William Foster's fist was like the iron hoof of a wild bull, carrying an unstoppable force as it crashed down heavily on the forehead of the road-blocking tiger, David Harris. With a loud bang, David Harris was struck by an irresistible brute strength, let out a miserable cry, soared high into the air, and was then slammed hard to the ground by William Foster. The skin and flesh on his forehead burst open, blood spurted out in torrents, instantly covering his face in a mask of blood.

　　As he fell, a black bead simultaneously flew out, landing about thirty feet away, spinning rapidly on the ground.

　　"Brother Yang!" Seeing David Harris sent flying, his face covered in blood, James Thompson roared furiously and, with a swish, charged forward, launching a fierce "Tiger's Claw" attack.

　　"Hmph!" William Foster stepped forward aggressively, neither dodging nor evading, and unleashed a move called "Wild Bull's Horns." In the pavilion, everyone’s ears were filled with the resounding bellow of a bull. With a crack, James Thompson's arm bones snapped, his body arched, and he flew out like a scarecrow, crashing heavily into a vermilion pavilion pillar.

　　"How is this possible!" James Thompson sat on the ground, his arms hanging limply, the shock overwhelming the pain in his body.

　　Watching from the sidelines was nothing compared to experiencing it firsthand. James Thompson had initially thought David Harris was defeated because he was too careless. Only after personally making a move did he truly feel the terrifying power of William Foster.

　　How much time had even passed! James Thompson clearly remembered that just half a month ago, when the two of them beat up William Foster, it was like beating a dog. Yet in just fifteen days, the tables had completely turned.

　　"You've lost!" Richard Bennett looked straight ahead and smiled.

　　"Hmph! Consider yourself lucky!" Thomas Grant snorted coldly, casually tossed out a booklet, shot a fierce glare at William Foster in the distance, then flicked his sleeve and left.

　　Richard Bennett reached out and caught the Grant family's "Demon-Slaying Sword Qi Manual" in his hand. The swordsmanship manual he had once coveted now seemed utterly tasteless.

　　"What a terrifying combat talent!" Outwardly calm, Richard Bennett was inwardly shocked. With his own level of qi cultivation, he didn't take the power William Foster displayed seriously. What truly shocked him was William Foster's combat talent. Richard Bennett understood that the basic military technique of the Wild Bull Fist, in his own hands, would never be wielded with greater power than William Foster had just shown.

　　The Tiger Fist was considered superior to the Wild Bull Fist—this was a consensus among the noble sons of the capital. David Harris, though arrogant, had deep mastery of the Tiger Fist, but compared to William Foster, it paled into insignificance.

　　The wild bull charging outpaced the descending tiger; using the "Wild Bull Splitting Mane" forced David Harris into defense and drew his attention, while the real power lay in the following "Wild Bull's Roar." The three Wild Bull Fist moves flowed seamlessly, executed with exquisite skill, almost as if they were created specifically to counter David Harris's Tiger Fist. This battle was decided the moment David Harris initiated "Tiger Descends the Mountain"—he would have no further chance to strike.

　　"Father once said, 'There is no secret in martial arts for one's own use; it all depends on the heart. Having powerful techniques is good, but the decisive factor in a fight is often the martial artist himself.'" Richard Bennett thought to himself.

Chapter 9: The Shout That Drove Them Back

　　"Young Marquis!" Outside the battle circle, two startled cries rang out as the two guards who had followed David Harris finally realized what had happened inside. Neither had expected that, with their young master's level of cultivation, he would last less than three rounds against William Foster. After all, just half a month ago, they had personally witnessed David Harris beating up William Foster.

　　Whoosh!

　　Two gusts of wind swept in, and two powerful guards appeared in the battle circle. Their feet barely touched the ground as they leapt lightly, gliding toward William Foster like swallows.

　　"How dare you! Aren't you afraid of being exiled twenty thousand miles away, sent to Veda Continent as laborers?" Seeing the two guards charging over menacingly, William Foster immediately stood his ground, eyes wide with fury, and shouted angrily.

　　In his previous life, William Foster had studied Confucian classics extensively, achieving great accomplishments in Confucian etiquette, and had earned the appreciation of several influential court scholars. Confucian self-cultivation emphasizes nurturing a spirit of righteousness, and after years immersed in Confucianism, William Foster naturally exuded this aura.

　　In his "previous life," his martial strength was weak, but now, with some achievement in martial arts and a deep understanding of the essence of fists and momentum, this shout made the two guards immediately feel as if a high-ranking court minister was standing before them, sternly rebuking them and threatening to send them to the distant, harsh Veda Continent.

　　It was like being doused with ice water on a hot day—the two guards froze, not daring to advance any further.

　　The laws of the Great Zhou Dynasty were strict, and under the control of Confucian civil officials, etiquette and law were deeply ingrained in people's hearts. The social hierarchy was rigid; a noble heir like William Foster was absolutely not someone two guards without rank or background could afford to offend. The dynasty always punished such insubordinate soldiers by stripping them of their martial cultivation and exiling them to the remote Veda Continent as laborers.

　　Veda Continent was far from the Central Divine Continent, poor and barren, thirty thousand miles of desolation. The Great Zhou Dynasty had always used it as a place of exile for criminals. Once sent there, there was almost no hope of ever returning to the Central Lands.

　　With a single sentence, William Foster intimidated the two marquis manor guards. He then bent down to pick up the bead that had fallen from David Harris's body. With just one glance, his eyes lit up.

　　"A Human-Grade Bead!" After all, he was born into a marquis family and had seen his share of treasures. The moment he saw the sleeping infant at the center of the bead, William Foster recognized this precious item.