Future Masters in Modern Times

Chapter 34: Blasted Away

Sikov stood in a corner upstairs, watching everything unfolding below with a wry smile, utterly speechless. How could he not have known something was about to happen downstairs just now? But with Zhao Wuji present, it wasn’t convenient for him to intervene, so he’d been quietly observing everything from upstairs the whole time. Just as he’d expected, Zhao Wuji had effortlessly dealt with the trouble that had come knocking at his door. Still, as he watched Zhao Wuji walk out the door carrying Jacks, his mind was in a jumble. He really wanted to say, “Fists aren’t the answer to everything. Sometimes you can solve problems with a gentler approach—wouldn’t it be better if everyone ended up happy?” “I don’t get it. I really don’t get it,” Sikov shook his head repeatedly as he stomped down the stairs. Downstairs, Garcia hadn’t quite come to his senses yet. A problem had come knocking, but was it over before it even began? Hearing the sound, Garcia saw it was Sikov and hurried to meet him. “Sikov, who is this Eastern friend of yours? How is he so amazing?” Garcia asked, brimming with curiosity. Standing nearby, Vanessa’s eyes sparkled as she stared at Sikov, eagerly awaiting his answer. In the young girl’s heart, Zhao Wuji’s performance just now had made her an absolute fan of him. “Sikov, I won’t keep this from you—Zhao is actually a boxer preparing to enter the Siberian Training Camp. Do you understand?” Sikov said with a mysterious look on his face. “What? He’s a boxer? No wonder, no wonder.” Garcia suddenly understood. Living in Siberia, he was quite familiar with the legendary Siberian Training Camp. Take that Jacks guy from earlier, for example—wasn’t he just using Aleks’s name to make a name for himself? Who was Aleks? A former instructor at the Siberian Training Camp. If a single instructor could make so many people think twice before acting, one could only imagine how formidable the Siberian Training Camp’s reputation truly was. Aleks had gathered a large following through his fearsome reputation. With himself at the center, his organization gradually grew in scale. On the surface, he was the owner of the Aliksei Boxing Gym, but behind the scenes, he had long since become a mob boss. Zhao Wuji was carrying a person in his arms, yet he walked faster than anyone else. Jacks, clutched in his grip, was forced to endure the pain and point out the way to Zhao Wuji time and time again. Aleks was quite a distance from Andrew Street, several blocks away. That neighborhood was entirely Aleks’s turf. Centered around his Aliksei Boxing Gym, other establishments—such as bars and casinos—were all his businesses. It could be said that the street belonged entirely to him. As a result, the street was notorious in the area as a den of vice, with utter chaos and a seedy atmosphere reigning within its boundaries. Under normal circumstances, locals wouldn’t set foot there; only street thugs who habitually loitered in such places and foreign tourists would go there in search of thrills. Now, with the Siberian Training Camp currently recruiting students, the area has been particularly chaotic of late. Guided by Jacks, Zhao Wuji ran at full speed, reaching the limits of human capability without showing the slightest sign of slowing down. “Up ahead, left… turn left.” A hundred meters ahead lay Aleks’s territory. Black Flag Street。 Although it was daytime, people were still coming and going on Black Flag Street. Tattooed thugs, scantily clad women, enforcers in black, and muscular, aggressive boxers… All sorts of people. Standing at the street corner, one could see from a distance that the lights along the street were still blazing, even though it was now broad daylight. Enforcers dressed in black constantly patrolled back and forth along the street to maintain order. On Black Flag Street, as long as you have money and can afford the services here, you’re the boss. However, everyone here abides by the rules voluntarily; if you dare to cause trouble, no one can guarantee you’ll make it out in one piece. There was once a customer who thought he was powerful enough to cause trouble here; he ended up being detained inside. It’s said that after he was ransomed out, both his legs had been broken. Even so, he didn’t dare cause any more trouble—a