If someone had asked Su Mo over his decade-plus of schooling which subject he hated most, he would’ve answered without hesitation: English.
Now, facing a terrorist who spoke the very language that had tormented him for years, his rage meter instantly maxed out.
Su Mo was a cultivator; his opponent was a mage—essentially, a Western cultivator, just from a different system.
The key difference?
Chinese cultivators focused on holistic self-improvement, while mages were renowned for their formidable spells and mental prowess—often at the cost of physical frailty.
This distinction dictated their combat roles, much like warriors versus mages in a game.
Su Mo hadn’t expected his first fight with a foreigner to be against a legacy mage—let alone in close combat.
He held the overwhelming advantage.
That said, the white mage wasn’t a pushover. Though his Mandarin was shaky and he barely understood Su Mo’s words, he could still sense the fury radiating off him.
“Little monkey, you very angry, ah?” the mage said in broken Chinese.
At the same time, he conjured a wall of flames between them, buying himself an escape route.
???
Su Mo was already furious. Now, being called a “little monkey”—
Fine. You won’t surrender until death stares you in the face, huh?
The fire barrier was too dangerous to charge through—Su Mo could tell from earlier exchanges that these flames could burn him. So he abandoned the mage and turned to another enemy.
This one was also E-rank, seemingly specializing in physical prowess—though his exact inheritance or ability remained unclear.
CRACK—THUD!
Blades clashed.
Su Mo’s Tetanus Blade shattered the enemy’s weapon effortlessly, then followed through to cleave clean through his torso.
The man’s muscular body split in two, the cut so smooth it looked surgical.
…That’s it?
Su Mo blinked, barely dodging a fireball from behind.
Hiss—Damn, that’s hot!
Seizing an opening, he lunged at the mage again—but the slippery bastard kept throwing up fire walls at the last second.
Infuriating.
Worse, the mage seemed to be a priority protectee among the terrorists. In just this short skirmish, seven people had already died shielding him.
Weird. Why are these terrorists so weak?
Aside from the mage (likely D-rank), the rest were barely E-rank, relying purely on brute strength with no special techniques. Against Su Mo, they were one-hit kills.
Meanwhile, other superhuman passengers fought back across the train—though none as effortlessly as Su Mo. Some even fell to gunfire.
But Su Mo had his own problem: the mage’s flames were too strong, both offensively and defensively. He couldn’t land a decisive blow.
To minimize casualties, he reluctantly switched targets, focusing on weaker foes.
The mage, however, wasn’t about to let him go.
“Come! You trash!” he taunted in butchered Mandarin.
His broken Chinese kept killing Su Mo’s battle momentum, making him want to pause and laugh mid-fight.
This is a life-or-death situation… but damn, it’s hard not to crack up.
His standout performance soon drew the attention of hidden snipers. Even with bronze armor, rifle rounds left him aching.
Then—
WHUMPH-WHUMPH-WHUMPH!
Helicopter rotors thundered overhead.
Reinforcements.
Leading the North Star team was an elderly Daoist priest, his white beard and hair fluttering as he unleashed a tidal wave of spiritual energy—shredding terrorists like paper.
Su Mo stared, awestruck.
What kind of power… can annihilate so many E-ranks with a wave of the hand?
The mage paled. No more taunts—he bolted, faster than a startled hare.
After enduring his harassment, Su Mo wasn’t about to let him escape. Reversing his qi flow, he slashed at the fleeing figure.
With no time to cast, the mage yanked a massive alloy shield from his waist, bracing in a bow stance.
CLANG!
The blade left only a shallow scratch.
Holy crap—that’s good loot!
Su Mo’s eyes gleamed. He sheathed his blade and charged bare-handed.
Can’t risk damaging it…
“Fire Wall!” The mage conjured flames again, hoping to buy distance.
But then—a shadow loomed overhead.
He glanced back just in time to see Su Mo, armored in bronze, leap 10+ meters high, arcing over the flames like a missile—fist aimed at his skull.
“WHAT?!” His eyes nearly popped out.
BOOM!
Su Mo slammed him face-first into the ground.
But the mage retaliated—point-blank fireball.
The bronze armor shielded Su Mo from direct burns, but the scorching heat forced him to dismiss it, revealing his true form.
The mage’s eyes lit up at the sight of the stunning girl before him—
—only for a fist to blot out his vision.
Lights out.
Su Mo pocketed the shield, then eyed the mage’s waist.
He pulled it from here… Where’s the—
“Oh, COME ON!”
The mage’s body vanished without a trace.
A quick check confirmed the shield was still in his spatial ring.
At least I didn’t get roasted for nothing.
…
On the other side of the battlefield, the elder’s one-shot annihilation of the terrorists had drawn out the real threat.
A black man emerged from the water, his Mandarin flawless—even with a Cantonese lilt.
“Senior Qin Xun… We’ve waited long for you.” He smirked. “Pity today is your last day.”
Qin Xun—the Daoist—remained expressionless. Raising his right hand, he began chanting.
“Stop him! He’s setting up an array!” someone shouted.
“Too late.”
A pulse of white light exploded from Qin Xun, engulfing all enemies in an instant.
The black leader watched calmly, unfazed—until the array fully activated.
“As expected of the North Star’s ‘Heavenly Authority’ Qin Xun,” he said, chuckling. “So many tricks up your sleeve.”
Qin Xun unhurriedly drew a peachwood sword from his back, his voice deep and resonant:
“A foreigner, yet you speak so… literarily.“**
“You flatter me, Senior. I had the fortune of living in Xia for some time—I know a thing or two.”
Were it not for his appearance, he could’ve passed for a native.
“Then you must know,” Qin Xun’s eyes turned icy, his robes billowing without wind as sword-like spiritual pressure erupted—
“Xia has an ancient saying: ‘A wise man knows when to yield.’”
He pointed the sword.
“Retreat…
Or die.”