On the other side, Ma Seok-do moved with surprising agility, his footwork quick and precise as he dodged slashes and thrusts. In return, he delivered devastatingly powerful punches.
Not a single Yakuza could withstand a direct hit to the head. Every time the dull, heavy sound of flesh meeting fist echoed through the room, another man collapsed—sometimes even flying backward from the force.
Jack had holstered his gun, but with his trusty crowbar in hand—his so-called "Sword of Physics"—the scene quickly turned gruesome. Before long, the Yakuza started shifting their focus away from him and charged at the seemingly unarmed Ma Seok-do instead.
"Shhhk!"
Ma Seok-do, for all his brute strength, hadn't trained in Iron Body techniques. Against this many blades, a slip-up was inevitable—he took a shallow cut to his left shoulder.
Hearing his muffled grunt, Jack knew something was wrong. He immediately moved toward him, the heavy crowbar twirling in his hands as if weightless.
That chilling, high-pitched whirr rang out again. The two Yakuza in front of Jack instinctively stepped back in fear, inadvertently giving him space to maneuver.
Seizing the moment, Jack swung his crowbar in what seemed like an exaggerated motion—only to suddenly shift his stance and whip it backward, the hooked end curving behind Ma Seok-do's broad frame.
The Yakuza who had just stabbed Ma Seok-do barely had time to react. His pupils shrank in horror as the crowbar emerged from behind Ma Seok-do at an impossible angle, slamming into his right arm with a sickening crack.
"AHH!"
Before the first scream had even finished, Jack retracted the crowbar halfway—then immediately swung it again, this time smashing into the man's left knee. His scream jumped several octaves into an ear-piercing wail.
Wham!
Seizing the opportunity, Ma Seok-do stepped forward and threw a punch—one fueled by pure rage. The air itself seemed to tear as his fist connected with the Yakuza's forehead.
A severe concussion instantly silenced the would-be opera singer, sending him into a deep, dreamless sleep—mercifully oblivious to his shattered arm and knee.
Clang! Clang!
Jack knocked away two more wakizashi with his crowbar, freeing Ma Seok-do to grab a Yakuza by the throat and hoist him into the air like a ragdoll. With a forceful slam, he drove the man into the ground, then followed up with a brutal kick, knocking him out cold.
As they fought, the two gradually developed an unspoken synergy. Jack's keen awareness covered all angles, his crowbar intercepting every incoming blade—often with the added effect of snapping bones. Meanwhile, Ma Seok-do delivered the finishing blows, one punch per Yakuza.
Nearly 20 gangsters had started the fight, but in just seven or eight minutes, the bar fell eerily silent. The only sounds remaining were the occasional ragged breath or faint groan—those who could still make noise, at least.
"Hey, that just leaves you two," Jack said with a grin. He twirled his crowbar twice, making it hum through the air, before abruptly halting and resting it gently on the bar counter. Then, he casually pointed at Richie and the white-haired man in the red suit.
Richie's jaw tightened, his eyes locked onto Jack. "Are you Zhou Xingzhe's men?"
Jack scoffed. "We're the forces of justice here to put you both behind bars. You just happened to be first."
"Daijima," Richie muttered, slapping the white-haired man's shoulder.
"Hai, shikashi!" The man called Daijima shot Ma Seok-do a ferocious glare, shrugged off his red jacket, then ripped open his floral shirt—revealing a body covered in intricate tattoos.
"You up for a one-on-one?" Jack leaned against the bar, gesturing toward Ma Seok-do in invitation.
"Hmph." Ma Seok-do, annoyed that he had been dealing with small fry until now, merely let out a cold snort and raised his fists in a boxer's stance.
To everyone's surprise, Daijima didn't adopt a karate stance. Instead, he used a sanda (Chinese kickboxing) guard, similar to Western boxing.
Using his reach advantage, he threw two quick jabs. Ma Seok-do easily ducked and weaved past them, stepping in close. Daijima reacted instantly, swinging two vicious roundhouse kicks—one striking Ma Seok-do's inner calf, the other hitting the outer thigh.
Capitalizing on the brief opening, Daijima launched two more lightning-fast jabs. One missed entirely, while the other was blocked by Ma Seok-do's right arm. With a grunt of irritation, Ma Seok-do retaliated—his left fist driving hard into Daijima's ribs.
It was a rushed strike with his non-dominant hand, so the impact wasn't devastating. But it hit a soft spot—his diaphragm—causing Daijima to instinctively straighten up. That was all Ma Seok-do needed.
He followed up with another left-handed punch, this time to the jaw.
Daijima staggered sideways, crashing into a pile of overturned tables and chairs.
"Come on, get up," Ma Seok-do taunted, beckoning him forward. The moment Daijima found his footing, Ma Seok-do lunged, throwing a powerful right hook.
Though considered a "miniboss" compared to the earlier goons, Daijima had seen firsthand how Ma Seok-do had been knocking out men left and right with his punches. There was no way he was going to take this one head-on.
He bent his legs, raised his guard, and closed the distance before Ma Seok-do could fully extend his punch. Locking onto his opponent's arm, he gripped it tightly and lifted his knee for a brutal strike.
Fortunately, Ma Seok-do managed to block just in time, shoving Daijima away. The Yakuza quickly spun and followed up with a high roundhouse kick.
Ma Seok-do barely dodged it by leaning back, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.
Annoyed now, he quickly closed the distance again. He feinted a right punch but instead shot his left fist under his arm, landing a perfect strike to Daijima's solar plexus.
This was the diaphragm—the muscle that helped control breathing. The moment he got hit, Daijima gasped, his body instinctively curling inward like a shrimp.
Ma Seok-do didn't stop.
A left hook shattered Daijima's guard.
A second and third punch slammed into his face.
Finally, Ma Seok-do's right fist came crashing down on Daijima's temple.
"Ah, fuck. That was tiring."
Letting out a heavy breath, Ma Seok-do adjusted his slightly rumpled tracksuit. Behind him, Daijima collapsed onto the floor, blood trickling from his ears and nose, completely unconscious.
"Bastard!"
Richie's eyes flashed with fury as he unsheathed his katana with a sharp shing.
"This one's mine."
Jack immediately picked up his crowbar and blocked Ma Seok-do from stepping forward.
No way. He had brought this tool for this fight. No way was he letting anyone else steal his thunder.
Handing his pistol over to Ma Seok-do, Jack turned to face Richie. He spun his crowbar in a half-circle, the weapon whistling ominously through the air.
"Alright, Little Japanese, show me what that toy of yours can do."
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