Wound for wound!

Life for life!

“Hiss!”

“Bang!”

Chaotic overlapping sounds rang out.

Ethan Clark's chest was struck by a powerful punch, the explosive force shattering his school uniform and sending him staggering back three steps, his heels bracing against the wall.

Almost simultaneously, the sharp sword in his hand pierced through Brian Foster's heart and lungs. As he staggered backward, he drew the sword out, blood spurting everywhere.

“Crack!”

Brian Foster's finger bones fractured, his eyes widened in fury, staring fixedly at the solid steel plate revealed beneath Ethan Clark's shattered school uniform.

“You!?”

Ethan Clark pushed off the wall with his toes, his body bending like a bow, springing forward, sword gleaming, stabbing once more.

“Not good!”

A flash of terror appeared in Brian Foster's eyes as he retreated violently, his right foot aiming a kick at Ethan Clark's lower body.

But in his dizzy and weakened state, both his speed and strength were affected.

Before his kick could land, Ethan Clark's sword spun swiftly, slashing down like lightning, cutting into his quadriceps and severing the femur.

Dismemberment!

“Hiss!”

Blood splattered!

Following the momentum of his springing attack, Ethan Clark's body crashed heavily into the retreating Brian Foster.

“Bang!”

A dull thud.

Brian Foster was sent flying three meters, slammed into the wall, then crashed to the ground. Blood and pain assaulted his nerves, making him scream in agony.

“Ahhh!”

Ethan Clark gripped his sword and stepped forward.

Blood slid down the blade, dripping onto the floor, blooming into crimson splashes.

In the midst of his screams, Brian Foster suddenly realized something, his face turning deathly pale. Ignoring his dizziness and weakness, he shouted, “Stop, stop! Killing is against the law! I’ll give you money, I’ll give you whatever you want…”

Ethan Clark stopped in his tracks.

Immediately, Brian Foster breathed a sigh of relief.

After all, he was just a kid—how could he so easily cross the psychological barrier of killing someone!?

Just as he was thinking about how to take revenge on Ethan Clark's family once he recovered, Ethan Clark walked over, sword in hand, to the unconscious and comatose William Harris.

He simply gripped the sword with both hands, aiming at William Harris's head.

Brian Foster's eyes widened: “What are you doing!?”

He stabbed down!

“Hiss!”

The sword pierced through William Harris's skull.

Blood silently flowed out, staining the floor red.

Brian Foster's heart trembled violently.

An unprecedented chill spread through him, making his hands and feet go cold, as if he had fallen into an icy abyss.

“You…”

Ethan Clark then walked over to another of Brian Foster's disciples, Andrew Cooper.

Again, gripping the sword with both hands, aiming at his head.

“Stop!”

He stabbed down!

“Hiss!”

Pierced through the skull.

After killing Andrew Cooper, Ethan Clark moved on to the third person.

Standing still, gripping the sword, aiming, stabbing down.

“You… you…”

Brian Foster's voice trembled, his whole body shivering with fear.

A terror like never before spread through him.

Ethan Clark's expression did not change.

He continued toward the fourth person.

Each of these skilled body refiners, whether at minor or major accomplishment, after being drugged unconscious, were like lambs to the slaughter, unable to resist at all before him.

Stab, withdraw.

He repeated these simple actions.

For a moment, it seemed the only sound left in the entire private room was that of the sharp sword piercing through skulls.

At first, Brian Foster still held a sliver of hope, but as Ethan Clark ruthlessly and mercilessly killed the nine disciples he had brought, one after another, his heart seemed to sink into a bottomless abyss, filled with regret.

Regret for underestimating the threat of Ethan Clark.

If only he had known…

After Chris Clark died, the first person he should have killed was Ethan Clark.

“Master Lu… calm down, I admit my guilt, I accept punishment, just give me a chance… whatever you want, I can give it to you…”

“Hiss.”

Ethan Clark pulled his sword from the skull of Brian Foster's last disciple, George Baker, bringing up a spray of blood.

He said nothing, but with sword in hand, walked toward Brian Foster.

“No! No! No!”

Recalling the tragic deaths of his nine disciples, Brian Foster instantly broke down: “No, spare me… Master Lu… please spare me…”

The suffocating fear of death surged over him.

He pleaded as he crawled forward with one hand, trying to escape the private room.

The wound on his broken thigh left a trail of crimson on the floor.

Under the colorful lights…

Bloody!

Terrifying!

But Ethan Clark seemed not to see his miserable state, nor hear his pleas. He arrived before Brian Foster ahead of him, then…

As always, gripped the sword with both hands, held it level, the tip aimed at his head…

“No, I beg you…”

He stabbed down.

“Die!”

Ethan Clark uttered his first word since the fight began.

“Hiss!”

The sword pierced through his upper jaw, penetrated the skull, exited at the back of the neck, and, with undiminished force, nailed into the floor.

Brian Foster.

Dead.

Chapter Four: Heavy Rain

“Hiss!”

Ethan Clark pulled the sword out.

Silence.

Inside the private room, there was dead stillness.