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Novel Catalog
Chapter_284
As Nash sat cross-legged, the deep focus of his cultivation filled the room, the Longevity and Creation Technique working its way through his body. The first stage had brought him to the peak of the Profound Reality Realm, but he was not done. The second stage was where true power lay, as it refined both the mind and the body. Nash closed his eyes, intent on tempering his physical form, for only through a powerful physique could he surpass those stronger than him in cultivation.
The true energy surged in his energy center, rippling outward like a stream of light, flowing through his muscles and bones. The energy was no longer a foreign force but an extension of his own will. As it coursed through him, Nash felt his body becoming taut, every muscle strengthened, every sinew more resilient. The difference was palpable—his body was hardening, refining itself with each passing moment. His skin felt more resilient, his senses sharper, and his inner strength deeper.
Although the Longevity and Creation Technique had nine stages, they did not operate in isolation. Every stage built upon the last, and so as he advanced to the second stage, Nash would continue cultivating the first as well. It was an intricate balance, each stage feeding into the next, weaving a web of power and refinement.
The spiritual energy flooding his body felt boundless, and Nash could feel himself drinking deeply from an endless well. His body felt like an abyss, an entity that could absorb an infinite amount of energy without ever being overwhelmed. Thanks to his mastery of the first stage, his body could withstand the torrents of energy without faltering. After just an afternoon of cultivation, he had already stabilized his position at the peak of the Profound Reality Realm.
Now, with the second stage, his physical strength had grown exponentially. He could feel his stamina and endurance multiplying, his body becoming not just stronger but more durable, able to endure even the most punishing blows. The changes were gradual but unmistakable, as though a new layer of power had been unlocked within him.
But while Nash was immersed in his cultivation, events were unfolding far beyond the quiet walls of his room.
In the sterile white walls of Jonford People’s Hospital, Winnie lay in a bed, staring up at the ceiling with a heavy heart. The pain from his earlier injuries was sharp, but it was the words of the hospital director that had left a scar deeper than any wound. His fingers had been saved, yes, but his ability to regain full function was uncertain. The prospect of living with a disability haunted him, leaving him brooding in frustration.
Beside him, the Hooligan Juggernaut clenched his fists so tightly that they creaked under the pressure. His face was dark with rage, the thought of Nash’s triumph over him a bitter pill to swallow. But he would not stop there. He muttered to himself, “Catch Nash. Abolish his martial arts. Make him suffer.” The idea of torturing Nash—of violating his loved ones and breaking him down—consumed him.
“Let your body heal first. I’ll avenge you,” the Hooligan Juggernaut promised, his voice low and resolute. He turned to leave, already plotting how he would make Nash pay for what had happened.
Elsewhere, at Zabel Villa, a strange gathering had taken place. The villa, typically a quiet haven, was now surrounded by people dressed in black, their skin tones varied, but all of them wearing matching, form-fitting suits. The martial artists—from all over the country and the world—had come together, their whispers and laughter filling the air as they moved through the grounds.
Skadi, sitting in her wheelchair, was curious about the crowd. “Is it your grandfather’s birthday today? Why are so many people here?” she asked Bianca, her voice soft and inquisitive.
Bianca, equally puzzled, shrugged. “He celebrated it two months ago.” She too had no idea what was going on.
As they moved through the gathering, Skadi suddenly stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening. “Bianca, do you see that handsome guy with the white hair over there? He’s Sylvester Scott—ranked among the top 100 martial artists in Sian and in the top 10,000 worldwide!”
Her excitement was palpable as she eagerly wheeled her chair forward, her gaze never leaving Sylvester. But before she could approach, a figure staggered forward and collapsed before her.
“Hey, hey, hey! What are you doing? Are you trying to scam… Are you the Drunken Fist, Hector Nodrunk?” Skadi asked, her eyes lighting up in recognition.
The man on the ground looked disheveled, his face flushed, and his posture slovenly. He was holding a bottle of wine, and his eyes were half-lidded. But despite his ragged appearance, there was something unmistakably powerful about him.
“Sorry… I fell asleep!” Hector belched loudly, raising himself to his feet in an almost comical defiance of gravity. His movements were fluid, as if the very laws of physics had no hold on him.
Skadi blinked in astonishment. This is Hector Nodrunk? she thought, struggling to comprehend the scene before her. The master of the Drunken Fist—a martial artist at the pinnacle of his craft—had just casually rolled into her life, reeking of alcohol and unpredictability. His skill, despite his unassuming appearance, was legendary. She had no idea how she was supposed to react to such an eccentric figure.
But one thing was certain: this strange encounter would mark the beginning of a series of challenges that Nash and those around him would face. And as he cultivated, refining both his mind and body, the world outside would soon feel the ripples of his growing power.