"Brian Carter, you go drive." Ethan Thompson walked to the car, looked at the two drivers in the cab—both strong and full of stamina—but he shook his head: "These two drivers don't need to come along, lest they become a burden."

"What did you say?" The two drivers got out of the cab, faces full of anger.

"They are indeed a bit weak. They can handle ordinary people, but against real experts, they're no match." Brian Carter stepped forward and grabbed like lightning.

Eagle Claw!

Crack, crack...

The two burly drivers suddenly felt their strength drain and their muscles go numb, as if struck by lightning, collapsing limply. This was because their nerve points had been pinched; after a short rest, they'd be fine, but for now, they had lost the ability to move.

"Alright, you two don't need to come along, and don't tell anyone about this. Go back and rest—your salary will be doubled this month." Grace Fisher waved her hand, her face actually showing a hint of excitement.

"Where are we going?" Brian Carter drove the car out of the club, contacting Ethan Thompson via Bluetooth.

"You'll get a call soon enough." Ethan Thompson closed his eyes. Grace Fisher sat on the sofa across from him, watching him curiously.

It was now 8 p.m.

Sure enough, Ethan Thompson's phone started to vibrate.

He answered the call.

This time, a hoarse voice came through, sending chills down one's spine.

"Ethan. Have you completed the task?"

"Hmm?" Ethan Thompson's body instantly straightened. "Mr. Clark!"

"Is the task done?" The hoarse voice didn't engage in small talk, just pressed on.

"Coordinates." Ethan Thompson returned to a blank expression.

"East longitude 116.5. North latitude 40.2." The hoarse voice reported a set of numbers, then hung up.

"You seem nervous," Grace Fisher probed. "Who exactly wants to kidnap me? You seem to know them well—are you in on it?"

"I'm not the one trying to kidnap you." Ethan Thompson placed his hands on the table, his ten fingers long and slender, nails hidden in the flesh. Suddenly, they shot out like blades, clanging with a metallic sound. "These people have set their sights on you. No matter how many bodyguards you have, it won't help. They've assassinated heads of state from multiple countries before. I used to be one of them."

"Your identity is so mysterious. Can you tell me more?" Grace Fisher no longer thought of him as a spoiled rich kid. "Your nails—how are they like a cat's or a tiger's, able to retract and hide in the pads?"

"You and I met by chance, that's just how fate works." Ethan Thompson kept his eyes closed. "Today is the end of your fate with me, and also the end of mine. From now on, we go our separate ways."

"Uh..." Grace Fisher was speechless. At this moment, she felt Ethan Thompson was cold and detached, almost inhuman.

Late at night, the car stopped at the designated latitude in the suburbs.

"You can get out now." Ethan Thompson moved like a ghost. In front of the car was a factory, brightly lit, repairing cars, but now there were no workers—an eerily deserted place.

Grace Fisher also got out of the car.

Brian Carter, however, did not leave the driver's seat, remaining on high alert.

"Junior brother, you finally came. Not only did you bring Grace Fisher, you also brought another woman. Looks like you don't want to work for us, but rather, you want to go against us?"

A man appeared like a ghost—no one knew how he arrived.

Dressed in black, he stood under the lights.

His face was sharply defined, hair cut short, hands clasped behind his back.

"Mr. Clark." Ethan Thompson showed no expression. "I was never truly one of you. I only pretended to go along because my skills weren't yet mastered. Without mastery, this body couldn't afford injury, so I could endure any humiliation. For the sake of martial arts, what does humiliation matter?"

"Are you really going to disregard our master's safety?" The black-clad Mr. Clark stepped forward two paces, just at the edge of attack range. His steps were as precise as a ruler, down to the millimeter.

"People like us are not bound by anyone. Even the law can be set aside, let alone the unlawful? You know our master's temperament. If I'm not mistaken, he's already dead—he would never let himself fall into someone else's hands. When martial arts are unmastered, one can endure humiliation. When martial arts are perfected, one stands tall between heaven and earth—how could one's backbone ever be broken?" Ethan Thompson's voice was utterly devoid of emotion. In this moment, he was no longer human, but like a god descended to earth, untouched by the mundane, unbound by anything.

Chapter 9: Before the Fist Moves, the Soul Is Already Broken!

In the suburbs, at the repair shop: luxury car, beautiful woman, two men in a standoff.

There was no bright moon in the sky, only pitch darkness. Occasionally, the wind swept by with a wailing sound—truly a dark and windy night.

"Ethan Thompson, you are not invulnerable, not the strongest. You can't claim to have mastered martial arts." The black-clad Mr. Clark seemed both still and moving, his body trembling in a certain rhythm, ready to unleash maximum killing power at any moment.

His spine swayed gently, like a great dragon about to ascend to the heavens.

"Mastery of martial arts is in the heart." Ethan Thompson didn't even look at the black-clad Mr. Clark's body, but gazed into the night sky, his eyes unfocused and drifting. "Chris Clark, there's not a soul around. You have absolute confidence. Your personality hasn't changed at all. I thought I'd have to kill a lot of people tonight."

"Tonight, I'm taking Grace Fisher." Chris Clark said, "Her father offended someone in business overseas. Someone hired me to take her away. Are you going to stop me?"

"战龙!"