Chapter Sixty-Eight: Strike Him! (Extra Chapter for Alliance Leader Mist Beyond the River)

“Let us welcome to the stage the top student of Dongjiang No.1 Middle School, the young demon-slayer, leader of the Hot-Blooded Youth Squad, and idol of millions—Gao Sheng, Gao Wu!” The host, clad in an ornate suit, introduced Gao Wu with exaggerated enthusiasm. While many adults found it a bit cringeworthy, the teenagers in the crowd responded with spontaneous applause and cheers.

Standing at the center of the arena, Gao Wu cupped his fists in salute to the four corners. The surrounding boys and girls roared even louder in reply.

Iron Biao, standing beside the host, watched Gao Wu’s display coldly. Nearing forty, he had survived nearly a hundred brutal real-life combats; his will had long been forged to steel.

He knew very well that no matter how many supporters Gao Wu had, only two people fought on the stage.

Gao Wu’s physique was indeed powerful, but he was too young and utterly lacked real combat experience. Killing one mindless, demon-possessed wretch did not qualify as battle experience!

Iron Biao glanced at the VIP stands, where the Yang brothers, Yang Hongji and Yang Hongye, sat.

The brothers resembled each other; only Yang Hongye wore gold-rimmed glasses, giving him a scholarly air, while Yang Hongji’s uncovered brows radiated a sinister intensity.

Yang Hongji was the owner of Jinyuan Corporation; it was his personal invitation that had drawn Iron Biao into the company.

Before he knew it, Iron Biao found himself sinking deeper, unable to escape this vast quagmire. He knew in his heart that this was mostly due to his own desires, his ambition to reach higher.

At forty, conventional means could no longer help him advance. Only by worshipping the Demon God could he hope to become a true warrior.

Iron Biao had once hunted Demon God worshippers everywhere, but now he had come to this—yet he did not regret it.

Times change, and people’s thinking changes with the stages of their lives. Such is human nature.

Yang Hongji noticed Iron Biao’s gaze and smiled, raising his teacup in acknowledgment.

News had arrived from Lu Hongsheng at the Jinsheng Hotel: Gao Wu’s right arm was injured. That alone should guarantee Iron Biao’s victory.

Iron Biao then turned his attention to the center of the VIP section, where Master Song Chunqiu of the martial arts sat, composed, his eyes bright and commanding.

A pity—even a Martial King cannot see into the human heart, let alone a martial arts master!

The host gave an elaborate introduction to Gao Wu, but only a few words to Iron Biao. Iron Biao was indifferent; as he met Gao Wu’s gaze, he saw only clarity and burning fighting spirit in the young man’s eyes.

Iron Biao’s expression was cold, his eyes deep and unfathomable. With his wealth of battle experience, he quickly saw that Gao Wu’s martial skills were still raw. Even if Gao Wu hadn’t been ambushed, Iron Biao was confident he could end the fight within two rounds.

Gao Wu, in turn, studied Iron Biao. The man stood 1.8 meters tall, broad-shouldered and thick-backed, with an especially sturdy neck. His skin had a bluish-iron hue, and he seemed as if he were cast from iron.

Gao Wu had watched Iron Biao’s previous matches and knew this man was already a top-level martial artist—slightly slow in speed, perhaps, but otherwise almost flawless.

Iron Biao’s Black Tiger Fist was particularly refined; by standard rankings, it had reached the “minor mastery” stage, at least a tier above Gao Wu’s own Soaring Dragon Palm. Even Iron Biao’s weakest attribute, agility, was on par with his.

A formidable foe indeed!

And yet, there was something off—a trace of otherworldly energy clung to Iron Biao. Was he too a worshipper of the Demon God?

Gao Wu glanced toward Song Mingyue in the corner of the ring. With so many cameras on him, it was hard to signal directly—he could only hope his friend would understand.

Song Mingyue didn’t quite catch Gao Wu’s intent. She simply raised two fingers with her left hand as a sign for Gao Wu to execute the second tactical plan: play it steady in the first round.

Whatever Gao Wu wanted to say could wait until this round was over.

Gao Wu nodded slightly; that was his plan as well. Since Iron Biao was with Jinyuan Corporation, it was only natural for him to worship the Demon God.

The key was that Iron Biao might have received some special power from the Demon God, and that could not be underestimated.

The match began. Iron Biao, confident of victory, did not rush in carelessly. Gao Wu, rarely assuming a defensive posture, tested the distance as the two circled each other, slowly drawing closer.

Both advanced in curving paths; after half a circle, they were nearly face-to-face. Gao Wu was cautious but unafraid. With the Six Paths Azure Dragon Divine Qi Mantra stored deep in his brow, his margin for error was high.

