As Alexander took on the role of the challenger, Damien felt at ease. However, Dustin’s skill surpassed that of a mere grandmaster, more akin to the mid-level of a grandmaster.
“Don’t worry, Mr. Howler,” Alexander reassured confidently.
He added, “This kid’s got talent, but I’m no pushover. In the southwest, you’re the only one who might outclass me. The rest aren’t even worth considering.”
Damien was the top dog in the southwest. Alexander had lost three sparring matches and felt he couldn’t measure up to Damien. As for the other contenders, Alexander dismissed them without a second thought.
Despite Dustin’s impressive talent and strength, Alexander considered him too young to pose a real threat.
Unlike Dustin, Alexander had been honing his skills for over a decade, firmly standing at the grandmaster level. He was not someone a young buck like Dustin could easily shake.
“Sure thing! Since Mr. Forge is ready to jump in, go ahead and have some fun with this kid.” Damien nodded. In his eyes, Alexander had at least an 80% chance of winning.
“No worries! Just watch me in action!” Alexander grinned.
He locked eyes with Dustin. “Hey, do you even realize that even among grandmasters, there’s a significant gap? Considering your age and current level, it’s probably due to some drug use, right?”
He continued, “People like you, with an unstable mastery and a weak foundation, are just for show. You might intimidate some lower-level martial artists, but when facing powerful opponents, your true colors will be exposed!”
“Oh? Is that so?” Dustin smirked, finding it somewhat amusing. He noticed Alexander’s lack of awareness.
The slap Dustin delivered earlier revealed his edge, but Alexander remained oblivious and continued boasting. He wondered about the source of Alexander’s confidence.
“Kid, don’t accuse me of bullying the young. I’ll let you make the first three moves. Once that’s done, I’ll take you down,” Alexander declared. He stood with hands on hips, radiating confidence and arrogance.
“Did you catch that? The Frostwing Sect’s leader’s style is to offer three moves upfront,” Bran boasted confidently.
Given Alexander’s unwavering assurance, Bran felt confident there was a solid plan for victory, making it natural for him to rally behind his sect leader.
“Three moves, huh? Are you sure about that?” Dustin smirked, having heard such boasts before on numerous occasions.
“Cut the nonsense! Show me what you’ve got. Let’s see your skills!” Alexander taunted as he beckoned with his finger.
“Alright, I’ll give you a chance to see my strength.” Dustin wasted no time. With a nimble step, he transformed into a blur and closed in swiftly. Just before reaching Alexander, he unleashed a palm strike.
A thunderous roar reverberated as a translucent palm shadow shot forward, aiming directly for Alexander’s chest.
Although the Ivory Shadow Palm wasn’t massive, its incredible speed made it akin to a bullet-something ordinary people couldn’t react to in time.
“Hmph! Childish tricks!”
As Dustin unleashed the Ivory Shadow Palm, Alexander held his ground, seemingly uninterested in dodging or evading. He faced it with complete disregard until, at the last moment, he activated his grandmaster’s energy, forming a protective shield.
A resounding noise followed as Dustin’s Ivory Shadow Palm forcefully collided with Alexander’s protective shield. In an instant, the shield shattered like glass. Alexander, propelled by the impact, soared twenty or thirty yards before crashing heavily into a wall.
The sturdy wall bore a deep dent upon the collision, with Alexander’s body partially embedded into the pit. Blood streamed from his nose and mouth as he clung to consciousness, mirroring Tobias’ earlier brush with death.
Now, side by side, they adorned the wall like two comical and pitiful paintings-one on the left and the other on the right.
