Batuul’s arrival lifted Anthony’s spirits. Anthony realized that Bailey, sent by the Hall of Gods, had a well-thought- out plan for gathering strong individuals from various nations in such a short time.
Willem, clad in a red robe, suddenly spoke with a smile. “Mr. Batuul, I’ve heard that you have perfected your body with Adamantine Body Art, which is quite impressive. I wonder if you could show us?”
Before Batuul could respond, a bald disciple behind him sternly interjected. “My master is the Fist Sage of Alabastria, not a circus clown. Show some respect!”
“I’m particularly intrigued because Mr. Batuul is the Fist Sage. I’d like to see the authenticity of the Adamantine Body Art he teaches.” Willem grinned, revealing his two fangs.
Batuul responded calmly, “Feel free to test it yourself, Mr. Willem.”
“Alright then.” Willem turned into a crimson blur, and he swiftly lunged forward.
His left hand’s black nails shot out instantly, extending 40 inches like sharp blades. With a fierce swing, the sharp nails gleamed coldly as they ruthlessly slashed across Batuul’s chest.
Willem’s nails were as sharp as iron. If his opponent had been an ordinary grandmaster, such a strike would have cleaved them in two.
However, upon striking Batuul, it caused no harm other than tearing his clothes and leaving a few shallow white marks on his skin’s surface.
Willem hummed and raised an eyebrow in surprise at Batuul’s calm demeanor.
Despite his sharp fangs and formidable nails, which were as lethal as divine weapons, Willem’s attack had barely made a dent. He had exerted 70% of his strength, yet Batuul’s defense remained unscathed.
Willem couldn’t deny that Batuul’s body defense had reached the Adamantine Body Art level.
“Fist Sage Batuul, your reputation is well-earned. I apologize for my earlier disrespect.” Willem placed his left hand over his chest and bowed respectfully.
The Royal Knights of Esmington, renowned for their reverence toward strength, had already acknowledged Batuul’s prowess.
“It was just a friendly sparring. No need to apologize, Mr. Willem.” Batuul smiled faintly.
Bailey laughed. “Willem, now you’ve witnessed Mr. Batuul’s might. Even without using his abilities, no one here could beat him, not even if we all teamed up.”
Alabastria gained global acclaim for its mastery of martial arts, with Batuul, the Fist Sage, leading the way to unprecedented heights.
Batuul’s expertise extended beyond mere defense. Even his speed, strength, and reflexes had surpassed imagination.
Among Alabastria’s martial artists, Batuul stood unmatched, achieving the ultimate grandmaster level through sheer physical prowess. Like the Blood Devil Willem, Batuul defied human description.
“Bailey, it looks like you’re gearing up for quite a show by inviting Mr. Batuul, “Willem said, his expression a mix of amusement and curiosity. “What’s the plan this time?”
“Be patient. Our friend from Glorian hasn’t arrived yet,” Bailey teased.
“Glorian?” Willem shook his head, displaying undisguised disgust.
He added, “A pompous little nation full of thieves who only know how to steal from others. What could they possibly bring to the table?”
Glorian had two standout traits. Firstly, they were incredibly arrogant. Despite lacking real power, they always held themselves in high regard and dismissed everyone else.
Secondly, they were shamelessly bold, often claiming others’ accomplishments as their own without a hint of remorse.
Hence, Glorian earned the mocking moniker of the “thieving nation” among other nations.
“Willem, it’s great to hear your thoughts when it’s just us. But once our Glorian friends arrive, let’s avoid any tense discussions. We should aim for a friendly atmosphere,” Bailey cautioned.