With so many young supporters cheering him on, he could not afford to be too conservative.

Not only did he intend to win—he wanted to win beautifully, leaving no room for doubt or criticism!

With a low shout, Gao Wu struck first. His only true martial skill was the Soaring Dragon Palm.

This technique required the body to move like a dragon, the palm to cut like a blade, its essence lying in changes of source energy. At the martial artist level, much of its subtlety was hard to unleash.

Compared to fierce and direct fist styles, palm techniques were naturally at a disadvantage.

Having taken the Diamond Enhancer, his body was now tougher, his strength even exceeding the limits of most elite fighters—perfect for simple, forceful fist techniques. The Soaring Dragon Palm always felt like it couldn’t fully utilize his power.

Gao Wu abandoned the complicated maneuvers and simply punched with full force. To martial arts experts, this would seem unrefined...

Fortunately, Gao Wu’s raw strength more than compensated for any technical flaws.

Iron Biao roared as well. Unlike Gao Wu, his Tiger Form was honed to perfection, capturing the true essence of the tiger.

His roar, drawn from the depths of his lungs, was low but powerful, like a tiger’s call in the mountains, filled with murderous intent.

This was a secret of the Black Tiger Fist—using the tiger’s roar to trigger bodily resonance and stir the blood. Under its influence, Iron Biao’s blood surged like a tide; veins snaked beneath his skin, his muscles swelled, even his spine stretched and lengthened.

In an instant, Iron Biao’s body swelled, his bulging muscles straining the loose martial robe to reveal rippling lines. He looked enormous, savage, and fierce.

This physical transformation brought a surge in strength. Iron Biao answered Gao Wu’s straight punch with a tiger-form chopping fist.

The Tiger Chop, a blend of fist and claw, attacked with the fist like an axe to split defenses, and with fingers splayed like hooks to tear through resistance. Accompanied by the tiger’s roar, this punch seemed capable of rending all things.

Gao Wu’s powerful straight punch was smashed downward, his arm aching and numb. Had his tendons and bones not been so strong, his wrist might have been shattered.

In truth, Gao Wu was stronger, but Iron Biao’s attack came after, chopping down to exploit Gao Wu’s weaker posture; Gao Wu suffered for it.

Song Mingyue, watching from her corner, saw it all clearly. Iron Biao’s experience and technique were a cut above Gao Wu’s.

No wonder—he had once been a hunter. Iron Biao was indeed formidable. Yet, with Gao Wu’s freakish physical gifts, mere technical superiority was not enough to defeat him.

Other martial experts also saw Iron Biao’s edge; the Yang brothers both smiled.

At Jinsheng Hotel, Lu Hongsheng’s eyes shone with delight.

Based on their performance, even if Huang Hai hadn’t sabotaged Gao Wu, Iron Biao could claim victory.

The action moved too quickly for ordinary viewers; even slow-motion replays didn’t reveal who was ahead.

Having split Gao Wu’s punch, Iron Biao used the recoil to chop at Gao Wu’s throat with his right fist, fingers forming a tiger’s claw. With his finger strength and titanium-alloy-reinforced bones, he could easily tear through ten layers of cowhide.

Keratin regrowth or scale-reinforcement techniques would not withstand his tiger’s claw.

Before the claw could land, Gao Wu already sensed its chill and danger. Even with his resilience, he might not withstand it.

He leaned back and struck, his right fist blocking the tiger claw. Iron Biao, knowing Gao Wu’s right arm was injured, tried to shake it aside.

To his surprise, Gao Wu’s punch was so powerful that it forced the tiger claw aside.

Iron Biao, having missed, sensed something was wrong. He drove his left fist through the gap between Gao Wu’s arms, landing squarely on Gao Wu’s chest.

The Tiger Form Crushing Fist unleashed nearly two thousand kilograms of force from less than a foot away.

Gao Wu’s chest shuddered as he staggered back several steps to dissipate the blow’s force.

Iron Biao did not follow up; his bursts of power had nearly reached their limit.

The key was that, despite taking a full-strength punch, Gao Wu seemed unharmed. Iron Biao could feel that Gao Wu’s body was as tough and resilient as a truck tire—strong and unyielding. Even his near-maximum blow could not break through.

No wonder Gao Wu had swept aside so many opponents to reach the finals.

Iron Biao regulated his breathing before resuming his tiger-form assault.

Gao Wu, though appearing unfazed, felt intense pain in his chest. Only his superhuman constitution allowed him to suppress all negative physical reactions instantly.

Now more cautious, he relied on his strength and resilience to compensate for his inferior technique.

