Xiong Chuan suddenly felt a numbness on the insides of both knees, his legs going weak and unable to stand steady. Fortunately, the sensation lasted only a moment; he steadied himself by planting his long staff on the ground.

Just as he regained his balance, a sharp pain shot through his neck. His mind spun, his vision went black, and he could no longer support himself, collapsing to his knees. It was William Foster who, after striking the acupoints on his legs, took the opportunity to slip between them, rose up behind him, and delivered a knife-hand strike to the side of his neck, hitting the carotid artery.

Even that wasn’t the end. Still dazed and confused, he heard a sudden clatter, and another wave of searing pain hit the back of his neck. This time, he couldn’t hold on any longer—the burly man crashed to the ground.

As soon as Frank Miller fell, William Foster was revealed, gripping a piece of wooden stick in each hand—parts of a chair’s backrest—panting heavily as he looked at the man lying before him.

Glancing at the two broken sticks in his hands, William Foster kept the one with the sharper end, and drove it hard into Frank Miller’s neck, making sure Frank Miller was well and truly dead before finally letting out a breath.

“As expected, in any world, the most formidable weapon is a stool!”

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Chapter 9: Official Constable

After killing Frank Miller, William Foster was temporarily out of danger. But only temporarily—outside, David Thompson was still entangled with that so-called Twin Blades Zhao Wu. If he wanted to be truly safe, the best way would be to kill Zhao Wu as well.

But just now, in that instant dealing with Frank Miller, William Foster had used every trick he had, and only succeeded thanks to a sneak attack. He figured he wouldn’t have such a good chance against Zhao Wu.

In fact, there were many coincidences that allowed William Foster to kill Frank Miller so cleanly: first, although Frank Miller had a fierce reputation, his actual skills were only average—otherwise, could a single David Thompson really take on both Frank Miller and Zhao Wu alone?

Frank Miller’s fearsome name came from the sheer number of evil deeds he’d committed, and his utter ruthlessness—even against women and children. He always made sure of his target before acting, and if he sensed any real resistance, he’d never make a move. That’s how he’d managed to stay at large for so long.

So strictly speaking, Frank Miller’s abilities were quite ordinary, his martial arts crude at best. He relied on his thick skin and brute strength, and naturally knew nothing about striking acupoints—he never fought head-on with anyone remotely skilled, so he had no defense against such techniques. That’s why William Foster was able to take him down with a few moves, leaving him no chance to fight back.

You could say that if William Foster hadn’t learned wild-style boxing, and specifically practiced a few moves targeting acupoints, then even with a sneak attack today, he wouldn’t have gained any advantage.

He casually searched Frank Miller’s body and took out a short blade. William Foster headed straight out of the council hall, ready to help David Thompson, but to his surprise, David Thompson was already walking toward him.

At the same time, there were two constables at David Thompson’s side. One was the man who had earlier gone from Shili Pavilion back to Baihe Town for reinforcements; the other was a young man, quite handsome, and looking even a year or two younger than William Foster.

But William Foster didn’t dare underestimate him—he saw the young man also wore a sword at his waist, which meant he was at least one rank above himself: an official constable.

“George Thompson!”

“William Foster, are you alright? Where’s Frank Miller?”

William Foster stepped aside, and the group immediately rushed into the council hall. Though the light was dim, they could still see Frank Miller lying on the ground, a large pool of blood by his throat, almost forming a bloody puddle.

“Dead?”

Seeing this, David Thompson could tell at a glance that Frank Miller was well and truly dead. He looked at William Foster in astonishment, unable to fathom how this young man could have killed Frank Miller.

David Thompson knew a bit about William Foster’s skills. The young man had learned some basic martial arts, but it was clear he hadn’t trained long, so it was nothing special. Plus, William Foster was thin and weak, lacking strength—if he punched someone like Frank Miller, the brute probably wouldn’t even flinch.

Yet he’d managed to kill Frank Miller. It was truly baffling.

William Foster had no choice but to briefly explain what happened. Only then did David Thompson understand, his eyes lighting up: “You know acupoints? You can strike acupoints?”

He didn’t wait for William Foster to answer, but nodded in satisfaction, patting William Foster on the shoulder: “The skinny man you killed earlier was also a well-known thief in Zhuzhou, called John Walker. Now you’ve killed Frank Miller as well. With these two achievements alone, your status as an official constable is secure!”

He added, “I knew I wasn’t wrong about you. You have a bright future ahead—keep working hard!”

He suddenly started praising him, leaving William Foster a bit confused, but he still nodded and cupped his fists in thanks: “Thank you for your appreciation, Tingzheng!”

David Thompson smiled and nodded, looking at William Foster as if he were some kind of treasure, which gave William Foster a strange feeling. But seeing David Thompson begin to introduce the young man, he set the odd feeling aside and greeted him with a smile.

“Little brother Andrew Cooper, I truly admire you, Brother Jiang, for taking down two notorious bandits single-handedly!”