Chapter 143: A Little Scoundrel Who Doesn't Know Limits, One Punch KO
The hidden weapons arrived.
"Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang—!!!"
The sound of metal collisions rang out in rapid succession, dense as heavy rain striking a sheet-metal roof.
The poisoned hidden weapons struck the lightning barrier and were instantly deflected, blasted away, or burned red hot. Some were directly melted by the electric current into molten iron, dripping onto the ground with sizzling sounds.
Poisonous smoke rose briefly, but before it could spread, it was scattered by the lightning.
Three seconds.
It only took three seconds for all the hidden weapons to fall to the ground, reduced to a pile of scrap metal.
"!!!"
Tang San's pupils shrank sharply.
His strongest hidden weapon techniques, his trump-card killing move, had just been… effortlessly neutralized?
"How is this possible?!"
His mind went completely blank.
When he looked up again, Lin Qingmo was no longer where he had been.
Where did he go?
"This was only a spar."
A cold voice came from the side.
Tang San's hair stood on end. He jerked his head around.
Lin Qingmo had somehow already appeared beside him, less than half a meter away.
The usually calm face now looked as cold as the surface of a frozen lake.
"You couldn't resist going for the kill?"
The question was asked very softly.
But Tang San clearly heard the anger within it.
He opened his mouth to explain, wanting to say it had just been instinct, wanting to say he hadn't truly intended to kill anyone.
But Lin Qingmo gave him no chance.
One punch!
A punch slammed into Tang San's stomach.
Tang San felt as if all his internal organs had been flipped over. An explosion of pain erupted instantly. His vision went dark, and he nearly fainted on the spot.
His body bent like a shrimp, a metallic taste rising in his mouth, signaling his internal injuries.
But it wasn't over yet.
Electric current surged through the fist and into his body.
A numbing sensation spread from his abdomen outward, like countless fine needles stabbing into every muscle and nerve.
He began to convulse uncontrollably.
Saliva dripped from the corner of his mouth onto the ground.
Then he was sent flying.
"Whoosh!"
He crashed heavily onto the grass dozens of meters away, rolling several times before finally stopping.
He tried to get up.
But his body refused to obey him. His arms and legs trembled uncontrollably.
His vision grew blurrier and blurrier until everything went completely black.
Before losing consciousness, the last thing he heard was the sound of Lin Qingmo turning away, along with a quiet sentence.
"What a brat who doesn't know his limits."
Tang San went completely still.
Lin Qingmo turned around and looked toward the edge of the field, where two people were still standing.
Oscar and Ning Rongrong.
The two of them stood frozen like statues.
Oscar was still holding the sausage he had just created. It was still steaming.
Ning Rongrong's Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda floated in her palm, its light flickering on and off like her racing heartbeat.
Only one thought remained in their minds.
It's over. Completely over.
Lin Qingmo tilted his chin toward them.
"Just you two left."
His voice wasn't loud, but in the silent field, it sounded frighteningly clear.
Oscar shuddered.
He looked down at the sausage in his hand, then at Lin Qingmo.
Then he did something both embarrassing and extremely wise.
He threw the sausage away.
Far away, like tossing away a burning coal.
"I surrender!"
He raised both hands, his voice slightly distorted.
"Big brother, I was wrong! I'm not fighting anymore! I admit defeat!"
Ning Rongrong also snapped back to her senses.
She immediately withdrew the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda martial soul, moving so quickly it looked like she was afraid someone might snatch it away.
"I surrender too!"
Lin Qingmo looked at them for two seconds before nodding.
"Alright."
The lightning surrounding him gradually receded, and his soul rings dimmed.
The suffocating pressure that had filled the field also dissipated.
The wind began blowing again.
It swept across the scorched grass, over the scattered hidden weapons, and past the unconscious figures lying on the ground.
And it brushed past the two middle-aged men standing by the field.
Grandmaster Yu Xiaogang stood there like a stone statue.
The thick theoretical notebook in his hand had fallen to the ground at some point.