He deployed the Soaring Dragon Palm’s footwork, kept his fists up, and withstood 120 consecutive Tiger Chop punches head-on.

The two tangled fiercely; every punch landed with full force, making for a brutal, intense fight. Even as Gao Wu fell behind, he held steady and responded with order.

From the stands, it looked like an even match.

At least the young fans thought so; their idol, Gao Wu, was not losing ground.

After all, Iron Biao was more than twice Gao Wu’s age and a former hunter. That Gao Wu could fight like this proved his strength.

“The old man is running out of stamina. Just let Gao Wu last two rounds; in the third, he’ll finish him for sure!”

Someone posted this comment in the livestream, and it gained massive support. The chat was flooded with the same words.

Three minutes is an eternity in combat; ordinary people would be exhausted after half a minute of all-out punching. Martial artists could maintain their rhythm, but three minutes at this intensity was draining.

Iron Biao had maintained relentless pressure, so when the bell sounded to end round one, he was breathing hard.

Leaving the ring, he slumped into a chair, gasping. A middle-aged man handed him an energy drink.

“Something’s not right,” Iron Biao muttered to him.

He had been confident of victory, but after one round, he noticed Gao Wu’s breath was still long and steady, his condition better than his own.

The key was that Gao Wu’s defense was solid, and his strength superior. Iron Biao had tried to overpower him twice and failed, consuming much of his own energy.

At this rate, victory was far from certain.

The middle-aged man checked his phone. “I’ll ask,” he said quietly.

At that moment, Lu Hongsheng was conferring with the Yang brothers. Gao Wu clearly wasn’t affected as hoped, which made them uneasy.

After brief discussion, they decided the match must end quickly.

“The boss says inject the Tiger Serum,” the man whispered in Iron Biao’s ear.

“Alright,” Iron Biao grunted.

The Tiger Serum would boost his muscle and tendon strength by thirty percent, making him insensible to pain—even delicate nerves would be reinforced. In barehanded combat, no equal opponent could take him down.

The side effects were severe, potentially causing organ mutation, but at this stage, winning came first. Other problems could be dealt with later.

Shielded by a towel and his own body, the middle-aged man deftly administered the injection.

There was no drug testing in this competition; using enhancers wasn’t forbidden, but public injections were frowned upon, hence the secrecy.

Iron Biao asked, “This kid is tough. Only a killing blow will do. What does the boss say?”

The man dared not decide for himself. He sent a message on his phone.

Yang Hongji knew Gao Wu was useful to Lu Hongsheng, but profit mattered most to him. This was billions at stake—he could buy a hundred like Gao Wu. He didn’t even consult Lu Hongsheng and ordered: win at all costs, life or death irrelevant.

The man checked his phone and whispered in Iron Biao’s ear, “The boss says just win—life or death doesn’t matter.”

Iron Biao grinned savagely and said no more.

On the opposite side, Gao Wu couldn’t see their secret machinations—nor did he care. He was busy reciting the Azure Dragon Divine Qi Mantra to adjust his state.

After about two minutes, he had fully recovered.

He leaned in and whispered to Song Mingyue, “Iron Biao is definitely a Demon God worshipper—his aura is obvious.”

“He injected a serum,” Song Mingyue replied, covering her mouth with a fist to hide her lips from the cameras.

“What, no one’s going to stop him?” Gao Wu muttered. He knew, though, that the Xuetao Cup had no rule against enhancers; reporting it was pointless.

Still, in amateur martial arts tournaments, few resorted to injections. It was considered disgraceful.

“You need to be careful. Each of the Twelve Demon Gods has their own secret arts. With a serum boost and his technique, Iron Biao will be terrifying—and now the order is life or death, so he’ll go for the kill.”

She continued softly, “But in that state, his mind will be clouded. That’s your chance to strike back.”

She stressed again, “Since he’s a Demon God worshipper, you don’t need to hold back.”

“Get him!” Gao Wu’s eyes blazed with killing intent. His family’s home had been invaded by a beast years ago, led there by a Demon God worshipper.

Those who worship the Demon God deserve death!

Just as when he killed Zhang Hao, he felt no fear or regret—only satisfaction. It wasn’t cruelty, but a hatred of Demon God worshippers that ran deep in his bones.

Against Iron Biao in the ring, Gao Wu had held some restraint. But now, with his opponent injecting enhancers and playing dirty, why should he show mercy?

The second round began. Iron Biao’s gaze was cold and grim, Gao Wu’s eyes shone with divine light—the arena was thick with murderous intent.

They stared each other down, neither willing to yield.

The referee sensed something amiss and grew solemn as well.