The room erupted when the Six-Coin Celestial Master appeared. The previously silent crowd burst into chatter.
"Six-Coin Celestial Master! Isn't this like releasing a tiger among chickens?"
"Look at the insignia on his robe - he's from the Celestial Master's House. With their backing, any Ghost-Cultivator who interferes is asking for death!"
"I think his name's Philip - Master Raul's disciple. Not someone to mess with. At Six-Coin strength, none here could best him."
A woman's whisper cut through the murmurs: "The Celestial Master's House has spoken. All Ghost-Cultivators stand down. Forget the Ghost Card - we can't risk our clan's resources for this. That Celestial Master slays ghosts without blinking. He's not to be trifled with!"
As her words faded, the eerie wind died. The ghostly wails ceased. That creeping sense of danger vanished.
Philip remained silent, sipping tea calmly. With a flick of his right hand - whoosh! - the mahogany sword flew back to its scabbard, swift and soundless. The onlookers gaped. Ghost-Cultivators buried their faces in their meals, not daring so much as glance at Philip, let alone intervene.
Francesc stood dumbstruck. He hadn't anticipated Celestial Master backing. His scheme crumbled - between the Six-Coin title and Master Raul's reputation, no ordinary Erebus-profiteer would dare challenge them.
"So the Erebus-profiteers won't act? What about the rest?" Unyielding, Francesc produced another shocking item.
A massive diamond. If genuine, worth millions at least. In this situation, he wouldn't risk a fake - this had to be real.
"Assassins, hitmen, mercenaries - I know you're here. Kill this brat, and the diamond's yours." Francesc dangled the glittering prize.
Incredible. Willing to waste millions just to kill me? His hatred ran bone-deep.
Francesc wasn't wrong. The crowd held more than Erebus-profiteers - rogues of every trade, though why they'd gathered here, I couldn't guess. As he spoke, several men rose from their tables, eyeing me hungrily. Though none approached yet, their greedy stares at the diamond made their intentions clear.
These men - more ruthless and avaricious than any Ghost-Cultivator - cared nothing for Celestial Master titles. They lived by one law: might makes right.
Just then, Antonio suddenly stood up and slammed his fist into the table.
A thunderous boom echoed as his fist punched clean through the thick tabletop, continuing downward to smash into the floor beneath, leaving both a gaping hole in the table and a dented fist imprint in the wooden floorboards. Spiderweb cracks radiated outward from the impact point.
The sheer power of the punch left everyone stunned again, some gaping with mouths hanging open.
"Brother, if you want to smash a table, smash the one next door. Why ours? Now where am I supposed to eat?" Stein complained, his trousers soaked with spilled soy milk. In the chaos, his entire meal had been knocked to the floor before he'd taken more than a few bites, leaving him sitting in a puddle of white liquid.
Philip, however, had reacted instantly. The moment Antonio moved, he'd snatched up his teacup, preserving his drink perfectly.
"Heh, nice reflexes," Philip remarked, taking a sip as he admired Antonio's display.
The demonstration had its intended effect. Many of those who'd stood up now paled and sat back down. Even the most determined opportunists abandoned their plans, though they still eyed the diamond with reluctant longing.
A punch like that landing on human flesh would shatter bones - if it didn't kill outright. This wasn't normal human strength. Punching through a thick table might be within some fighters' capabilities, but driving through both table and floor? That kind of power commanded respect.
The Wushu Sage's grandson truly lived up to his reputation! With Antonio here, I felt ready to take on any number of opponents.
But just then, a brash young man swaggered forward. With his dyed yellow hair, dangling cigarette, and overall delinquent appearance, he looked like every cliché street punk rolled into one.
He circled behind Antonio and suddenly pressed a pistol against the fighter's head. "Tch, what era do you think this is?" he sneered. "All that strength and speed - you think it matters against this?" He waved the gun. "I'll be taking that diamond. As for you lot... you're all dead."
Antonio turned his head slightly to regard the gunman. "Within seven paces," he said dismissively, "the man is faster. Beyond seven paces, the gun is faster."
"Huh? What was that? Speak up, I can't hear you!" The yellow-haired punk ground the gun barrel viciously against Antonio's skull, his arrogance peaking. His whole posture screamed challenge - one wrong word, one wrong move, and he'd pull the trigger without hesitation.
Antonio responded with a broad, infuriating grin - the kind designed to provoke.
"Fuck you! I'll blow your stupid head off!" the punk screamed, his finger tightening on the trigger. "Let's see you laugh when-"
But he never finished his sentence. Antonio moved like lightning - the yellow-haired punk didn't even have time to react, let alone pull the trigger. Antonio's fist smashed into his gun hand, drawing a bloodcurdling scream as the weapon went flying.
What followed was a brutal ten-second onslaught. Antonio delivered about ten precise punches before finishing with a devastating kick to the stomach. The gun clattered to the ground beside its former owner.
The sickening cracks of breaking bones filled the air, punctuated by the punk's gurgling cries as he vomited blood. His gun hand bent at an impossible angle - completely shattered. He wasn't dead, but he might as well have been.
"Twenty bones broken in ten seconds," someone in the crowd gasped. "Completely crippled. What terrifying speed and power!"
The unconscious punk was carried away by two men at Boss Qin's direction. "No hospital nearby," Boss Qin muttered. "Just a small clinic. If he doesn't get patched up soon, he might not make it."
Who in their right mind would challenge Antonio with that kind of strength? Bringing a gun to a fight like this was suicide - as if a piece of metal could make you invincible.
Just then, I spotted a furtive figure trying to slip away in the chaos.
"Going somewhere?" I pressed the Copper Coin Sword against Francesc's neck. One wrong move, and I wouldn't hesitate to strike.
"N-no! Not going anywhere!" Francesc forced a conciliatory smile. "You... you should let me go. You're the real deal, surrounded by capable people. I admit defeat. Take the Ghost Card and diamond - just forget my earlier demands, alright? Spare me some dignity?"
Truth be told, the combined value was staggering. I didn't know much about Fengdu Ghost City, but if Ghost-Cultivators were desperate for that pass, it had to be valuable. And that diamond? Easily worth millions.
But none of that interested me. I only wanted one thing - to see him humiliated beyond recovery.
I shook the holy water vial in my free hand. "I only want what I rightfully won. This." Then I grinned. "Oh, and strip for us, Master."
The Copper Coin Sword flashed - surprisingly sharp for its construction - and sliced clean through Francesc's shirt.