Instructor still wasn’t very creative—just a straight punch. This punch didn’t look particularly fast, nor was it as dazzling as the afterimage technique of Whitehair’s twin claws, but it landed squarely on Whitehair’s claws, once again blasting Whitehair eight or nine meters away.

This time, Whitehair couldn’t control his posture and was sent flying by Instructor’s punch right into the crowd of onlookers.

A bald, black man with skin as glossy as if coated in honey was hit head-on by Whitehair. The bald man couldn’t withstand the force from Instructor either and was knocked over, rolling on the ground.

No one in the Dark Training Camp is a mild-mannered good guy. The black man flipped himself up, clearly annoyed at being caught in the crossfire, and roared furiously, “Get out of my way, punk!”

Chapter 10: Arrogance Is a Crime

The bald black man reached out to push Whitehair off him, wanting to shove this troublemaker away. But just as his hand was about to touch Whitehair, a whip-like kick swept ghostly fast across his ear. With a loud crack, the black man’s head was blown apart by Whitehair’s kick.

Whitehair didn’t even glance at the limp, headless corpse. Clenching his fists, he let out another bizarre “ya-hey!” and, moving even faster than before, charged back into battle with Instructor.

I vaguely remembered this bald black man—his punches were no less lethal than the blond foreigner killed by Instructor. Each punch packed a power of three points. Compared to me, who needed at least six hits to chip away even a single point of a wall’s health, this guy’s strength was leagues above mine. Yet such a fierce brute couldn’t even withstand a single move from Whitehair. I couldn’t help but gasp, reassessing the danger level of the Dark Training Camp and the dark world, and raising my estimation of Whitehair’s threat.

Whitehair darted around Instructor at lightning speed, performing all sorts of tricks like a monkey. His movements were unbelievably fast and each action was mind-boggling, completely beyond human limits.

This guy Whitehair dared to openly challenge Instructor’s authority—he really had some skills. At least, unlike the blond foreigner who was killed in one punch, he could hold out. But just by watching the fight, anyone could see Whitehair had no chance of winning.

Instructor’s punches and kicks weren’t flashy, but each one forced Whitehair back several steps.

Compared to Whitehair’s all-out effort—his fists and feet like the wind, unleashing a barrage of dazzling moves—Instructor’s simple, direct attacks seemed effortless, his strength even more unfathomable.

“You’ll soon know the power of Lord Himura… ya-hey, whoa whoa whoa! Waa ya ya ya…”

The fact that Whitehair could still let out such high-volume howls in the middle of battle was truly impressive. I can’t even speak after sprinting a hundred meters, afraid of gulping air into my lungs—it’s not a pleasant feeling. But these taunts didn’t boost his fighting power. After just a few exchanges, Whitehair was sent flying by Instructor again. This time, a white man was unlucky—standing too close, he became the target of Whitehair’s rage, and was killed with a single punch.

After killing another person, Whitehair’s momentum surged again, and his strength seemed to grow.

On his third charge, even Instructor’s expression turned serious—no longer as casual as before.

Once Instructor got serious, the fight ended swiftly. He lightly stomped the ground, his speed suddenly increasing tenfold, and used the same shuffle-step punch, only with much greater power.

When Instructor got serious, Whitehair didn’t even have the right to tangle with him. Despite changing his footwork seven or eight times, he was still punched square in the face by Instructor. The challenger Whitehair had his features smashed to a pulp by that punch, his white hair stained red with blood, looking filthy.

This time, he landed right in front of me. Even after such a severe injury, Whitehair’s vitality was still tenacious—unlike the blond foreigner, he wasn’t killed on the spot. With a miserable scream, he swung a punch at my face. Even after being badly wounded, Whitehair still maintained a fierce killing intent, indiscriminately lashing out.

“This idiot! Bastard…”

I hurriedly covered my head with both hands. The golden burial shroud, like a nimble demon snake, automatically extended from my right wrist to my left, wrapping around both hands. If I had to react on the spot, I’d never have blocked his lightning-fast strike—might’ve ended up in the underworld without even knowing how I died. But thanks to my prior preparation, I managed to save my own life.

Whitehair’s punch shattered my arms as I shielded my head, and the golden burial shroud seized the chance to coil around his fist. When Whitehair first challenged Instructor, I even thought he had some protagonist’s aura—surely, even if he lost, he’d rant about revenge and swear to wipe out Instructor’s whole family.

I only wanted to kill Loki to avenge my parents, never intended to get tangled up with someone who seemed to have a protagonist’s aura. But his punch forced me to fight back.

Under my conscious control, the golden burial shroud unleashed its full power to devour flesh and blood.