Chapter Fifty-One: The Demon-Slaying Youth

Nickname: Mad Dog, thirty-seven years old, formerly served in the Aurora Legion, underwent biochemical modifications. His skeletal structure has been reinforced with nanomaterials, and his epidermis edited and regenerated into keratinized scales. His bones are exceptionally hard, and his skin is covered with scale-like keratin layers, capable of withstanding shots from small-caliber handguns.

He has injected too many Flying Squirrel serums, resulting in disordered consciousness. Once he enters combat mode, he loses all reason. Be careful of his mouth—he has a particular penchant for biting. With his reinforced bones, his teeth are sharper and harder than alloy, and his jaws can open wide enough to easily bite through a human arm…

Song Mingyue quietly recited the information displayed on her phone, data she’d obtained from her contacts.

“Huang Hai must want me dead in the ring!” Gao Wu muttered in disbelief. For his very first appearance, he’d been matched against such a formidable opponent—clearly, Huang Hai harbored ill intentions, trying to get him killed. Such a treacherous villain!

“It does seem a bit unreasonable,” Song Mingyue agreed, feeling that this opponent was far too powerful.

No weapons were allowed in the arena, and Mad Dog, with his biochemical enhancements, possessed a body as tough as steel—ordinary strikes from advanced martial artists would struggle to do him any harm.

Moreover, Mad Dog had military experience, which meant he was well-versed in real combat. For Gao Wu, this opponent was exceedingly dangerous.

Huang Hai had lured Gao Wu here with both threats and promises and even supplied him with a stockpile of Blood Dragon serum—was it all just to get him killed? Logically, it didn’t add up.

Song Mingyue said, “He’s not fully lucid. If you can draw out the fight for a round or two, he’ll descend into a frenzy. Don’t be rash.”

“I’ll follow your advice,” Gao Wu nodded firmly. Song Mingyue was not only formidable in spirit but also superior in martial arts; he trusted her counsel completely.

Suddenly, the hall erupted with deafening, aggressive music. The host stood on the stage, microphone in hand, hyping up the crowd with fervor.

Many guests in the hall swayed to the rhythm. The long winters in East River City had bred a culture of exuberance and openness.

The flamboyantly dressed host first thanked the guests, then introduced the first to enter: Mad Dog.

The lights dimmed throughout the hall, save for a single spotlight illuminating Mad Dog. He was burly, about one meter eighty tall, his loose black martial arts uniform stretched taut across his frame. His face was crisscrossed with scars, and his eyes glinted cold and merciless.

Mad Dog made his way to the ring unhurriedly as the crowd cheered. He was a frequent fighter at the Jinsheng Hotel, known for his savage and ruthless methods, which made him quite popular.

Now it was Gao Wu’s turn. A beam of light followed him as he stepped onto the stage.

The host’s voice soared even higher: “Tonight’s challenger to Mad Dog, an eighteen-year-old advanced martial artist, online sensation, the strongest high school student in East River City, the Demon-Slaying Youth—Gao Wu!”

The host elongated and amplified Gao Wu’s name, bestowing him with a string of grandiose titles that made him sound especially imposing.

Gao Wu entered the ring to the host’s introduction, politely cupping his fists to salute the audience.

Applause and cheers broke out around him; most of tonight’s guests were here for Gao Wu.

Standing beside the fierce and savage Mad Dog, Gao Wu’s figure was tall and slender, a head above his opponent. His features were striking and heroic, his smile bright as the sun. In terms of presence, he completely outshone Mad Dog.

Most of the cheers for Gao Wu came from the women. The men, however, were less concerned with appearances; from a combat perspective, Mad Dog’s image was undeniably more intimidating.

Some people resented Gao Wu’s reputation. Yang Ru, for instance, grumbled to Han Yang, “Why is he called the strongest high school student in East River City? Does he really deserve it?”

Han Yang smiled. “He did behead a cultist of the Demon God—so it’s not much of an exaggeration.”

Yang Ru was displeased. She said earnestly, “You’re the strongest.”

“Strength isn’t proven with words, but with skill,” Han Yang replied. He admired Gao Wu but would never admit Gao Wu was stronger. He had his pride and disdained competing for hollow titles. For a martial artist, victory or defeat was decided by action, not boasts.

“My second brother would definitely crush Gao Wu in the ring!” Yang Ru declared with confidence. Han Yang merely smiled in silence.

With the atmosphere at a peak, the host vacated the ring, leaving it to Mad Dog and Gao Wu.

The referee, wearing white gloves, gave a sharp wave, signaling the start of the fight.