clear indication of just how rampant the underworld is on Black Flag Street. Zhao Wuji walked up here carrying a living person in his arms; people had already noticed him. Several thugs stepped forward to meet him, their faces full of hostility. “Stop right there. Do you know where you are?” One of the thugs stepped forward, chin raised, and addressed Zhao Wuji. Jacks let out a muffled whimper, his eyes wide as he stared at the thug in front of him. The thug took a quick look at him and was immediately taken aback. “Jacks, it’s you? The boss sent you to buy the tavern—how did you end up like this?” The thug asked Jacks while glaring menacingly at Zhao Wuji. Jacks shook his head repeatedly, his face filled with panic. “Huh?” The thug’s expression darkened. Without even asking a question, he slowly drew his ASP baton and lashed it viciously at Zhao Wuji’s arm. Zhao Wuji casually tossed Jacks aside; he no longer needed this guide. The one he was looking for was the ruler of this place—Aleks. Zhao Wuji sidestepped lightly, dodging the fierce attack, then lashed out with his iron leg and steel staff like a whip, striking the air with a crisp “crack.” “Boom!” Everything in the scene seemed to freeze, as if in slow motion. The thug’s eyes bulged, his chest caved in visibly, and his entire body arched deeply like a cooked shrimp before being hurled high into the air in a parabolic arc, just like a scarecrow. With a thunderous “BOOM,” the frozen air suddenly snapped back into motion, revealing that the thug had been swept away by Zhao Wuji’s terrifying leg strike—no one knew how far—and finally landed on the hood of a sedan, shattering the windshield. That kick was as unstoppable as a heavy truck speeding down the highway—nothing could withstand its force. He kicked the thug an unknown distance away, and the man landed heavily on a car in the distance, shattering the front windshield into a million pieces in an instant. Everyone was stunned; they all froze in place. It was unclear how long it took for them to snap out of their daze. Several thugs trembled as they dialed their phones, glancing fearfully toward Zhao Wuji as they did so. Zhao Wuji stared coldly at the people before him, the blood in his veins gradually beginning to boil, as if it were about to burn everything in sight to ashes. The ASP baton on the ground was incredibly flexible; a heavy blow with it was enough to break a person’s bones, but if it struck Zhao Wuji, it would at most cause him a little pain. A man as formidable as Zhao Wuji possessed skin that formed a single, seamless layer, incredibly tough. The muscles beneath his skin were extremely dense and exceptionally strong, while his tendons were as taut as the strings of a divine bow and his bones as hard as steel forged a hundred times. If this weren’t the case, how could Zhao Wuji possess a strength of 4,000 jin in a single arm? To be precise, Zhao Wuji isn’t completely defenseless against ordinary bullets—he simply hasn’t reached the point where he is entirely unafraid of any firearms. Zhao Wuji wanted to find a weapon but didn’t want to use this baton, as it felt awkward in his hand. With his current one-armed strength of 4,000 jin—enough to lift a small car with ease—he naturally wasn’t accustomed to using such a lightweight baton. Zhao Wuji scanned his surroundings, and suddenly his eyes lit up. A billboard not far away seemed like a perfect weapon—if he swung it, he could knock someone flying. With that in mind, Zhao Wuji hurried over to the billboard, wrapped both arms around the pole—as thick as his forearm—and snapped it with a mighty heave. With a loud “crack,” he tore the entire billboard down. Holding the pole—with its three-meter-long metal sign attached—in both hands, he swung it wildly as he sprinted toward another group of thugs who had just arrived. The three lead thugs, wielding gleaming long swords, charged at Zhao Wuji with fierce intensity. They’d only received word that someone had dared to cause trouble here—they hadn’t witnessed Zhao Wuji’s earlier masterful kick. But before they could even get close to Zhao Wuji, their vision went dark—and what greeted them was a massive billboard. “Oh my God!” Everyone present stared blankly at the scene before them, unable to snap out of it for a long time; ninety-nine percent of them doubted