*Bang!*
Someone fired a shot.
The bullet struck Ye Huan, causing his frame to shudder slightly.
*Small-caliber bullets really don't pack any punch.*
Perhaps just as Song Fushan had said, one needed an anti-materiel sniper rifle paired with armor-piercing rounds to deal with Shidu and Jiuyao martial artists.
Ye Huan mused inwardly, then suddenly chuckled.
*No punch from a bullet?*
He was actually evaluating whether bullets could hurt someone.
If he were still on Earth, such a thought would never have crossed his mind.
He held a gun in his hand as well; whipping his arm forward, he hurled it like a missile. It smashed straight into the shooter, embedding itself into the man's skull.
The man dropped dead instantly.
"Get him! Grab him!" a burly man barked, a vicious sneer spreading across his face as he kicked upward toward Ye Huan's crotch.
*Clang!*
A crisp, metallic ring echoed out.
The burly man stumbled back two paces, clutching his foot. Shock and terror plastered across his face, his eyes fixed wide upon Ye Huan.
Ye Huan stood unmoving as a mountain, his expression veiled in murderous intent.
*Iron Cloth Shirt at grand completion has no vital points!*
Dead silence.
Inside the room, the men went dumb, and the women covered their mouths.
"Congratulations, Watson, you found the blind spot," Ye Huan said flatly. Taking a step forward, he flicked a palm out in a light pat.
The burly man raised both hands to fend it off, but the palm strike smashed through them, caving his hands straight into his chest. He collapsed to the floor and stirred no more.
Dead.
"Kill him!"
The men and women in the room rushed forward together, only to be struck down one after another by Ye Huan's palms, crashing into walls, tables, and television sets.
The entire room was soon strewn with wreckage and mangled remains, soaked through in crimson.
The door was suddenly kicked open.
A man well over two meters tall bent his head and stooped into the room.
The surviving cultists were wild with joy, crying out in unison, "My Lord!"
The man swept his gaze over the room and said in a heavy voice, "Ye Huan, you've gone too far."
"Who are you?" Ye Huan asked, sharply sensing something off.
"It seems you truly have forgotten," the man said, a meaningful look crossing his face. "Tell me, wouldn't it have been so much better if you'd just died back then?"
"Back then?" Ye Huan asked.
"Never mind. Dying now works just the same." The man strode forward, raising both palms, his frame swaying as he waited for an opening to strike.
"Eagle Claw Technique," Ye Huan noted.
"And what if it is!" the man barked. Suddenly darting forward several paces, his open palm clenched into a fist, executing a strike—Eagle Pound.
*Clang!*
Ye Huan raised his arms to parry, but the force drove him back several paces. Surprise flickered across his face.
*This bastard has opened four acupoints!*
*His vitality and power surpass mine!*
"I almost suspect you aren't Ye Huan, or maybe whatever happened back then changed you," the man said, a hint of wonder on his face.
"What happened back then?" Ye Huan asked.
"Better you don't know. You're going to die anyway."
The man abruptly shifted stances, circling continuously around Ye Huan.
The room was narrow and cramped, yet he weaved effortlessly among the few cultists, probing Ye Huan with rapid strikes whenever an opening appeared.
*Movement technique!*
Ye Huan circulated his Iron Cloth Shirt, his entire body and limbs turning hard as steel as he deflected several attacks from the cultists in quick succession.
*Clink, clang, clang, clink—*
A dense, relentless flurry of metallic clashes echoed through the room.
Suddenly, the man thrust a hand out from behind one of the cultists, his fingers hooked like talons, clawing toward Ye Huan's throat.
Ye Huan's gaze sharpened.
The neck was the most vulnerable part of the entire human body.
Furthermore, the man had opened two more acupoints than he had, outmatching him in strength, endurance, and agility.
The Eagle Claw Technique was also a martial art far more advanced than Iron Hand.
From their brief exchange, he could tell the man had achieved genuine mastery in it; he was not to be taken lightly.
Even with Iron Cloth Shirt at grand completion, taking a clean hit from that claw would leave him in rough shape.
He couldn't drag this fight out.
He had to decide the outcome immediately!
—This was the battle instinct Ye Huan had forged through countless simulated combats.
Right then, the cultists lunged with daggers and fired guns, but Ye Huan ignored them completely.
He surged his entire body's vitality, opened his acupoints, gathered all his strength, and drove his head forward in a violent headbutt.
*Clang!*
A crisp, metallic chime rang out.
Even though the opponent had opened two more acupoints, Ye Huan had thrown all his might into this headbutt, cleanly blocking the claw strike.
"Kill!"
