Chapter Forty-Seven

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Watching the steady stream of passersby, Ye Chong couldn’t help but be amazed. Blackhorn was an extremely remote place, and the roads here were far from easy, yet the number of people coming and going was astonishing. The internal space of Zhilan Floating City was vast, so despite the crowds, it never felt cramped. Ye Chong glanced curiously around as he walked, just as he had the first time he entered the virtual network.

Suddenly, a commotion up ahead caught his attention. Ye Chong quickened his pace and moved closer to see what was happening. A fat man, richly dressed and sporting a slick, oily face and a protruding belly, was arguing heatedly with an old man. At their side stood a burly fellow, likely the fat man’s bodyguard. Seeing his employer angered, the usually arrogant bodyguard couldn’t bear the slight and shoved the old man with a heavy hand. The old man staggered back several steps before collapsing onto the ground with a thud.

The fat man’s expression shifted, and he scolded the bodyguard angrily.

The old man made no protest, merely standing up on his own, a cold smile on his lips. The fat man hurried to offer an apologetic grin, but the old man remained silent. Sweat began to drip more heavily from the fat man’s brow, and his forced smile grew increasingly stiff.

Suddenly, a voice sounded from behind: “Who was causing trouble here just now?”

Ye Chong’s heart tightened. He hadn’t even sensed this man’s approach—if it had been a sneak attack, he’d have suffered for it! This man was powerful, Ye Chong assessed. He hadn’t expected to encounter so many formidable figures so soon upon arriving. Compared to the recent dangers he’d faced, Ye Chong relished the feeling of being surrounded by strong opponents. Clearly, Blackhorn was the place for him!

Since leaving the junk planet, Ye Chong had met few true experts. He found most people weak in body, technique, and spirit, unable to stir his fighting spirit. In truth, Ye Chong’s motives were simple: he wanted only to grow stronger. In his mind, strength was the decisive factor that protected life and determined fate.

A man wearing a black mask approached. The mask was smooth and polished, its lines soft and rounded, with silver-bright eyes that created a striking visual contrast. The entire mask seemed to possess a strange tension—it was almost impossible to look away once your attention was caught by it. The long black coat he wore only added to his aura of elegance and mystery.

Sweat trickled down the fat man’s forehead.

Behind the mask, Johnson was inwardly furious—someone dared stir up trouble while he was on duty!

A glance at the scene allowed Johnson to quickly piece together what had happened. He shot the fat man a cold look, his gaze so sharp it seemed to pierce straight through him. The fat man’s sweat poured all the more, and panic spread across his face.

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Johnson couldn’t be bothered with him and walked straight to the wall. After a quick operation, a holographic screen sprang up on the wall, replaying the entire incident from moments before.

Johnson’s voice was as cold as an autumn wind: “You dare break Blackhorn's prohibition against violence? Hmph, will you come with me yourselves, or do you want me to use force?”

The burly bodyguard at the fat man’s side curled his lip disdainfully. To him, this masked figure was far too thin—he was certain he could send him flying with a single punch. He couldn’t understand why his boss was so afraid of these people.

Ye Chong, however, did not underestimate the man in the black mask. The fact that he hadn’t noticed his approach spoke volumes about his strength. Ye Chong’s own hearing and senses were remarkably keen; never before had anyone approached unnoticed. The masked man’s build might not have been imposing, but Ye Chong knew well that a compact frame didn’t mean weak strength—he himself was proof of that.

A cold smile flickered at the corner of Johnson’s lips beneath the mask.

Suddenly, everyone’s vision blurred. In a flash, the masked man had darted forward. The burly bodyguard clutched his abdomen, his face twisted in agony, unable to utter even a cry. His features contorted in growing pain, his body doubled over, and finally he collapsed to the ground with a thud, unconscious, without a single word spoken from start to finish.

Ye Chong’s heart skipped a beat. Such speed! Possibly equal to his own! Never before had Ye Chong met someone who could match him in swiftness. He had seen it all: the masked man rushed up at blinding speed, bent his right leg slightly, pulled back, then lashed out with explosive power. By the time his attack struck, the man’s foot was fully extended, his entire leg like an unsheathed blade. It looked like a light touch, but it sent the bodyguard reeling, and in an instant the masked man retreated like a phantom.

Ye Chong’s back was already drenched in cold sweat.

With a cold snort, Johnson strode toward the fallen bodyguard.

Suddenly, a voice called out from the crowd: “Wait!”

Johnson instantly located the speaker, his eyes narrowing. The youth looked unremarkable, standing amid the throng, but he was unmistakably out of place—like a wolf among sheep. When someone in the crowd edged closer to him, the youth instinctively adjusted his stance, immediately bringing the encroacher within his range of attack! Johnson was startled by this level of vigilance. Looking more closely, he was even more surprised: unlike most people who stood with their feet parallel, the youth’s feet were slightly staggered, both knees bent, making it easier to exert force and adapt quickly.

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The youth’s figure was balanced, with not a muscle bulging, but Johnson’s experienced eye saw at once that his physical strength was no less than his own. Johnson knew all too well how formidable such a build could be. Still, he was puzzled—this kind of training was a closely guarded secret of Blackhorn, so how had a complete stranger achieved such a physique? Had he stolen the method? Impossible! Blackhorn’s techniques were uniquely taught, making theft unthinkable. Besides, it wasn’t just a matter of skill; auxiliary methods were also required, or controlling muscle growth would be impossible.

Those around Ye Chong instinctively edged away, as if he were a plague. But this gave Ye Chong a clear path forward.

Ye Chong drew a deep breath and instantly fell into an optimal breathing rhythm.

Johnson’s heart tightened. He shifted left ever so slightly, facing Ye Chong head-on.

He had already made up his mind—no matter what, he would bring this mysterious youth back to Instructor Huck for questioning. He had to find out where this young man had come from.

Ye Chong watched the masked man warily, shifting his right foot even farther back, left knee bent more deeply.

Johnson’s voice was low and stern: “Was it you who spoke just now?” If his tone to the bodyguard before had been like an autumn breeze, now it was the icy wind of midwinter.

Everyone around felt as though the very air was about to freeze, the pressure so intense it was hard to breathe.