The Red Sand Palm and the “Yama Hand” that he practiced were both extremely powerful palm techniques, but one was fierce and masculine, while the other was gentle and soft. Ethan Brooks had once sparred privately with Thomas Reed; after dozens of moves, he barely managed a draw while at a disadvantage. However, if it were a real fight to the death, Ethan Brooks estimated he’d have only a twenty percent chance against Thomas Reed.

That brute surnamed Deng was a ruthless character.

Thomas Reed himself couldn’t even defeat the seemingly gentle and frail young man before them—how could Ethan Brooks dare to so easily place his life in this man’s hands? Thomas Reed was making a deal with David Harris, but he himself was trying to snatch something from David Harris.

The situations were completely different.

“Don’t move!”

Standing beside Ethan Brooks, Henry and another burly man simultaneously drew their guns, both aiming at David Harris.

They were old-fashioned revolvers, likely several decades old. Qingyuan, located at the junction of three provinces, had always been a remote area inhabited by Miao and Yao peoples, plagued by banditry. Before liberation, there were more than a dozen bandit gangs, later wiped out by the army. But some firearms and ammunition still remained among the people, never fully confiscated even after decades.

These two revolvers, though old, were by no means useless.

Taking a life would still be all too easy.

Ethan Brooks finally let out a gentle sigh of relief.

This was the difference between the era of cold weapons and that of firearms: no matter how skilled you are in martial arts, how agile your moves, you can’t be faster than a bullet, can you?

“Henry, don’t do anything rash!”

Not far away, William Grant saw what was happening, his face changed dramatically, and he called out in a hurry.

No matter how advanced the weapon, it depends on who’s wielding it. Just because someone has a firearm doesn’t mean they’ll be the final winner. William Grant was over eighty, and in his life had weathered countless storms.

Someone like Henry—even if you gave him a machine gun, he might not win for sure.

William Grant had once personally witnessed a top expert kill four armed men in an instant with just a dagger; they didn’t even have time to release the safety on their pistols before their throats were slit.

Unfortunately, William Grant’s warning came too late.

A flash of cold light—Henry and the other gunman screamed in agony, their pistols clattering to the ground. Each had a gleaming throwing knife embedded in the center of their wrists, blood streaming down.

Another flash of cold light shot straight toward Ethan Brooks, and the one who struck was none other than Linda King, who had been quietly standing behind David Harris all along. No one could have guessed that this delicate, timid-looking girl was actually a master of such deadly skills.

Ethan Brooks was shocked; the cold gleam before his eyes was so dazzling he couldn’t even see where it came from. In a clash between experts, if you can’t even see your opponent’s move, how can you fight?

But Ethan Brooks was a ruthless character too. At this point, with nowhere to retreat, he let out a low roar, both palms striking out with the desperate move “Yama’s Poison Hand.” A pungent, foul odor instantly spread in all directions.

Adding the word “poison” to “Yama Hand” was by no means a trivial matter.

As everyone’s eyes were dazzled, William Grant urgently called out, “Miss King, show mercy!”

With this shout, the white-haired, cane-wielding octogenarian suddenly became as agile as a leopard, darting over like lightning. The sound of wind roared through the trading hall, caused by William Grant’s cane slicing through the air.

Unstoppable force.

Cries of astonishment erupted all around.

Many people’s faces showed extreme excitement.

Today was truly thrilling—who would have thought even William Grant, that old man who refused to die, was a hidden master? Judging by his stance, even three or five strong men would only be asking for a beating if they stepped forward.

The next moment, the “whoosh whoosh” of the cane slicing the air abruptly stopped.

William Grant’s ox-head cane suddenly froze in midair. Looking closely, it was pinched between two slender, fair fingers.

David Harris smiled and nodded at William Grant.

That incredibly tough ox-head cane now seemed rooted in place, held firmly between the index and middle fingers of David Harris’s left hand. William Grant tried three times in a row to pull it back, but it was like a stone sinking into the sea—he couldn’t budge it in the slightest.

William Grant’s face, usually rosy as a young man’s, instantly turned pale and bloodless. He cried out anxiously, “Mr. Harris, please show mercy.”

David Harris smiled and said, “It’s all right, Elder Grant, we mean no harm.”

Just as these words were spoken, there came two muffled “thud thud” sounds, and Ethan Brooks let out a cry of pain.

The fight over there had also ended in an instant.

When everyone saw what had happened, screams erupted once again.

They saw Ethan Brooks’s two palms, one in front and one behind, pierced through by a cold, gleaming sword. That extremely thin, razor-sharp sword, resembling an Emei dagger, was held in Linda King’s hand.

Dark red, even faintly purple blood dripped down the sharp blade, drop by drop.

The stench grew even stronger, making people want to vomit.

“Seventh Master…”

Only now did the group of knife-wielding thugs snap out of it, panicking and shouting in confusion. Two hotheaded youngsters, not caring about anything else, raised their machetes and charged forward.

“Don’t move!”

Ethan Brooks gritted his teeth and shouted harshly.

No one dared to move. Even the two hotheads charging forward stopped in their tracks, both shocked and furious.

Chapter 9 Save Me