With a thunderous roar, Ye Huan surged upward. One hand seized the man's arm and yanked him backward, while his other hand swung around to strike him full in the face.
"Trying to brawl up close? Naive!" The martial artist sneered, his own temper flaring as he threw his other fist straight toward Ye Huan's chest.
Yet his pupils contracted instantly.
Ordinarily, a lower-tier martial artist would never dare take a higher-tier martial artist's strike head-on.
Who could have guessed that Ye Huan would charge forward with sheer grit, willing to absorb a punch to the chest just to land his own palm strike?
*Retreat?*
*A martial artist who has opened four acupoints, forced to back down by someone who has opened two?*
The martial artist hesitated for a fraction of a second.
That single instant was all it took.
*Crack!—*
A thunderous detonation shook the room.
Everyone else was jolted into stillness for a second.
Ye Huan went flying, bowling over several cultists behind him before tumbling into the corner.
Yet the martial artist stood motionless. The light in his eyes dimmed slightly, and he hung his head, speaking in a low voice:
"I hate this so much."
Ye Huan gasped for breath, propping himself against the wall as he slowly rose to his feet. "You can't blame yourself," he said. "You just never received formal, high-level martial arts education. You sparred too rarely and lacked practical experience."
"You were too vicious," the martial artist said, glaring at him.
"Putting it that way is just petty," Ye Huan sighed. "Iron Hand Bars the River is inherently a move of nine palms in an instant. I struck with eighteen consecutive palms—clearly unleashing an ultimate, staking everything on my life. Yet you couldn't see it, trying to trade a single fist for my eighteen palms.
"—In the end, your perspective was just too narrow."
*Spurt.*
A burst of blood erupted from the martial artist's back, spraying across the wall.
He wobbled twice, fell to his knees, and collapsed.
Dead.
"Enough! You brought this death on yourself!" a woman shrieked shrilly. A crimson flame ignited in her palm, and she slammed it toward Ye Huan.
The flame sputtered out instantly.
"O Great Being—" The woman froze in disbelief, then attempted to chant aloud, only to find no sound coming from her throat.
Even though she held a pact granted personally by that Great Being, she couldn't speak!
If she couldn't chant the words, it wouldn't come!
Swinging his iron-like arms, Ye Huan battered down all the remaining cultists before turning his eyes on her.
"Before you hit the road, any last words?" he asked.
The woman broke down in tears, her face filled with despair and sorrow. "I haven't committed a single evil deed in my entire life! Even in this demon's den, I never took part in the slaughter! Why must I meet such an end?"
Ye Huan paused. Raising his phone, he snapped a photo of the woman and sent it to Luosha:
"This woman says she has never done an evil deed in her life and never participated in killing."
A breath later, the reply arrived:
"She's a deaconess of the cult. Half the city carries out murders, human trafficking, kidnappings, and sacrifices according to her plans.
"—She truly never laid a hand on anyone herself."
It was followed by a mischievous tongue-out emoji.
That was somewhat exhausting.
Ye Huan walked over, stopped before the deaconess, and sighed. "I checked. You told the truth."
"Our cult is full of top experts; they're just not here right now," the deaconess sobbed, tears streaming down her face as she pleaded, "If you lay a hand on me, once they return, you will surely die.
"—Please... for your own sake, shed no more blood."
"I don't want to either," Ye Huan said.
"Then you—"
*Crack.*
Ye Huan snapped her neck, murmuring gently, "I don't have the best relationship with your leadership. Sorry."
Silence settled over the room.
On tiptoes, Ye Huan picked his way through the cluster of corpses into the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and slowly washed his hands.
His chest felt slightly tight, his breathing obstructed.
That martial artist had opened four acupoints; his incoming punch had concealed three variations of claw strikes—a killing move from the Eagle Claw Technique.
Fortunately, Ye Huan had made a split-second decision to risk everything in close combat and finish him off.
Circulating his Iron Cloth Shirt silently, Ye Huan moved his vitality and stood for a while until he gradually recovered.
A plume of dark-green flame suddenly flared from his shoulders, shaping itself into a woman's head. It glanced over the scene in the room and spoke:
"Why did you kill our own people again?"
"There are too many old faces in the cult, hogging the established ladders of promotion. It hinders the organization's overall progress," Ye Huan said.
"How so?" the woman's head asked.
"If I hadn't stepped in, Luosha would be dead already," Ye Huan said.
It was the truth.
Had Ye Huan not acted, even the Holy Maiden would have been killed.
The woman's head had no rebuttal to that, so she shifted the topic: "These people were my loyal followers."
Ye Huan finished washing his hands, dried them, and replied, "I am your most loyal follower."
Chapter 32