Mad Dog bared his teeth at Gao Wu in a savage grin. “Boy, I’ll tear you apart with my bare hands!”

“Big brother, could you maybe not tear me apart?” Gao Wu replied, momentarily catching Mad Dog off guard. The latter quickly recovered, his anger flaring. “You little brat—you’re seeking death!”

With a curse, Mad Dog lunged, rushing straight down the center toward Gao Wu.

Gao Wu, of course, had no intention of going toe-to-toe with Mad Dog. He retreated at an angle, circling away. With agility at level nine, his coordination and explosive power had increased dramatically. As he retreated in small steps, his feet almost skimmed the ground.

He moved this way to maintain constant contact with the floor, ready to unleash power at any moment.

Mad Dog, pressing his advantage, accelerated—two steps brought him face-to-face with Gao Wu. He lunged, throwing a punch directly at Gao Wu’s face.

The punch was fast and sharp, like a bullet fired from a gun, carrying a fierce, penetrating force. The air exploded with a thunderous crack as his fist swept through.

Gao Wu blocked with his forearm. Mad Dog’s punch was powerful, but Gao Wu managed to deflect it. In these private bouts, no one wore gloves—Mad Dog’s fists were as hard as steel, making Gao Wu’s arm go numb. Still, his own resilience was extraordinary, far beyond Mad Dog’s.

He felt only a dull ache, with no lasting effects.

Mad Dog’s first punch was immediately followed by a second, then a third. His blows came as rapidly as bursts from an assault rifle—three punches in a cycle, repeating in relentless waves.

It was the first time Gao Wu had faced such violent, rapid-fire techniques. He kept his arms tightly guarded, retreating continually, refusing to let Mad Dog land a solid hit.

The barrage of punches was like a fierce storm—swift, savage, and overwhelming. The audience was swept up in the excitement, cheering wildly.

Han Yang recognized the technique at once. “That’s the Assault Rifle style of the Combat Soldier Fist,” he murmured. “This man truly served in the military.”

Yang Ru’s eyes widened. “That guy’s fists are brutal! Is Gao Wu going to get beaten to death?”

She disliked Gao Wu but had no desire to see him killed. As a peer, as a fellow high schooler from East River City, at this moment she found herself hoping Gao Wu would win.

But Mad Dog’s ferocity far exceeded her expectations—his rapid-fire punches really were like bursts from an assault rifle.

The ring was lined with sensors, displaying Mad Dog throwing nine punches per second, each landing with over fifteen hundred kilograms of force. If she were up there, just one exchange would reduce her to a bloody pulp.

Han Yang’s expression was grave. “Gao Wu’s body is incredibly tough to withstand this.”

He saw it clearly—Mad Dog’s skin had a bluish metallic sheen, clear evidence of keratinized scale regeneration surgery. His skin was as hard as iron.

With the same force, Mad Dog’s punches carried several times more destructive power than an ordinary person’s. It was like being struck by an iron rod rather than a wooden one.

If any other advanced martial artist tried to block Mad Dog’s Assault Rifle punches with their arms, they’d have had their bones shattered by now. Yet Gao Wu seemed unscathed—he must have taken some kind of drug to attain such a superhuman physique.

In the VIP box, Song Yunhe frowned slightly and said to Han Lingxia beside him, “Mad Dog’s Assault Rifle style is forcing Gao Wu to retreat, exhausting his stamina. Once he switches to the Shotgun style, he’ll break through Gao Wu’s guard. If this continues, Gao Wu will be beaten to death.”

Han Lingxia was a bit surprised. “If Gao Wu dies, won’t that solve the problem of him clinging to Mingyue?”

“That’s not the point. He did save Mingyue, after all,” Song Yunhe said, hesitating over whether to call off the match.

At that moment, Mad Dog’s furious barrage suddenly halted. He roared, “Die!”

Abruptly, his right fist crashed into the point where Gao Wu’s forearms were crossed. This punch was heavy and explosive, like a slug from a shotgun.

With a muffled boom, Gao Wu’s guard was blasted apart. His stance collapsed, leaving his chest, abdomen, neck, and face completely exposed.

Mad Dog’s left fist shot straight for Gao Wu’s throat—a light, concealed blow, the Handgun style of the Combat Soldier Fist. It emphasized stealth, agility, and speed. The power wasn’t immense, but it was enough to shatter Gao Wu’s laryngeal cartilage and windpipe.

Among the spectators, many recognized the deadly intent of that punch at a glance. Yang Ru couldn’t help but cry out in alarm…