Chapter 45

Chapter 46: Battle Again

Zhao Heng leaped high, kicked up, and sent one man flying off the stage, crashing heavily in front of Feihu and his gang. The man groaned a few times before passing out. At this moment, Zhao Heng was covered in blood, looking fierce and terrifying, but most of the blood was his opponent's. Although he had several wounds, they were not serious.

Zhao Heng still stood tall, while over seventy people lay around the stage.

Feihu and Duyan Biao were so shocked they couldn't speak, their palms sweating. The black-clad woman kept rubbing her eyes, as if no one could believe that the guy who had been showing off could be so formidable. The once confident Feihu and Duyan Biao suddenly felt a chill, realizing for the first time that even a hundred brothers might not be able to stop Zhao Heng.

"Again!"

Zhao Heng licked the blood from his machete, his expression cold and ruthless. He then shouted a word that made the Qing Gang members collapse in despair. Standing tall on the stage, he raised his machete high and let out a deafening roar. The sound waves rolled down from the stage, shaking the entire bar.

His eyes were full of provocation and contempt. The blood on his body seemed to permeate the air, which quickly dispersed to other areas. For some reason, after the intense fight, Zhao Heng did not feel tired. Instead, he felt better than ever, ready for another round.

The trembling in his body was no longer intense but flowed steadily, spreading throughout his body, making his strength like an endless spring. The fight seemed to be a whetstone, sharpening Zhao Heng day by day. At this moment, with his machete raised to the sky, Zhao Heng felt as if he had merged with the world, losing himself completely.

Five knife-wielding men appeared on stage!

Feihu clenched his fists and roared, "Kill him!"

The five men leaped onto the stage in unison, their figures appearing like ghosts around Zhao Heng. They held their weapons silently, each exuding a stern and formidable aura, clearly chosen for their skill. They looked at Zhao Heng as if he were a wild beast waiting to be slaughtered, with a mix of amusement and disdain.

Yes, in their eyes, Zhao Heng was no different from a dying wild beast. Although Zhao Heng was still energetic, they knew that after fighting over seventy opponents, his physical and mental strength must be severely depleted. They believed he was now at the end of his rope and could no longer resist their attack.

"Go to hell..."

Without waiting for the man in front of him to finish his taunt, Zhao Heng swung his machete with all his might, leaving no room for hesitation. In the wolf pack training with Uncle Feng, Zhao Heng had often faced such outnumbered battles, so he was very experienced. This swing targeted the blind spot where two opponents were overlapping, the least favorable position for a coordinated attack.

Before the man could finish his sentence, Zhao Heng's machete struck like a mountain, shocking him. Swallowing his words, he quickly raised his short knife to block. With a loud clang, the man staggered back, blood flowing from his palm, his right hand trembling like a leaf. "You, shameless..."

The man could only manage three words before he could no longer hold on. He spat out a mouthful of blood and collapsed like a sack of snakeskin. This made Feihu and his gang shudder, and even the four remaining knife-wielding men on the stage tightened their expressions, surprised that Zhao Heng had knocked out their comrade with one blow. Their initial contempt turned to caution.

"Kill!"

The two fastest men moved first. The one on the left used a black military dagger, creating over a dozen blinding flashes as he attacked Zhao Heng's upper body. The other used a long knife, rolling on the ground and continuously changing his position to target Zhao Heng's leg tendons. They attacked from above and below.

Zhao Heng swung his blood-stained machete, exuding a fierce killing aura. Without a moment's hesitation, he met their attack head-on. His machete, seemingly casually, struck the tip of the military dagger, making the wielder feel an immediate sense of danger. In a typical weapon clash, the stronger force would push the weaker one away.

He had reserved his strength, planning to be pushed back to create an opening for the other two to attack in a wave. This was one of their formations for dealing with skilled opponents. However, the military dagger did not get pushed back; instead, Zhao Heng's strength changed.

The military dagger pressed heavily forward, causing the man who was about to retreat to lunge forward involuntarily, like a moth drawn to a flame. As they passed each other, Zhao Heng's elbow struck his chest with a thud. The man spat out a mouthful of blood and fell back, the sound of his chest plate breaking clearly audible before he hit the ground.

The pain was his last memory before he lost consciousness.

At the same time, Zhao Heng's foot was pressing down on the middle of the other man's long knife, pinning it like a nail. To avoid Zhao Heng's powerful stomp, the man on the ground rolled around, changing his knife's position over a dozen times, but Zhao Heng still managed to step on it.

"Clang!"

The long knife broke in two under Zhao Heng's force. He then used his toe to strike the man's chest, causing a gush of blood to spray from his mouth. The two men who followed were clearly not expecting their strong comrades to be defeated so quickly. Zhao Heng's attack made them more cautious.

Zhao Heng let out a triumphant laugh, which sounded like a cold snort from a god to the others.

The last two men suppressed their fear, raised their long knives, and approached Zhao Heng from both sides, their steps in perfect harmony, as if connected by an invisible thread. Their machetes trembled slightly, signaling their intent to attack with full force.

Zhao Heng did not wait for them to attack; he stepped forward with his machete.

His footsteps on the floor were heavy and powerful, like the beats of a drum, making the air seem heavy with intense battle intent. The curve of his lips, combined with his blood-soaked body, made him look like an unstoppable dragon under the lights, causing everyone to feel a chill.

Zhao Heng seemed to have a unique ability to naturally become the center of attention whenever he chose. The more people looked at him, the more he stood out, like the moon among the stars, and the more their gazes felt like a sharp pain. This was exactly the case now.

The black-clad woman bit her lip. Although she had been in the underworld for many years, Zhao Heng still made her eyes widen in surprise.

If the previous intelligence had shown her a fierce Zhao Heng, making her and her master more interested in understanding and controlling him, then now Zhao Heng was declaring with his strength and bravery that he was a precious sword that would eventually break free, and one that she and her master would find hard to control.

"Kill! Kill him!!"

The two knife-wielding men let out a roar like tearing silk. Zhao Heng's face remained indifferent, but his actions were swift and decisive. Soon, the three of them were in close combat. Zhao Heng's machete, with numerous notches, pierced through one man's shoulder, blood spurting out instantly.

The tip of the machete emerged from the man's back, the long blade turning a dark red as blood flowed down like a stream. As the man on the left screamed, Zhao Heng grabbed the wrist of the man on the right, twisted it, and took the long knife. Another gush of blood followed, staining Zhao Heng's body red.

The two men fell heavily, severely injured and no longer a threat.

"Come, come... don't come over."

Zhao Heng slowly approached a Qing Gang member who was kneeling on the ground. With a thud, he stomped on him like an ant on a carpet. Then he slowly walked towards Feihu and Duyan Biao, who looked pale. Feihu shouted at the others to keep attacking while stepping back, warning Zhao Heng, "Stop!"

Zhao Heng ignored them. The remaining dozen or so gang members rushed forward but quickly retreated when they saw Zhao Heng's unstoppable momentum. They knew that even if they fought to the death, it would be futile. Zhao Heng was simply a devil, too terrifying.

Zhao Heng's machete cut through the air like a wave, leaving a trail of blood mist. In a moment, he had cut through seven or eight people. Qing Gang members lay scattered on the ground, their blood seeping into the carpet, no longer a threat. Zhao Heng sneered, "Continue..."

The remaining Qing Gang members looked on the verge of collapse.

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