Disobey me, and I'll tear it apart

Damn!

Was this shabby little book in his hand really worth five hundred million?

An Yi stared at the sword technique manual in his grasp, his fingers trembling slightly.

But right now, this thing was anything but a treasure!

Calling it a hot potato would be an understatement—it was more like a red-hot branding iron! Untouchable!

And yet, everyone’s eyes were locked onto it. Why the hell had Boss Nie tossed it to him?!

Furious, An Yi clenched his jaw.

Boss Nie, seeing his rage, smirked and said, "Little brother, if you don’t want it, feel free to throw it away. No one’s forcing you."

An Yi:

Throw away five hundred million?!

True to his frugal nature, An Yi quietly tucked the "Nine Swords of Dragon Slaying" into the inner pocket of his suit.

"Good luck to you. See you around."

With that, Boss Nie and the mixed-race beauty Shirley strolled away, leaving An Yi with nothing but their retreating figures.

Shirley even turned back to blow him a kiss. "Do your best!"

Do your best, my ass!

All he’d wanted was to pocket two hundred million, take down eight qualifying losers in the chaos, and slip away.

Later, he could’ve rubbed it in the face of that one-billion-a-year military thug, bragging about how he’d made two hundred million in a single night.

But who could’ve guessed Boss Nie would dump this damn "Nine Swords of Dragon Slaying" on him?!

So damn sneaky!

Under the greedy gazes of the crowd, An Yi cleared his throat and put on a calm front. "How about this? Let’s auction it again. Starting bid—five hundred million. Whoever offers the highest price gets it. What do you all say?"

A woman in a yellow dress chuckled coquettishly. "Young man, do you really think that’s possible?"

If this won’t work and that won’t work, then fine—he’d just tear it up. It wasn’t like he’d paid for it anyway.

An Yi raised the manual, gripping it at both ends, ready to rip it horizontally.

"You won’t listen to me? Then I’ll destroy it!"

The crowd panicked.

"Hold on, little brother! Don’t be rash!"

"Have mercy! That’s five hundred million!"

"Calm down! Be careful—it’s fragile!"

In an instant, the martial artists who’d been eyeing An Yi like prey suddenly changed their tune.

They looked like concerned bystanders trying to talk a jumper off a ledge.

This kid was downright shameless!

"Disgusting!"

Fu Changchun, leader of the Surging Waves Palm Sect, spoke up. "Lin Chen, what exactly are you trying to do?"

An Yi grinned. "Simple. Fair competition—one-on-one. Whoever beats me gets the manual!"

The martial artists fell into thought.

Because they couldn’t figure out what An Yi was scheming.

Did he really think he could take them all on alone?

What was the point?

Even with a war of attrition, they’d wear him down eventually!

Fu Changchun narrowed his eyes. "You mean that?"

An Yi nodded. "Absolutely."

He’d done a quick count earlier—there were only twelve qualifying individuals in the crowd, and that included Chen Bing and Zhang Fan.

"Qualifying" meant the system recognized them. In terms of strength, none of them were pushovers!

Taking down eight of them in the chaos would be no easy feat.

To complete the "Tyrant" mission, he’d have to find another way.

And when Boss Nie threw him the manual, it hit him—this thing was dangerous, sure, but he could also use it as leverage!

Every martial artist here had come for the "Nine Swords of Dragon Slaying," even risking their lives to ambush Boss Nie.

An Yi refused to believe they wouldn’t play along if he held it hostage.

After all, the five hundred million had been dumped on him!

Worst-case scenario? He’d just tear it up.

"I’ll go first!"

A plain-faced but sinister-eyed martial artist stepped forward, fists clenched as he charged at An Yi.

"Black Wolf, Wang Dong!"

Someone in the crowd recognized him and shouted.

Wang Dong was a martial artist at the Mingjin level, but he was infamous for his cruelty—especially his penchant for torturing young women to death. Countless lives had been lost to his hands.

An Yi glanced at him. This guy didn’t meet the system’s standards, but he looked familiar—probably from the news.

"Hand it over, nice and easy!"

Wang Dong’s eyes gleamed with excitement as he lunged at An Yi like a gust of wind.

But An Yi was faster.

A black dagger flashed, slicing across Wang Dong’s throat.

Wang Dong froze, staring blankly as An Yi passed him. A thin red line appeared on his neck before blood gushed out.

As Wang Dong collapsed, the crowd snapped out of their daze.

This kid killed without blinking!

Instantly, many of the martial artists lost their nerve.

Most of them weren’t even at the Mingjin level.

If a Mingjin expert like Wang Dong had been taken out in one move, what chance did they have? They’d be walking to their deaths!

An Yi twirled the dagger in his hand, grinning like a devil. "Let me make one thing clear—if you’re trash, don’t waste my time. You’ll die."

"This kid’s no joke," Fu Changchun muttered, his expression darkening.

For a moment, no one dared step forward.

"Since no one else will, I’ll give it a try."

A man with dry, straw-like hair walked out.

An Yi’s eyes lit up.

This guy’s head was practically glowing—finally, a qualifying opponent!

"Excellent, excellent! Brave of you," An Yi said excitedly. "Beat me, and the manual’s yours."

"Hope you keep your word."

The straw-haired man gathered his energy, readying himself.

An Yi sheathed his dagger and assumed a stance for "Flash Fist."

The "Tyrant" mission had a side quest tied to unlocking his reputation stat.

Using a dagger against an unarmed opponent would feel like cheating, and if he took the system’s wording literally, he probably wouldn’t complete the reputation quest.

"Song Xu of the Eight Trigrams Palm!"

"Tsk, tsk. He used to be a real tough guy. How’d he end up like a beggar?"

The crowd murmured in awe, while An Yi watched intently.

Just then, the two bruised monks stepped forward, positioning themselves protectively beside An Yi.

"Brother Chen, don’t worry! We won’t let anyone hurt you!"

"Yeah! We’ll defend you with our lives!"

The two monks, despite having been beaten up by An Yi earlier, spoke with unwavering determination.

An Yi blinked, staring at these two loudmouthed baldies in disbelief.

Were they masochists or something?

The more he hit them, the more loyal they became?

"Why the hell would I need your protection?" An Yi snapped.

"I’ve got a mission to complete! I finally found a qualifying opponent—don’t you dare screw this up for me!"

One of the monks grinned dopily. "Brother Chen, don’t you remember us? I’m Long!"

"And I’m Hu!" the other declared proudly, thumping his chest.

Hearing "Brother Chen," An Yi vaguely understood—these two were probably acquaintances of that military thug.

Long scratched his head. "Just like old times, Brother Chen—your punches still pack a wallop! I recognized you the moment you hit me!"

Hu pouted. "I knew it was you back at the auction!"

"Bullshit! You were only there to check out the girls!"

As the two monks started bickering, An Yi’s face darkened.

He grabbed both of them by their bald heads and hurled them aside like sacks of potatoes.

Dusting off his hands, An Yi turned back to Song Xu.

"You. Let’s go."

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