Martial Dao: Peace by Force

Chapter 156: Chapter 125: Two-in-One

BOOM!

In an instant, wood splinters and debris flew everywhere. Amidst the terrifying explosion, a figure stepped out from the smoke and dust, moving so fast it was almost a blur.

Everyone heard the deafening boom and watched as the newcomer’s vital energy erupted, the air around him shrieking as it was torn apart.

The man was like a cannonball fired from its barrel, hurtling straight toward Sun Weilong with an aura that promised to destroy everything in its path.

"Damn it!!!"

Sun Weilong’s pupils contracted. He barely had time to cross his arms in a hasty block...

But...

The newcomer had already clenched his five fingers into a fist.

BOOM!

One punch.

Just one punch.

Sun Weilong’s eyes flew wide, bulging as if they were about to pop out of their sockets. His entire body went flying like a sack of rags, smashing heavily against the wall.

CRACK!

Spiderweb-like cracks spread across the wall... before he slid down it.

"Who... is that?"

President Qin was so shocked his voice cracked.

Zhao You was frozen in place, and all the gunmen were stunned.

The dust settled, revealing the figure.

Wan Ze...

He stood there, his breathing steady, as if that punch had been nothing more than a casual flick of his wrist. He ignored everyone else, turning his head... to look at Tie Qingyang behind him. He let out an exasperated laugh. "Old brother, if I hadn’t shown up... were you really planning on dying here?"

Tie Qingyang leaned against the wall, covered in blood. He managed a smile, his expression a complex, unreadable mix of emotions.

"Little brother..."

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something.

"’I don’t want to drag you into this.’ Wan Ze finished his sentence for him, but his tone immediately shifted. ’I know that’s what you want to say... but I don’t like hearing it.’"

Tie Qingyang gave a bitter smile. "Little brother, it’s because I consider you a friend that I didn’t want to drag you into this mess."

Wan Ze looked at him and said no more.

BANG!

A gunshot shattered the brief silence.

The gunman next to Zhao You, finally unable to contain his fear, pulled the trigger.

He didn’t know who this young man who had suddenly appeared was.

But he knew that someone who could fell Sun Weilong with a single punch was definitely not someone he could handle.

Fear made him choose to shoot.

The bullet sped straight for Wan Ze’s head.

Wan Ze didn’t even look up.

He just calmly raised a hand and, with two fingers, caught it behind his head—

The bullet stopped between his fingertips.

The entire room was dead silent.

Wan Ze brought the bullet before his eyes. Then, in front of everyone, he pinched it between two fingers, crushing the brass slug flat. He then casually flicked it.

PANG!

A bloody hole suddenly appeared between the eyebrows of the man who had just fired.

The man fell backward.

The flattened bullet was embedded in his frontal bone, silent.

No one dared to move.

No one even dared to make a sound.

They were all scared stiff.

Wan Ze slowly turned, his gaze sweeping over everyone present.

President Qin’s face was ashen. Zhao You was trembling, and the other gunmen were shaking all over.

Only Sun Weilong, kneeling in the corner, stared at him, his eyes filled with a mixture of shock and fury.

Wan Ze spoke slowly. "I don’t care what grudges you have, but I’m protecting the men of Tie Shizhe today. Who objects?"

You could have heard a pin drop in the hall.

No one dared to speak.

Many people snuck glances at President Qin.

President Qin stood there, unable to stop a slight tremor from running through his body, having just witnessed one of his own gunmen be killed by a bullet caught between two fingers and flicked back.

’Is that something a fucking human can do?’

He wanted to yell a few words to regain control, but his lips trembled a few times, and he couldn’t force a sound out.

Just then, a roar came from the corner. "Who... do you think you are!"

Sun Weilong exploded up from the rubble.

Like an enraged beast, he kicked off the ground.

The floor tiles cracked instantly as he shot toward Wan Ze, becoming a blur.

His speed was astounding.

The force of his movement created a wind so strong it made the cheeks of those nearby sting.

Many people gasped, especially when they saw Sun Weilong’s muscles bulging and veins popping all over his body.

BOOM!

Sun Weilong swung his fist in a wide arc, smashing it forward.

With this punch, he was going to get it all back, with interest.

And then...

He saw Wan Ze’s fist.

The hand was merely raised...

Clenched into a fist.

And pushed forward plainly.

No flair whatsoever.

But in that instant, every hair on Sun Weilong’s body stood on end.

He’d been a boxer for twenty years, a vicious killer who had fought his way out of the underground fighting rings of South Asia. What kind of punch hadn’t he seen?

But the feeling this punch gave him...

’Something’s wrong, very wrong!’

’This isn’t a fist.’

’It’s more like a mountain.’

’A mountain, crushing its way toward me!’

The Momentum erupting from Wan Ze’s fingers was overwhelming, sealing off all avenues of escape and filling him with a hopeless sense of having nowhere to run.

’Shit! I absolutely cannot take this head-on!’

Alarm bells screamed in his head and Sun Weilong’s face was taut with strain, but his body was already committed to the charge. He couldn’t stop.

BOOM!

The two fists collided.

A sharp crack echoed from Sun Weilong’s arm. The bone had fractured.

The Power didn’t stop there. It surged up his arm, into his shoulder, through his chest, and throughout his entire body, slamming into his Five Viscera and Six Bowels.

With another sharp CRACK, his entire body was sent flying again—this time even more violently than before, smashing into the wall like a cannonball.

BOOM!!! CRASH!!!!

He crashed through the wall, sending shattered bricks flying. Sun Weilong was embedded in the wall, half-stuck in the opening as he coughed up a mouthful of blood.

He struggled to get up, but he couldn’t muster any Strength in his limbs.

He could only lift his head and stare at Wan Ze, his eyes filled with utter terror.

’Who the hell is this person?’

’Since when did the Holy City have a monster like this?’

But he had no intention of backing down.

He was Sun Weilong, the Eight-Armed Divine Fist from South Asia, thirty-two years old and at the peak of his power. How could he possibly be cowed by a single punch?

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