Twenty years of blood and hatred. A grudge spanning two decades. Burdened by the weight of revenge, Dustin never ceased thinking of his duty. His enemy stood before him; he would not leave him alive.
Laughter rang out. Ignatius, after his rage, burst into chortles. "You're the last surviving descendant of the Fox family. What makes you think you can avenge yourself on the Harmon family? You're courting death!" He commanded, "Capture him!"
The Harmon family's fighters instantly surrounded Dustin. He remained motionless.
"Don't kill him yet," Ignatius said coldly. "Break his limbs. Since he dared kill my Patrick, he'll be tortured to the brink of insanity before I end him." A dozen fighters advanced, elite warriors honed by rigorous Harmon family training. Overwhelming Dustin seemed assured.
"All who stand in my way must die!" Dustin struck, his face impassive, a phantom’s swiftness.
The Harmon fighters froze, their faces rigid. The next moment, they lay motionless on the floor. An uproar erupted in the banquet hall. No one had seen Dustin move; he was that fast. The Harmon fighters’ power was well known; few could withstand them. Dustin’s skill was undeniable.
"This boy is no ordinary person!" someone exclaimed, his face solemn.
"In Lovellia, fighters are ranked from first to ninth grade, with exceptional sovereign grade above that," a distinguished middle-aged man stated, equally astonished. "This Fox descendant must be at least seventh grade!"
Such skill at such a young age was rare in Lovellia; a prodigy, indeed.
"A seventh-grade fighter at this age? There can't be many in Grayvale. There are only a handful of ninth-grade fighters. If he's seventh grade now, wouldn't he be ninth grade in a few years?" a guest gasped.
Ignatius’s expression darkened. As an eighth-grade fighter, he recognized Dustin's exceptional ability. He himself had reached seventh grade at nearly fifty; he couldn't compare. A chill settled in his heart. If Dustin continued to grow…
"Dustin, I'll fight you!" Ignatius roared, leaping to his feet and charging. He held nothing back; every move was a killing blow, granting no quarter. He dared not let Dustin live.
An eighth-grade fighter unleashing his full power was an awe-inspiring sight, silencing the crowd. Many believed Dustin's death was certain.
"Only an eighth-grade fighter…" Dustin sneered. As Ignatius closed, he countered with a fist.
Their fists collided with a resounding bang. Ignatius's expression twisted in disbelief as a terrifying force surged. Blood sprayed from his mouth as his body flew backward, crashing to the floor. "What?"
The guests watched in stunned disbelief. Ignatius, the renowned eighth-grade fighter, had been gravely injured and hurled across the room by a single punch.