All the heavens, starting as the ruler of the universe

The bearded man ignored Master Ma's question and instead lowered his ghost-head broadsword from his shoulder, the tip of which dragged across the floor tiles, creating a grating scraping sound in the inn's lobby.

He walked up to Peter's table, looking down at Peter who was still sitting there, while the wailing of the second brother still echoed in the corner.

The bearded man glanced down at the limp wrist, then looked up. "Outsider, do you even know whose territory this inn is on?"

Peter looked relaxed, and the black lines of the symbiote on the back of his hand flickered slightly. "I don't know."

"You dare to make a move without knowing?" The bearded man slammed his broadsword on the table, causing tea to splash out.

"I've been in this business for over a decade, and I've never seen anyone as blind as you. Today, I'll show you what happens when you mess with the wrong people in Blackwater Town."

As soon as he finished speaking, two henchmen carrying axes approached Peter from behind.

Peter didn't get up. He raised his left hand, grabbed the axe that one of the men was swinging at him, and pulled hard. The axe flew out of his hand and hit the wooden pillar of the inn with a thud. The handle was still trembling.

Before the other person could react, Peter had already stood up from his chair and slammed his right fist directly into the axe.

A fist-shaped mark appeared on the surface of the axe, which then smashed into the man's chest.

The man groaned and flew backward, crashing into an empty table in the lobby, shattering the dishes on the table into pieces.

From the moment the shot is taken to the moment it's finished, it takes no more than five seconds.

The man with the bushy beard finally stopped smiling.

He stared at Peter, his grip on the knife tightening slightly, his knuckles leaving bluish-white marks on the hilt.

He wasn't unfamiliar with tough opponents; there were many capable fighters on the trade route in the northern deserts. But he had never seen anyone who could leave a mark on the surface of an axe with their bare hands before.

"Who exactly are you?" His voice was a beat lower than before, and his confidence had clearly diminished.

"Explain your poisoning activities clearly, and we might consider leaving you with a complete corpse."

As Peter withdrew his hand, the symbiote's black markings slowly faded from his knuckles back to the back of his hand.

The bearded man's Adam's apple bobbed up and down, and the tip of the knife scraped against the ground again.

Then he looked up at the doorway and said, "What are you all standing there for! Attack!" The henchmen at the doorway exchanged glances, some holding axes, some carrying clubs, and some with crossbows, all hesitating.

The bearded man grew agitated, pointed his knife forward, spitting as he shouted, "He's all alone! What's there to be afraid of!"

A young henchman holding a crossbow gritted his teeth and pulled the trigger.

The crossbow bolt whistled through the air and struck Peter squarely in the back of the head.

Peter dodged the arrow that came hurtling through the air by tilting his head, and with his right hand, he caught the arrow, turned it around, and shot it back with force.

"Whoosh."

The arrow was faster than it had come, piercing straight into the man's chest.

The man's face turned pale instantly, his hand went limp, the crossbow fell to the ground, and then his entire body collapsed.

Peter quickly knocked them all to the ground, leaving only the bearded man by the door trying to run away.

When the bearded man turned around, none of his twenty-odd followers were standing; they were all lying on the ground, their fates unknown.

The wind blew in through the broken doorway, making the oil lamp on the table flicker.

Peter looked at the bearded man. "Can you talk now?"

The bearded man threw the knife on the ground with a loud clatter, then knelt down with a thud.

"Have mercy, sir!" He threw himself to the ground, his forehead thumping against the bricks. "It was all the shopkeeper's doing! I was paid to do it, I know nothing! Go find the shopkeeper, he's in the storeroom in the backyard!"

Then he used his knees as feet to move to Master Ma's feet.

"Master Ma! Master Ma, please plead for me! I know I was wrong! I shouldn't have tried to take your goods!"

After saying that, he started slapping himself, left and right, making a loud and crisp sound.

"You ask him, I'll go check the backyard." Peter picked up a dart from the ground and threw it, pinning the bearded man's hand to the ground.

"Thank you, hero." Master Ma clasped his hands in thanks, then gestured to the people behind him to clean up the people and belongings on the ground.

Peter pushed open the backyard gate.

The courtyard was small, with several earthenware jars piled against the wall, their mouths sealed with dusty, gray lids.

The kitchen was on the east side of the backyard. There was still a half-basin of unwashed vegetables on the stove. The fire in the stove had gone out, leaving only a pile of warm ashes.

The shopkeeper ran away, and it was obvious he escaped through the back door, which was wide open and the door panels were swaying back and forth in the wind.

Peter stood in the yard and looked around.

The warehouse door was ajar. He pushed it open and peeked inside. There were several bags of grains and several sealed jars of old wine, but no one was there.

He was about to return to the front hall, but after taking only half a step, he pulled his foot back.

The symbiote moved very slightly inside him, sensing something.

He spread his senses and filtered through the sounds in the courtyard in his mind.

Then he heard a sound.

In the well!

There was a dry well in the courtyard. The well opening was not large, and half of a stone millstone was placed on top of it.

Peter walked over, pushed the millstone aside with one hand, and glanced down.

There was no water at the bottom of the well. A person was curled up on the pile of rubble, with his hands and feet bound by hemp rope, his mouth stuffed with rags, and another strip of cloth tied around his mouth. He was raising his head and desperately staring up from the bottom of the well.

Peter rolled over and jumped down.

The space at the bottom of the well was very narrow, and when he landed, the gravel under his feet made a soft crushing sound.

The man shrank back slightly, and Peter squatted down, first untying the gag from his mouth, then pulling out the rag stuffed in his mouth.

The man coughed violently, his whole body trembling.

Peter casually snapped the rope, and the man, still trembling, stood up, leaning against the well wall. By the light filtering through the well, he could see Peter's face clearly. Then he froze.

"The Amazing Spider-Man? Am I dreaming?"

Peter smiled. It seemed he was lucky; the time travelers in this world had seen the movie.

"Congratulations, you've been arrested for illegal crossing."

The man's surprise froze instantly; his mouth was agape, and his hands were still gripping the well wall, as if he had been paralyzed.

"Not... an illegal crossing?"

"Yes." Peter said seriously, "According to Article 3, Section 7 of the Transmigrator Management Regulations, unauthorized transmigration to a non-native world will result in the deprivation of human rights for serious offenses. You have the right to remain silent now, but everything you say will be used as evidence in court."

"But I didn't travel here intentionally. I was hit by a car and somehow ended up here," the man vehemently protested. "I didn't travel here illegally. I don't know anything."

"Very good, it seems we didn't choose the wrong person." Peter nodded.

The man suddenly realized, "You're bluffing me?"

"Just kidding," Peter changed the subject. "How did you end up like this, bro?"