Chapter Sixty-Eight: Impossible!

It is often said that those with talent possess their own tempers—how much more so for a grandmaster who stands at the pinnacle of martial arts?

King Zhao was notorious for his arrogance and high-handedness; his eyes were always set above the heavens, and this was hardly a secret. He regarded even the imperial court with disdain, let alone anyone else. “Lawless” was a term that fit him perfectly.

At that moment, Ji Wu had just finished offering a courteous greeting. Upon hearing Zhao’s words, the smile that had just appeared on his face froze, his anger plain for all to see.

His family’s martial hall had long been privy to the tales of the martial world, and the exploits of grandmasters were always the most awe-inspiring. Having trained since childhood, Ji Wu had always held a certain reverence for those who stood at the very summit of martial arts.

Now, about to meet a grandmaster in person, he was filled with anticipation and a special kind of excitement. Never had he expected, however, that King Zhao could be so insolent! Calling him “boy” was already condescending enough—after all, compared to a grandmaster, his own deeds were insignificant—but why insult Master Xu?

The faint trace of admiration that had arisen in his heart instantly vanished without a trace. Ji Wu’s brows drew together, his eyes cold as he said, “I have treated you with courtesy; why must you speak so rudely?”

Though this was his first time meeting a martial grandmaster, he had seen Master Xu several times. A transcendent figure like Master Xu naturally commanded respect, but this man before him showed not a shred of a grandmaster’s demeanor—truly infuriating.

“This little boy has quite a temper,” King Zhao laughed heartily, utterly unconcerned by his own offense. “Go on, call out that ‘immortal’ who instructs you. If he can withstand two of my punches, I’ll admit he’s an ‘immortal’—why not?”

Ji Wu’s face flushed with anger, his gaze shifting to the Criminal Champion standing beside King Zhao.

The Criminal Champion merely shrugged and said, “King Zhao is indeed a martial grandmaster, but he’s never met an immortal, so he’s skeptical.”

This so-called skepticism was, in truth, laced with eight parts indifference. In reality, the man likely didn’t believe a word of it; it was only curiosity, piqued by Ji Wu’s tales, that had brought him here—nothing more than a diversion.

What truly interested King Zhao was the black bear beside Ji Wu. Without that beast, he likely wouldn’t have come at all, nor would he have shown any respect for the “immortal” Ji Wu mentioned.

Since the heavenly omens appeared, countless people had claimed to be chosen by fate—so many that it had become clichéd.

Put simply, such claims were commonplace now. If not for the presence of the black bear, Ji Wu’s words would have carried no weight; without the immortal appearing in person, it was nearly impossible to convince anyone.

“This black bear does seem rather unusual,” King Zhao remarked, his gaze settling on Xiong Ba. With such a massive figure, how could he not notice?

For an ordinary person, the sight of a black bear the size of a hill would be enough to inspire terror and silence any bravado.

But who was he? A martial grandmaster! His bones, flesh, and skin were like steel, and he had torn tigers and leopards apart with his bare hands. While ordinary people might cower before such a bear, it only stirred his hunter’s excitement.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had bear paw,” King Zhao said with a grin, flexing his fists, his interest and arrogance growing. “With a bear this size, I could feast for days.”

This was intolerable!

Ji Wu had no patience for further words. He shouted, “Xiong Ba, give him two punches—teach him a lesson!”

With a roar, Xiong Ba charged forward, his eyes, each as large as a bell, filled with menace.

Though he could not speak, the bear was highly intelligent. Having followed Ji Wu for years, he understood most of what was said. King Zhao’s arrogance—and his desire to eat him—was infuriating.

Yet as Xiong Ba thundered forward, King Zhao didn’t retreat an inch; on the contrary, he seemed thrilled. “Good! Come on!”

With that, King Zhao gathered his energy at his core, leapt forward, and closed in, dodging the bear’s swinging paw. He responded with a deceptively simple straight punch that whistled through the air.

A dull thud sounded as his powerful fist struck Xiong Ba’s chest. King Zhao immediately sensed that much of his force was absorbed by layers of muscle; otherwise, even a tiger or leopard would have been left mangled and dead.

Clearly, he had underestimated the bear.

Fortunately, Xiong Ba had underestimated him as well. Since following Ji Wu down the mountain at Master Xu’s command, Xiong Ba had yet to meet a worthy foe. Whether against mountain bandits or the Criminal Champion’s men, a casual swipe was enough to resolve matters—no one could withstand a single round; most foes simply fled at the sight of him.

This was the first time an opponent had ever dared to charge at him, only to land the first blow.

Though unhurt, Xiong Ba was certainly in pain.

Enraged, Xiong Ba lunged, swiping with both paws!

King Zhao was astonished—his punch hadn’t killed the bear? His blows carried strength well over a thousand pounds; even a boulder would have shattered, its organs pulverized—how could mere flesh withstand it?

But the instincts of a martial grandmaster were razor-sharp. The moment his punch landed, he sensed something was amiss and quickly withdrew, leaping several yards back with a light tap of his toe, narrowly avoiding the bear’s crushing embrace.

“No wonder you talk of immortals—this bear truly is something else.” King Zhao’s interest soared. “Now, let’s see what you’re really made of!”

With that, he unleashed his inner strength, blood surging powerfully. An overwhelming aura radiated from him; his long hair fluttered without wind, his robes snapping loudly.

Bones, flesh, and skill all perfectly honed—such was the true martial grandmaster. When inner strength fueled the blood, he seemed no less than a mortal god or demon.

But Xiong Ba cared nothing for such things.

Having taken a needless punch, he charged again without hesitation, as nimble as a man, one massive paw swinging straight for King Zhao.

“Good! Come!” King Zhao shouted, utterly fearless. He drew his energy deep into his core, inner strength surging, even his skin flushing with an unnatural, ruddy glow—a sign of his power at its peak.

As the bear’s paw crashed down, King Zhao didn’t dodge or retreat. He met the attack head-on, fist to paw, his confidence absolute.

A sharp crack split the air as fist and paw collided—no contest of strength, no deadlock. In the instant they met, a loud snap sounded.

The stone beneath King Zhao’s feet shattered, fissures spidering outward. His body was hurled several yards through the air before crashing to the ground.

He spat a mouthful of fresh blood, but true to his reputation as a grandmaster, he managed to roll once and immediately rise, his gaze fixed unblinking on Xiong Ba, shock written all over his face.

“This is impossible!” he exclaimed.