their own eyes. A short Asian man was brandishing an enormous billboard and had just sent the man charging toward him—who looked as big as a giant ping-pong ball—flying through the air. Holy Mother Maria! Is this real? After sending three men flying, Zhao Wuji stood in the middle of the street, leaning on the billboard. Facing the crowd of onlookers, he stood immovable, his presence as imposing as a mountain, towering over the world! Dozens of thugs who had been running toward him stopped in their tracks. They looked at the thug he’d kicked away, then at the man he’d sent flying who was now nowhere to be seen, and a chill ran down their spines. This man before them clearly had the means to cause a scene here. Although they outnumbered him, who knew how many of them he could send flying with just a few blows? Just seeing his terrifying strength made them feel an urge to kneel. Deep within Black Flag Street, an imposing building stood quietly. The building’s exterior was milky white, radiating a dazzling sheen under the sunlight. On the wall beside the main gate hung a symbol depicting two crossed swords, with a skull behind them. This was the location of the Aliksei Boxing Gym. Inside the gym, on the boxing ring. A burly man clad head-to-toe in protective gear fixes his gaze intently on the middle-aged man before him. The middle-aged man is bare-chested, revealing exceptionally well-developed muscles, and wears a wide iron belt around his waist. On the belt is a tiger-head emblem with its mouth wide open, as if roaring at the moment. “Hey…” The “fully armored” burly man roared, took a huge step forward, and swung his fist with such force that the wind whistled. The middle-aged man remained unfazed, stepping aside lightly. Gripping the burly man’s shoulders with both hands, he swept his right leg forward, instantly moving it to the burly man’s abdomen. With a “thud,” his knee struck the burly man’s abdomen, sending him flying backward through the air. Just then, the middle-aged man withdrew his leg and thrust his knee forcefully upward beneath the burly man’s abdomen. “Pfft”—the burly man spat out a mouthful of blood, sent flying by the knee strike, and finally crashed heavily to the ground, unconscious. The middle-aged man cast a casual glance at the burly man lying unconscious on the ground, then cracked his neck, the “crack, crack” sound echoing continuously. The door to the boxing ring swung open. A man dressed in black pushed the door open respectfully. “Boss!” The middle-aged man before him was none other than Aleks, the former instructor at the Siberian Training Camp. “Carry him out. He really can’t take a punch.” Aleks had no interest in his sparring partner and simply ordered his men to carry him out. The man nodded, hesitated for a moment, and said, “Boss, there’s a disturbance outside.” “What? Someone’s causing trouble? They’ve got some nerve.” Aleks’s expression didn’t change; he treated it as a trivial matter. “Same old routine: break both his legs and tell his family to pay the ransom.” Aleks waved his hand dismissively, not taking the matter seriously. Suddenly, as if something had occurred to him, Aleks asked, “How are they doing after they got back yesterday? It’s really disappointing—just taking a bus ride and ending up like this.” “According to the doctor, it seems they’ve been paralyzed…” “Fine, give them some money and tell them to get lost! But have you found the guy who attacked them yet?” “We hadn’t before, but now we’re getting some leads.” Aleks furrowed his brow and said, “Go on!” “Yes, sir!” his subordinate replied. “I heard the one who attacked them was an Asian man with exceptional fighting skills, and the one causing trouble outside right now also seems to be an Asian man—and his fighting skills… seem downright terrifying.” Aleks said nothing, but instead slapped his subordinate hard across the face. The man’s mouth swelled up immediately, and when he opened it, several teeth fell out. “You idiot. So what if he’s skilled? He’s still human, isn’t he? Do you really need to be so afraid of him? If we’re sure it’s him,” Aleks chuckled, “my sharks will have another hearty meal.” Aleksandr Dondong stomped down from the ring and walked over to a closed-circuit TV monitor. “Click.” The screen flickered a few times, then the image came into focus.