The job change is a bizarre and calamity; the nation begs me to tone it down.

The backlash from the crushing of the demigod's domain caused a fatal lapse in Yamamoto Furukawa's reaction speed.

Even a fraction of a second of hesitation can be enough to decide everything in a confrontation of this level.

The hand was getting closer and closer.

It moved at a speed that was so casual it was almost insulting.

It's not a fist.

It wasn't a palm strike.

It's not some profound and mysterious skill.

It was just a slap.

A large, clear fight, moving from right to left, with a trajectory so distinct that even an elementary school student could understand it.

At that moment, only one thought flashed through Yamamoto Furukawa's mind—

This bastard didn't even bother to kill me; he just came to slap me.

Snapped--! ! !

The sound resounded throughout the sky.

Crisp, loud, and clean.

It was like someone slamming their hand on the table in a quiet library.

The only difference is that the table is the face of a demigod, while the library is the entire sky.

In that instant, Yamamoto Furukawa's head snapped to one side at an extremely undignified angle.

His body flew out.

Like a home run that's been swung away by a baseball bat.

The trajectory was perfect, the arc elegant; if this ball were hit in a baseball game, the stands would definitely give it a standing ovation.

But this is not a baseball game.

The moment he was sent flying, Yamamoto Furukawa spat out a cloud of blood.

The blood mist drew a long, crimson arc in the air, which had a strange, almost eerie beauty under the starlight.

boom--!

Yamamoto Furukawa crashed into a hill several kilometers away, collapsing half of the mountainside.

Pebbles flew everywhere, and dust filled the air.

Kanzaburo was stunned.

The saints behind him were stunned.

The people below, who were watching the cherry blossoms, were stunned.

Everyone in satellite monitoring rooms around the world, staring at the live feeds, was stunned.

The air froze for about five seconds.

Then Kanzaburo's lips trembled as he squeezed out a syllable.

"Sir...sir?"

no respond.

A few sounds of rubble rolling down the hillside echoed from the ruins, followed by a suppressed cough.

Yamamoto Furukawa is not dead.

A demigod's physique wouldn't be killed by a single slap.

But his current state...

Well, how should I put it?

Simply put, half of his face was swollen.

The left side of his face is normal, but the right side is higher.

Add to that the bloodstains at the corner of his mouth that he hadn't had time to wipe away, and his disheveled, gray hair that looked like a bird's nest.

This demigod from the land of cherry blossoms, at this moment, probably looks like an old man in the market who lost a fight over the last cabbage and got slapped in the face.

However, this is not the end.

Because the rubble that Yamamoto Furukawa smashed into the hill had not yet completely fallen.

Gu Xu's figure had already disappeared from the spot.

There was no warning, no transition.

It's like someone deleted several frames from a video. One second he was standing there, the next second—the air hadn't even had time to fill the vacuum left by his disappearance.

boom!!!

A deafening roar, even louder than the slap from before, came from the direction where Yamamoto Furukawa had fallen.

The sound was neither an explosion nor a collision.

It sounded like something extremely heavy being crushed into the soil.

Indeed, something was pressed into the soil.

Yamamoto Furukawa's face.

Gu Xu's right foot landed firmly on Yamamoto Furukawa's right cheek.

It's the side that got swollen from being slapped earlier.

It's hard to say that the choice of this location was a coincidence.

Yamamoto Furukawa was stomped so hard that he was embedded deep into the pile of rubble, his body in a very undignified prone position.

His limbs were tucked into the ground, and his head was pinned down by a military boot, rendering him unable to move.

From a certain perspective, this scene bears a striking resemblance to the way elderly people stomp on cockroaches in a park.

The difference is that cockroaches don't usually wear kimonos.

The surrounding pebbles bounced up and fell back down in the aftershocks of the force, clattering and hitting Yamamoto Furukawa.

There was a bang in Yamamoto Furukawa's mind.

It's not the kind of physical impact of being stepped on.

It's more about the spiritual level.

He has been beaten a lot in his life.

Who hasn't been injured a few times on the road to becoming a demigod?

He's been ambushed, knocked away by dungeon bosses, and even beaten black and blue when sparring with his fellow disciples when he was young.

But someone stepped on his face.

This is the first time.

Moreover, the person who stepped on him was a junior member of the Divine Sherlock Holmes who hadn't been around for half a year.

What does it mean to have changed jobs in less than half a year?

In his time, if you changed jobs less than half a year ago, you probably wouldn't even be level 30.

But now—

He was trampled to the ground by this brat.

Like a dead dog.

humiliation.

An unprecedented humiliation.

Yamamoto Furukawa gritted his teeth, his mouth filled with a mixture of mud and blood, the taste of which was incredibly pungent.

But what he found even harder to accept than the humiliation was the fear.

A chilling fear seeped into his very bones.

Because he had just clearly felt it—from the moment Gu Xu appeared at the core of his domain to the moment he slapped him away, the entire process took no more than a second.

one second.

He didn't even draw his katana.

A demigod's realm, hundreds of years of cultivation, and a seven-layered nested sword formation defense—all of these were no different from paper in front of this young man.

This is not a difference in strength.

Even if the difference in strength is great, at least you can still sense it and struggle a bit.

This is a dimensional crushing defeat.

Yamamoto Furukawa tried to struggle.

He mobilized the remaining demigod power within him, trying to push off the military boot on his foot.

Useless.

That foot didn't move an inch, as steady as if it were welded to his face.

He has met many people who are better than him in his life.

But there was no one who could deny him even the right to struggle.

This feeling of powerlessness made his heart feel as if it were being squeezed by someone.

It gripped so tightly that it hurt with every jump.

Then Gu Xu spoke.

The voice came down from above, unhurried and gentle, like a casual chat.

"Old dog Yamamoto."

Gu Xu looked down at the demigod from the Sakura Kingdom at his feet, his eyes showing neither killing intent nor pity.

It's a very calm, condescending look: "To be honest, I really want to stomp your head and crush it."

These words were spoken in a calm and ordinary manner, but Yamamoto Furukawa's heart suddenly clenched.

Because he knew that what Gu Xu said was true.

Given the strength he just displayed, crushing his head would be about as easy as crushing a watermelon.

"but--"

Gu Xu sighed, his tone even carrying a hint of regret.

"Old Master Wang Cang once told me that your dog's life is still somewhat useful."

Yamamoto Furukawa's pupils contracted slightly.

Wang Cang.

It's Wang Cang again.

When Gu Xu was ambushed in the East China Sea last time, it was Wang Cang who stepped in to block it.

Now it's Wang Cang who's set the rules for this kid.

What exactly is that old man doing in Bush's camp?

But he didn't have time to think about these things.

Because Gu Xu's next sentence was already on: "Therefore, I will spare your life."

Gu Xu squatted down.

This action brought his face even closer to Yamamoto Furukawa's.

Yamamoto Furukawa could see the young man's eyes—his disheveled reflection was mirrored in the black pupils.

"But listen carefully."

Gu Xu's voice suddenly lowered: "If you try anything again—"

"Next time."

"You will die."

Three words: clean and tidy.

"I, Gu Xu, keep my word."