At this moment, Brian Carter stepped out of the car. “An internationally wanted criminal, absolutely dangerous, with a high bounty from more than a dozen countries, has killed over fifty Interpol agents, assassinated the heads of several African national armies and escaped successfully—danger level, S!”

　　“Get away!” Ethan Thompson's eyes suddenly flashed with a sharp light.

　　“Foolish!”

　　Chris Clark moved suddenly. The moment Brian Carter got out, he keenly sensed a flaw. With a swift step, like a dragon’s tail sweeping, he leapt forward in a flash, covering dozens of meters in the blink of an eye, his fist already at Brian Carter’s chest.

　　Just now, the two had been locked in a standoff, neither daring to make a move under the tension, but Brian Carter getting out broke the balance, instantly giving Chris Clark an opening.

　　Brian Carter felt her breath catch, a shadow rushing at her, the fist enveloping her whole body, unable to move even a finger. The opponent’s fist seemed to possess a kind of magic, oppressing the soul and bringing immense fear.

　　“Unity of body and spirit, moving like a ghost or god.” Only now did she realize how childish and laughable her own martial arts were.

　　The weak kill the body, the strong sever the soul!

　　Only weak martial artists aim to destroy the opponent’s body.

　　Before the fist lands, the soul is already broken.

　　For a true martial master, before the fist even moves, the force is already there, and the enemy is scared to death. Just like someone falling from a great height—often, it’s not the fall that kills, but the fright in midair.

　　It sounds ridiculous, but that’s the truth. Brian Carter hadn’t believed it before, but now she did. There really are such martial arts masters in the world.

　　Facing such a master, she had no choice but to wait for death.

　　This was the power of Chris.

　　Bang!

　　Then, she heard the sound of combat, her body seemingly struck by an air bomb, flung far away by the shockwave.

　　Opening her eyes, she saw Ethan Thompson and Chris Clark had exchanged a punch.

　　Just now, Ethan Thompson had saved her; otherwise, she would have been a bloody mess by now.

　　“You’ve also reached the realm of soul-severing fist intent?” Chris Clark slid aside, standing at Ethan Thompson’s flank, the two forming a 45° angle.

　　This was a dead angle for attack.

　　Every move Chris Clark made was as precise as if measured with surveying tools, not off by a hair—this was the result of meticulous cultivation, controlling the body to the utmost finesse.

　　Ethan Thompson, on the other hand, didn’t care about dead angles. He moved as he pleased; for him, his body could be flexible at any point, so dead angles didn’t exist.

　　He ignored Chris Clark’s words, retreated a step, his feet gliding as if on rollers, opening a ten-step distance.

　　Chris Clark’s martial arts far surpassed David Carter, not to mention Henry Ford.

　　Very few can achieve the soul-severing fist intent.

　　When David Carter fought Ethan Thompson, he was defeated by the final punch—not surprised by the power, but by how it oppressed his spirit.

　　A martial artist can be killed, but not have their heart taken.

　　If the heart is taken, that is true submission in both word and spirit.

　　“Soul-severing fist intent…” Ethan Thompson sighed deeply. “That’s far from what I pursue. If I stopped here, what right would I have to call it a miracle? The greater the heart, the stronger the fist. That’s something you can’t understand.”

　　He spread his five fingers, slapped the air, the force overturning the heavens.

　　Ethan Thompson’s fist came crashing down from above, his clothes billowing with the force, making a fierce sound. His presence was as awe-inspiring as the Thunder God, standing atop the highest heavens, punishing evil on earth, sweeping away all wickedness.

　　This punch was no longer a mere physical attack, but had risen to a profound spiritual level.

　　For an ordinary master, just making this gesture would be enough—the opponent would already be kneeling without a real attack.

　　This was neither fantasy nor myth.

　　Esoteric mudra also possess such power. In history, some eminent monks subdued tigers and dragons with the might of their hand seals. In the temple, the Vajra hand forming the Vajra wheel mudra would make people tremble with fear at the sight, sweating for all the evil they had done.

　　Brian Carter had retreated far away; she finally understood how terrifying these two were.

　　Such fist techniques were almost supernatural, making her feel as if she no longer belonged to the mortal world.

　　Facing Emily James’s downward force, Chris Clark’s demeanor suddenly softened, becoming almost feminine, his hands curling upward, jade-like and graceful.

　　Beauty rolls up the beaded curtain.

　　This move was the soft fist within the art, inspired by the ancient beauty rolling up the beaded curtain—elegant and ever-changing. Though the name sounded lovely, it was the most sinister of all, a bone-breaking technique.

　　If you encountered this move, your arms, even your body, would be twisted up like a beaded curtain, every inch broken.

　　The most beautiful fist, the most poisonous fist.

　　Beautiful things are always deadly.

　　The two moves collided. Chris Clark’s “Beauty Rolls Up the Beaded Curtain” actually caught Ethan Thompson’s Thunder God strike, but he couldn’t break the opponent’s bones, because Ethan Thompson’s arm shook, generating a surge of force, a chain of explosive bursts.

　　Swish!

　　Chris Clark’s leg moved, kicking out like a scorpion’s stinger, hooking toward the opponent’s calf with lightning speed, both hooking and sweeping.

　　Scorpion swings its tail.