Chapter 675
Andrew glanced at his palm, where a faint black mark had appeared–the toxic imprint of Gordon’s Plaguebringer’s Palm. However, with a slight shift of his internal energy, the venomous mark dissolved into nothing, as though it had never existed.
“Your so-called Plaguebringer’s Palm feels more like an itch,” Andrew stated coldly. “It’s not even worth mentioning.”
With that, he lunged forward. His voice dropped to a frigid growl as he taunted, “That was just a warm-up, Gordon. So what if you’re a peak senior grandmaster? Killing you will be child’s play!”
In the blink of an eye, the two of them exchanged over a dozen ferocious blows.
“You insolent brat!” Gordon bellowed, enraged. “I swear I’ll crush you under my palm!”
However, Andrew pressed the attack relentlessly, forcing Gordon to retreat with every strike.
On the other hand, Gordon’s anger flared. He was supposed to be the dominant one here, the predator toying with his prey. He had expected Andrew to cower, maybe beg for mercy–but instead, this young punk came at him like a battering ram, with no fear and no patience for games.
Gordon’s pride, his identity as a peak senior grandmaster, took a massive hit. He was a warrior who had terrorized the northern region for decades. Being treated like an afterthought by a younger man was something he could not stand.
Yet, no matter how he tried to regain control, Andrew’s attacks crashed down like relentless waves, each strike heavier than the last. The power was monstrous–like an unyielding tide, growing stronger with every move.
“You little bastard!” Gordon roared, desperation creeping into his voice. “Die already!”
Driven by humiliation, he threw both hands forward with a guttural shout. Two palms surged toward Andrew, both charged with his most lethal move–Plaguebringer’s Palm.
Using the technique twice in quick succession drained him, but he was certain it would end the fight.
Even if Andrew did not die from the impact, the toxins should ravage his body from within, turning his blood into poison and rendering him helpless.
The air cracked as the palms connected with Andrew’s defenses. However, Andrew remained standing, completely unscathed. His expression did not even shift.
“Hunchbacked fool,” he said with a mocking smirk. “Is that the best your so-called peak senior grandmaster status can do?”
He stepped forward and threw a single punch. The blow slammed into Gordon’s chest with terrifying force. The sickening sound of snapping ribs echoed through the clearing.
Gordon’s eyes bulged as a thick stream of blood surged up his throat and burst from his mouth. He staggered backward, both hands clutching his shattered ribs.
“This… this isn’t possible,” he gasped, his voice trembling with disbelief.
“You… you’re not just a junior grandmaster… not even a senior grandmaster… you’ve gone beyond that… you’re…”
His face contorted in horror as the realization hit.
Andrew’s gaze remained icy. “Back at Moonlit Apothecary, you thought I couldn’t kill you, didn’t you? Hunchbacked fool, you were wrong. I could have killed you at any time. I just wasn’t ruthless enough back then.”
“But you made the one mistake you shouldn’t have,” Andrew continued, stepping closer with each word.
“You followed that idiot Aspen’s orders and went after my people. And for that… I’m sending you straight to hell.”
Andrew rushed forward, his aura sharp and suffocating.
Cold dread gripped Gordon’s heart. He had faced death countless times over his 30-year reign in the north, yet nothing had ever frightened him like this.
The icy sensation shot down his spine, raising the hair on the back of his neck.
“Andrew… I admit you’re stronger than I expected,” Gordon rasped, his voice shaking. “But I am Gordon Woods! I dominated the northern underground for three decades. I might be old… but I’m not defenseless!”