Several pages were spread open, fluttering noisily in the wind.
But he didn't pick it up.
He hadn't even noticed.
All his attention, all his thoughts, and all his understanding had been completely shattered by the three minutes of battle he had just witnessed.
Ground into powder and scattered into the wind, leaving nothing behind.
His mind went blank.
Then countless chaotic thoughts flooded in, crashing together until his head began to ache.
What just happened?
What exactly happened just now?
Dai Mubai was blasted away with one punch.
Ma Hongjun had his mouth grabbed and was thrown out.
Zhu Zhuqing was casually blocked.
Xiao Wu was gently subdued.
Tang San was knocked out with a single punch.
Seven soul masters who would absolutely be considered geniuses among their peers.
Three minutes.
Just three minutes, and all of them were defeated.
Yu Xiaogang's lips moved, wanting to say something, but no sound came out.
His throat felt blocked by something, dry and painful.
He swallowed instinctively, his Adam's apple rolling.
Then he heard his own voice, soft and slightly trembling.
"…This is impossible."
Impossible.
Absolutely impossible.
A mere Soul Ancestor, even with a ten-thousand-year soul ring, could not possibly be this strong.
This wasn't scientific.
No… this wasn't even logical within the study of soul masters.
The soul power level was right there.
Yet Lin Qingmo had still done it.
Using the simplest and most brutal method possible, he had crushed all of Yu Xiaogang's theories, calculations, and deductions beneath his feet.
Yu Xiaogang's body began trembling.
Not from fear.
From excitement.
A nearly pathological excitement.
He stared at the young man standing in the center of the field.
Only one thought screamed wildly in his mind.
A secret.
He must have a secret.
How did he obtain a ten-thousand-year soul ring?
How could Blue Silver Grass produce lightning?
Why was the lightning attribute so powerful?
Every question hooked into Yu Xiaogang's mind like a barbed hook, scratching unbearably.
He had to know.
He had to understand.
Such talent, such strength, such secrets.
If he could research it thoroughly…
If he could grasp the underlying principles…
If he could write it into his theories…
Then his theories would no longer be empty words on paper.
Then he could truly prove himself.
Prove to everyone who had looked down on him that he was right.
Yu Xiaogang's eyes grew brighter and brighter.
Almost frighteningly bright.
Shock, greed, unwillingness, and desire churned together inside them like a boiling pot.
Beside him, Flender wasn't in much better shape.
He wasn't trembling, but his mouth had been hanging open for so long his jaw looked ready to drop to the ground.
"My dear heavens…"
He muttered, his voice drifting like someone sleep-talking.
"What exactly did this kid grow up eating?"
He had lived many years and seen many geniuses.
But someone like Lin Qingmo…
Not a single one.
He had seen ten-thousand-year soul rings before.
But a four-ring Soul Ancestor absorbing a ten-thousand-year soul ring?
He had never even heard of it.
And absorbing it was one thing.
Using it so smoothly was something else entirely.
The power of that lightning was utterly terrifying.
Dai Mubai's White Tiger Shield Body Barrier was extremely tough. Flender had tested it before.
Ordinary Soul Ancestors would have to put in serious effort to break it.
But Lin Qingmo?
He crushed it with a single palm, like crushing an egg.
And that speed.
He had personally observed Zhu Zhuqing's Hell Rush Stab.
He knew exactly how fast it was.
Yet Lin Qingmo's counter kick had been so fast that only an afterimage remained.
If that had been a life-and-death battle, Zhu Zhuqing would have died ten times over.
But the most terrifying thing was his control.
The punch he used on Dai Mubai clearly held back.
Otherwise Dai Mubai wouldn't be unconscious. His internal organs would have been shattered.
When he grabbed Xiao Wu's ankle, he was unbelievably gentle.
When blocking Tang San's hidden weapons…
Every movement.
Every strike.
Perfectly precise, as if measured with a ruler.
What kind of terrifying combat instinct was this?
End of Chapter