“Heaven has a path, yet you refuse to take it, and instead come to my home seeking death.” Mark Brooks fought with increasing ferocity; such a treacherous villain, how could he possibly let him leave? After a furious curse, he unleashed another move—Vajra Clearing the Way—charging straight ahead.

His fist surged with power, like an enraged Vajra, awe-inspiring in all directions.

At this moment, Mark Brooks’s blood and energy burned at their peak, and his Vajra Fist was executed to perfection.

David Foster felt that, in this instant, the Mark Brooks before him was like a mighty, towering war god, a Vajra crushing down upon him with overwhelming force.

He had already wanted to retreat, but even if he left, he had to make a show of strength first, to suppress his opponent before escaping. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be a retreat, but a path to certain death.

Clenching his teeth, he shifted his body to the side and, with a swift movement, sprang up. With a gust of wind, his Iron Sand Palm shot out like a venomous snake, striking toward Mark Brooks’s crown as fast as lightning. “Kid, your time has come.”

With fierce momentum, the Iron Sand Palm’s brutal force rushed forward.

This move was only meant to force Mark Brooks to defend, so he could seize the chance to slip away unnoticed.

But unexpectedly, a sharp glint flashed in Mark Brooks’s eyes. He frantically channeled his inner energy, unleashing his strength in an instant, focusing it to a single point. His right hand, half palm, half fist, lifted from below to meet David Foster’s arm.

This move, “Vajra Lifting the Pagoda,” was executed in that instant, as if guided by divine inspiration—marvelous beyond words.

Smack—a sharp, resounding crack.

The Iron Sand Palm and Mark Brooks’s Lifting the Pagoda hand collided directly, both sides clashing with raw, masculine force.

Mark Brooks felt as if he had struck a block of iron, his right hand going numb from the shock, the residual force drilling up his arm and into his organs, blood surging to his throat, making his face turn pale.

David Foster fared even worse—a faint crack signaled his arm bone had fractured. The mighty, domineering power of the Vajra Fist sent him staggering back several steps, nearly falling.

Sensing that his opponent might try to escape, Mark Brooks refused to let him go. Ignoring the blood in his throat, he forced himself forward with a burst of energy, lunging ahead in a flash, his arm swelling as he threw a heavy punch at David Foster.

“Trying to run? Not so easy!” Another Vajra Clearing the Way, the punch roaring with even more resolve and a fierce, unyielding spirit.

Even if it meant a desperate fight and mutual destruction, Mark Brooks was determined to keep him here.

David Foster, shocked and enraged, instinctively raised both hands to block. With sheer grit, he barely managed to defend against Mark Brooks’s all-out blow.

But the powerful impact sent his organs tumbling, blood spurting from his mouth. After stumbling back two steps, two deep footprints were left in the ground.

But it wasn’t over. Mark Brooks, relentless and fierce, strode forward. He lowered his body, then sprang up at an angle. With a stomp, the ground caved in; with a shake of his shoulder, it was as if mountains toppled—an imposing force erupted.

As the ground trembled, throwing everyone off balance, the Vajra Iron Shoulder crashed hard into David Foster’s chest.

With a dull thud, David Foster was sent flying, his back slamming into the courtyard wall, collapsing a section and scattering stones. He fell to the ground, head lolling to the side, blood gushing from his mouth—dead.

Chapter 8: Victory and Family

Time seemed to stand still.

Everyone was stunned by Mark Brooks.

After a long moment, Grace Hamilton was the first to react, waving her arm excitedly and shouting!

“Second brother is mighty! Second brother is amazing!”

Mark Brooks’s mood was also at its peak. All the pent-up frustration was released in this moment, and with a heroic roar, he shook the very buildings in his own courtyard!

The little black tortoise, Xiao Ba, lazily poked out half its head, giving him a disgruntled look—what are you yelling for? Wasn’t it just killing a minor character? Is it really worth getting so worked up? Can’t you let your big bro get some sleep?

Outside the courtyard, Charles Brooks had originally thought Mark Brooks might not be a match for David Foster, and was ready to step in if needed. But the result left him dumbfounded—the explosive power was truly shocking.

Charles Brooks sighed, then entered the courtyard with the old servant, deliberately coughing twice to get Mark Brooks’s attention.

Seeing Charles Brooks suddenly appear, Mark Brooks frowned slightly, wondering to himself, Why is he here?

Charles Brooks was a rare young genius in the family. He wasn’t much older than Mark Brooks, yet was already at the peak of the Spirit Disciple stage, and he was also the son of the clan leader, James Brooks.

Moreover, he was a decent person, diligent in his cultivation, and was widely acknowledged as the future successor of the clan—the hope for the family’s revival.

“Mark Brooks, I didn’t expect that after just a few days apart, you’d be so impressive. I was worrying for nothing.” After glancing around, Charles Brooks was once again amazed by the aftermath of the battle.

Mark Brooks had never been close to him, and replied calmly, “Young clan leader, have you come to hold me accountable?”

“Mark Brooks, you’re actually a few months younger than me, so you’re my younger cousin.” Charles Brooks chuckled and said, “Don’t worry, I saw everything that happened today. The fault wasn’t yours, but David Foster and the others’. When I return, I’ll report to my father and ask him to restrain the Third Elder.”