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墨書 Inktalez
Both Sides In a confrontation, two out of four have already fallen, both suffering severe injuries that will keep them from moving for months. The remaining two exchanged glances, their expressions changing, and with a loud shout, they charged forward.
The old man remained calm and unperturbed. He first took half a step back to evade an attack, then stepped forward again, crouching low as he executed an Iron Mountain Giant, crashing into his opponent's chest and sending him flying several meters away, where he lay on the ground moaning in pain, clearly unable to get up.
The last person, seeing the old man appear somewhat intimidated, shook his head from side to side and waved to his companions behind him. Instantly, five or six people rushed over.
"How shameless!"
"Truly disgraceful!"
The onlookers were gritting their teeth in anger, cursing the opponent's audacity.
Thin Bamboo Stick, having acted like a coward yet wanting to maintain an image of honor, turned around and shouted, "What are you saying! What are you saying! This was his own request; we didn't force him. If he can defeat all of us here, then we will accept it."
Face was confronted by seven or eight people. Even though they had blocked his line of sight within that range, the old man merely took a deep breath due to shortness of breath, showing no signs of panic whatsoever. No, it should be said that he always maintained this expression—very calm and easygoing, neither happy nor sad, neither angry nor proud.
"Yah~ha!"
A young man shouted as he charged in. Instead of using his legs as expected, he unexpectedly used his fists. This was understandable; although Taekwondo specializes in leg techniques, hand techniques are not weak either—breaking tiles and bricks is quite common.
Face did not dodge or evade the punch; he allowed the young man's fist to strike him.
The young man felt a surge of joy when he saw the old man not moving away. He thought victory was within his grasp. However, at the moment his fist made contact with the old man's body, he instantly felt a powerful force transmitting from his fist up through his arm and shoulder, spreading throughout half of his body.
"Ah!"
The young man screamed in agony, clutching his arm as he fell to the side, rolling in pain.
The few people who were about to step in suddenly froze, confused as to why the attacked party was unharmed while the attacker had fallen, and they hadn't seen the old man make a move.
Even our compatriots were bewildered, wondering what was going on. Was it a scam?
However, among the crowd, there was someone who recognized what had happened. A man in his thirties exclaimed, "I understand now, it's recoil! It's recoil!"
"What does that mean?" someone asked.
"The old gentleman used the recoil to take down that fellow."
"Could you explain that a bit more clearly? I didn't even see him make a move," another person said.
The man replied excitedly, "The old gentleman used subtle body movements at the moment his opponent attacked him, utilizing the recoil to knock down his opponent. This is quite common in combat; I studied it in the past. However, it usually works only when the opponent isn't using much force. I practiced for a long time but never mastered it and often ended up getting hurt instead."
"This is a very common fighting technique that many people know about, but mastering and applying it effectively is really difficult. The old gentleman is truly amazing; he managed to rebound his opponent's attack like that."
With this explanation, the crowd understood. Someone remarked, "So that's it! The old gentleman must have slightly jolted his body when the opponent's fist came at him, not only dissipating the force but also doubling it back at them, which is why that fellow got injured unexpectedly."
"Exactly."
"Impressive!"
"Go for it, old man!"
"Defeat them!"
Seeing the old man so formidable, everyone couldn't help but cheer for him.
The few people across from him exchanged glances, feeling embarrassed, but they didn't dare to step forward. After hesitating repeatedly, the old man took the initiative and stepped forward. Before they could react, he knocked one of them down with a punch.
The old man's fists were quite large, about the size of half a small head. Although he was overweight and looked out of shape, his strength was considerable, like a solid iron ball.
After knocking one person down, the old man didn't stop. He quickly stepped forward, using his knee to strike the opponent's leg. As the opponent reflexively bent over, he delivered an elbow strike to their head. The person felt a darkness before their eyes, accompanied by a ringing in their ears, and fell heavily to the ground.
With this shift from defense to offense, the old man's movements became even quicker and his attacks sharper. The seven or eight opponents on the other side couldn't last even two minutes against him; they all lay on the ground, some unconscious and others screaming in pain.
They lost because the old man's combat skills were far superior to theirs. They lost so quickly because they tried to use their numerical advantage, which turned into their weakness. They stood too closely together; if they had been on the offensive side, it might have worked out better. But as defenders, their close proximity made it difficult for them to move freely or attack. The old man easily knocked one down and moved in closer.
With people rolling on the ground in agony, both sides were shocked. The old man remained calm and glanced at his watch. "I'm going to be late picking up my granddaughter; I won't play with you anymore."
After saying this, he left the dojo under the watchful eyes of both sides and gradually walked away.
It wasn't until he had been gone for a while that everyone came to their senses. On the Taekwondo side, about ten people had already fallen, all subdued by the old man. Those he knocked down were definitely not lightly injured; they had all lost their fighting capability.
Decisive, direct, and fierce, this was the old man's fighting style.
"This old man's martial arts are entirely based on defeating the enemy with a single strike, honed through countless battles on the battlefield. This old man is not an ordinary person..." Ye Mingshang pondered.
The upcoming battle posed a problem; if it were an ordinary person, they would have already conceded defeat. After all, a single person nearly took down their dojo, so what strength could they muster?
However, they were different; their thick skin was enough to withstand all attacks, impervious to needles and water.
Thin Bamboo Stick ordered his men to carry the injured away and then commanded twelve others to step forward.
The two sides faced each other, and even the big fellows knew that these shameless individuals would not give up until they saw the Yellow River. One by one, they stepped out from their ranks. The old man's overwhelming combat power inspired them and ignited their fighting spirit. Although the old man spoke little, he gave them a sense of arrogance, leading them to imagine a scene of "I can take on ten!"
Against the twelve opponents across from them, they also sent out twelve. They were shameless, but they could not be. Because they believed in reason while their opponents tore up the rules.
"Ah!!!"
Both sides shouted and charged at each other, each choosing their opponent as they engaged in pairs, turning it into a chaotic brawl.
Ye Mingshang did not watch any longer; he quietly stepped out and stood at the door, looking at the noisy signboard. He leaped high and delivered a powerful kick that tore the plaque in half.
(To be continued.)
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