A Scroll of Infinite Glory

Dimon Seymour missed his target and landed on the ground. He grabbed at the coach, who swayed his knees outward and kicked, his feet slipping like mud, his body shrinking back like a shrimp. He retreated quickly enough, but his left sleeve was still torn in half by the grab.

Maiboer followed up with a quick step and landed a punch on the coach's left upper arm, hitting a vulnerable spot.

The muscle where I was punched dented in a little.

The coach flicked his right stick, and Maiboer instinctively swung his fist at his right wrist.

Unexpectedly, the instructor's flick was just a feint. With a flick of his fingers, the staff flashed a fan-shaped afterimage, then turned into a tail that shot forward, and a dense spray of needles shot out as smoke billowed from the ground.

Maipol dodged most of the flying needles with a sidestep, then swung his fist to knock away more than a dozen more. The few remaining needles that hit his body bounced off his taut muscles as if they were hitting stones in an icy wasteland.

But his expression froze.

A needle was stuck in the right abdomen, in the wound that the instructor had just opened.

When McBoy first sparred with the coach, he was caught off guard and injured. He felt the hot blood at the wound and knew that the three-inch-tip blade was not poisonous. Only then did he dare to use that risky fighting style.

However, these flying needles are poisonous, and highly poisonous at that. As soon as they are inserted, the small area becomes numb.

He was truly ruthless; he grabbed down and tore off a chunk of flesh from the side of his abdomen, letting out a painful howl as a spurt of blood gushed out.

Dimon Seymour patted the wound, and the bleeding stopped immediately.

Maipol tore off his clothes to wrap around his waist, sat on the ground pale-faced, and dared not move any further.

"They actually use something like this! What treacherous Far Easterners!"

Dimon Seymour's gaze swept coldly over them.

The coach remained silent and stood in front of Ma Zhixing.

The poisoned needle hidden in the end of the stick was originally his last resort to save his life. He hadn't used it when he was betrayed by a traitor and surrounded, but he used it ahead of schedule today.

But it's necessary. In that situation just now, if the instructor had been even a fraction slower, it would have been a two-pronged attack.

That burly foreigner's boxing skills were by no means inferior to those of a master boxer, and he was the most ruthless kind of killer.

As for this Seymour, he was even stranger.

His lunge and grab just now, while skillful, still showed many shortcomings in the coach's eyes in terms of power generation. Yet, he managed to do it so quickly and with such agility.

His methods for stopping the bleeding of the strong foreign man were unheard of.

No matter which country's medical expertise, how can you stop the bleeding of such a large wound with just a light pat?

I've only heard that Dong Haichuan, the founder of Baguazhang, had a similar feat after mastering the art three times in his later years. He used the power of Baguazhang to help a person whose stomach had been cut open to close the muscles and stop the bleeding. But it shouldn't have been done so casually.

Dimon Seymour, with a faint wisp of white smoke seemingly emanating from his fingertips, took a step forward, his five fingers, which had been loose and hanging down, suddenly turned into a fist and punched upwards as he raised his arm.

This punch, like a swift arrow, pierces straight for the throat; it's a deadly style of fighting rarely seen in boxing matches since the 19th century.

The coach shifted his face back only two inches, then flicked his right hand, the sharp tip of his stick flashing out with a whoosh, stabbing Dimon Seymour first.

The blade targets the gaps in the ribs, and with the speed of the instructor's breathing and the force exerted by his wrist, it can pierce through the internal organs before the pain reaches the skin.

Dimon Seymour didn't dodge at all. The blade was struck by the force of his forward movement and broke off. The mahogany stick hit his body with a loud bang, revealing many cracks.

The coach's right hand was split open, and Dimon Seymour was already right in front of him, his momentum like a giant crocodile devouring a sheep, throwing out both fists at once, one to the collarbone and the other to the lower abdomen.

call! ! !

The coach's body bounced backward, flying over Ma Zhixing and crashing into the wall.

Dimon Seymour's punches, however, felt unreal.

He wasn't knocked away; he crashed into something on his own.

A long, indistinct breath, neither clearly inhaled nor exhaled, came from the instructor's mouth. His center of gravity shifted and swayed, and his whole body became like a fully elastic, curved plastic bag. Originally, his shoulder hit the wall first, and as the wall pressed down, the force traveled from his shoulder to his hip and then to his heel before rebounding.

In the blink of an eye, the coach used the wall to push his body's speed to the limit. His left hand pressed down with his five fingers, like a blooming flower, and collided head-on with Dimon Seymour, striking him in the chest.

Dimon Seymour staggered, and a cracking sound filled the air, but it wasn't that his ribs were broken.

The coach had just been punched in the left arm, but the force was insufficient, and his elbow was dislocated. However, in the instant his left hand stretched, his right hand, with even greater force, pierced through from below and struck Seymour at the upper part of his stomach, near the cardia.

Back then, when many great boxing masters gathered to demonstrate their skills, the instructor was one of the most important figures. He learned the squeezing and leaning techniques of Tai Chi from the northern boxing masters, the elusive body techniques of Bagua, and even the traps and hidden weapons used by the leaders of the seven provinces'镖客 ​​(bodyguards) to outwit the bandits.

However, the foundation of a master boxer's kung fu is already set. There are some things they cannot learn during the martial arts competition, and some they can never learn no matter what. It is easier to change mountains and rivers than to change one's nature. Some minor bad habits left over from their early training have become their biggest stumbling blocks.

When it comes to a real life-or-death situation, you still have to show your best, most honed skills.

Hidden in his sleeve, a single finger strikes the Central Plains!

The right hand gesture consists of the thumb, middle finger, ring finger, and little finger clenched, with only the index finger upright.

The moment the coach's right palm struck, his left hand withdrew, and his right index finger, which had grown thicker and was as red as blood, jabbed upwards, its tip curling inwards, firmly gripping the neck wrinkle where Seymour's chin and neck connected.

Even if there were an iron plate in front of him, the instructor's finger would pierce through it and rip out his trachea.

Dimon Seymour was like a cold-blooded animal startled by a raging fire; his pupils instantly dilated, and for a fleeting moment, a pair of terrifying, bloodthirsty vertical pupils appeared in his eye sockets.

The faint light of scales flashed across his entire face, with the spot on his neck wrinkle being particularly clear and deep.

The coach felt a chill run down his spine from every pore on the front of his body. His right hand, which had been exerting maximum force, suddenly felt a sharp pain and lost sensation.

His entire palm was covered in frost that was visible to the naked eye.

Seymour's face simply had a layer of scale-like patterns that resembled tattoos, and the coach suddenly experienced a profound and chilling realization.

The person standing before me is an anomaly, completely different from any other martial arts style in the world!

BOOM!!!

The instructor's body crashed through the courtyard wall and landed on the street seven or eight steps outside the ancestral hall amidst the flying debris and sand.

The figure who had just reached the other side of the river opposite the ancestral hall saw this scene and, in a panic, stepped across the water. His figure swept across nearly thirty meters, his arms as flexible as thick cotton cloth, and he grabbed the instructor's body.

A horizontal ripple appeared on the river surface.

Guan Luoyang half-turned and bent his knees to put the instructor down. He raised his eyes and saw through the smoke and dust, seeing the strange "person" in the courtyard.