal slit visible, and the interior was dark.

It has no weaknesses.

Needless to say, his strength was incredible—his stomp had sank the ground by half a foot, and he stood up without the slightest hesitation. His reaction was also quick; he shifted half a step to the side, and the head of the animal in front had already turned around, its crosshairs aligned with his, without any delay. Turning, changing direction, and starting again—all were completed in one movement.

Not clumsy, not slow, not stupid.

They were suppressed in every aspect, with only one exception.

Lu Heng took another half step back, his heavy punch grazing Lu Heng's chest and missing its mark, the force of the blow pressing the fabric of his clothes against his skin. He missed by a hair's breadth.

His movement was slightly faster than itss. Just slightly faster.

A quicker change of direction, a quicker step back, a quicker turn to create space—that's enough for him to dodge, not enough for him to run, not enough for him to win—just enough for him to survive.

That's enough.

After the first punch, the rhythm was set.

Lu Heng didn't retreat in a straight line, but walked close to the right outer side of the opponent, taking very small steps, each step landing the instant the opponent's center of gravity shifted. When the heavy punch came down, he neither blocked nor parried, but instead lowered his body, passing through the narrow gap between the punch and the shoulder armor, his knife slicing along the edge of the armor plate.

The blade slid open, but didn't break through the defense.

He didn't stop, using the momentum of the slide to take a step to the side and back. The second sweeping attack had already arrived—blocking his path and forcing him towards the third. The positions of the three blocked all escape routes.

He bent low, his knees almost touching the ground, and crawled under the sweeping attack. The backplate grazed his neck, scraping off a layer of skin that stung. Just as the smell of blood rose, a fourth fist came from the side.

He couldn't dodge it completely. He pulled his shoulder in, letting the fist graz his shoulder from the outside. The force still lifted him half an inch off the ground, and he stumbled back two steps before regaining his footing. Half of his left arm was numb.

Tolerance.

The knife hadn't actually been used yet. He was waiting for the right angle, and at the same time, he was waiting for something else—with each close approach, with each near miss, something extremely fine would leak out from the gaps in the armor, be swallowed by the Blood Armor, and then seep into his body.

The Greedy Wolf Power: slow, scarce, like water dripping from a crack in a rock.

But continue. As long as you keep close to the target, he won't miss.

The encirclement was formed after five or six exchanges of punches.

The five stopped attacking individually and began to circle around him, driving him step by step toward the hard ground between the Shelter and the wasteland. There was no grass, no undulations, and the ground was flat—nothing to borrow, nowhere to hide.

They understand this. This isn't a beast's instinct; it's the way of the military.

After two more near misses, he was forced to draw his knife.

One fist came crashing down from the front, while another blocked his escape route from behind. He could dodge the one in front, but if he dodged the one in behind, he would run into the arms of a third. All three paths led to death, except for one.

He raised his knife, held it horizontally, and used his back to block the punch from the front.

The moment of contact, my entire arm went numb from shoulder to finger bones, my thumb split open, and blood trickled down my wrist. I was forcefully knocked back, my heels plowing two furrows in the hard ground, and I only stopped after taking five or six steps. My blood surged, and my throat tasted sweet.

The one behind him took advantage of his unsteady retreat and punched him in the ribs. The Blood Armor was mostly destroyed, but the remaining blow still sent him sprawling to the side, rolling on the ground before he got up. He felt a dull pain under his ribs, which was more noticeable when he inhaled, but his bones were fine.

Lu Heng stood up, switched the knife to his left hand, and flicked his right hand against his leg twice to let the blood flow back.

You can't block it a second time. Blocking it once is enough; blocking it twice will ruin your hand.

Five birds steadily advanced, one unharmed, one not slowing down.

He no longer relies solely on hiding.

You can dodge it ten times, but you can't dodge it eleven times. The arena is only so big, and your stamina is only so long; the opponent's strength won't diminish. You have to slow them down.

He lacks armor-piercing abilities, instant-kill skills, and target-lock abilities. But he has something else.

His mental energy spread outwards, not downwards, but upwards and outwards, pushing into the air and into every corner of this hardened earthen circle. He pushed it evenly, without targeting any specific area.

The temperature is starting to rise.

It wasn't fire, it wasn't a heatwave; it was the air, the ground, the grass, and the scales of armor all rising together in the entire area. It was very even, very slow, so slow that you could hardly feel the change.

The Insect Armor Warrior's movements didn't falter for a moment. His reaction time was still top-notch, his speed still incredibly fast, and his fist still came crashing down. Lu Heng still had to push himself to the limit to give way.

But there are changes within it.

Their sealed, thick shells, growing out of their flesh, retain heat but do not dissipate it. The outside world is dry, but inside they are stifling.

The one that struck first missed its target by an inch with its next punch. It was so slight that you wouldn't have noticed it unless you were right next to it the whole time.

After a few more rounds, its turning became a fraction slower. It wasn't that its reaction was slow; its torso couldn't keep up—its internal organs were in disarray, constantly overdrawn, and its body was forced to allocate some of its functions to suppress its own temperature.

Then the second one also paused in the same way.

They were still perfect. Invincible armor, explosive power, and top-notch reflexes. However, their perfect bodies were hampered by internal injuries, not severe, but enough to create an opening.

A very short, hard window that will never open again.

This was exactly what Lu Heng had been waiting for. And he still had something in his hand even at this point.

He took the initiative to go forward and meet the one that had attacked first.

When his opponent threw a punch, he didn't let it go; instead, he took a step forward—a step that sent him into the blast of the punch, his shoulder grazed, and he staggered. Using this sway, he pressed himself against the opponent's chest plate, his forehead almost touching the horizontal seam.

The distance is too close, so close that there's no need to push, spread out, or search with mental energy.

Mind Spike.

The remaining mental energy was twisted into a single line and plunged into the enemy at close range.

The resistance was thick and tough, like driving a needle into wet cowhide. The opponent's functions were failing, but the shell remained, the reactions were still there, and the mind was still resisting. Lu Heng gritted his teeth and pushed in, his temples throbbing, and his vision blurred at the edges.

It hurts, it's slow, but it can be pushed.

He has the leeway. He's been fighting relentlessly, his Greedy Wolf Power is constantly being replenished, his spirit isn't exhausted, and he still has 30% of his stamina left. This attack might use up half of it, but he can afford to.

The darkness within the horizontal seam trembled slightly.

Then came the second and third blows. The armor plates of the entire body loosened simultaneously for a moment, as if the internal support had suddenly been removed. It slammed straight back, hitting the ground with a dull thud. The armor plates were still slightly misaligned, and the inside was already hollow.

One.

Lu Heng leaned on his knife to stand up, took a couple of breaths, and was still able to stand steadily.

When the heat flowed back, his shoulders relaxed slightly.

A primordial essence, complete and pure, flowed in through the Blood Armor. The power that had been scattered, the blood and qi that had been overturned, and the mental energy that had been depleted were greatly replenished in this one breath. The numbness in his left arm subsided, the dull pain under his ribs faded, and his breathing became steady again.

The Greedy Wolf Power surged.

He stood there waiting for the force to pass, clenching his left hand; the knife was still in his grasp, steady as ever.

Then he raised his head.

Four remain.

Perfectly intact, in top condition. Not a single scratch on the armor plates, not a moment's hesitation in the fist. They looked at him, their horizontal seams aligned with him, and then, step by step, surrounded him again.

His steps were as steady as they were at the beginning.