Chapter 35: Mind-Image: Soul-True Form · Cosplay · Superman Punch

Wild! Too wild!

Faced with Fang Can’s confident humiliation, the surrounding disciples were instantly enraged.

Who here hasn’t spent years immersed in martial cultivation, training through winter’s coldest days and summer’s hottest ones—how could they lack spirit?

Especially after these three battles, they could clearly see that Fang Can’s strength might not even have broken through the First Xuanguan.

Combat generally breaks down into three dimensions: mechanics, stats, and technique.

Yet this opponent won all three battles consecutively solely through superior skill, clinging on desperately—none of them could possibly replicate it.

“I don’t believe it!”

A roar erupted from the crowd; a sharp-eyed youth with a silver spear stepped forward, his eyes brimming with indignation.

“This is my Torch-Blazing Spear Art—please, younger brother, instruct me.” The youth assumed his stance, spear angled downward, gaze piercing as if it could pierce through all things.

But this swagger didn’t last long; after a dozen breaths, Fang Can used Dragon King Break followed by Furious Torrent, his spear forcibly lifting the youth into the air and sweeping him clean off the stage.

Thus, the extraordinary skill with the spear was proven.

But it wasn’t over—after the spear’s defeat, the nunchaku, twin blades, broadsword, tachi, gauntlets…

One disciple after another stepped forward to challenge, yet none could last half a stick of incense.

And each was defeated by Fang Can’s frail frame wielding the same weapon, the same techniques, with even greater mastery.

Almost every dozen breaths, a disciple was flung out, followed immediately by the next challenger.

Because Fang Can held back, these defeated disciples suffered only pain, no serious injury—this only stoked their competitive fire.

Fist, leg, palm, blade, spear…

Sword, halberd, staff, club, hook…

As over twenty consecutive martialists were toppled from the stage, watching the calm, composed Fang Can at the center of the crowd, a question rose in their minds:

‘Does this guy never get tired? Why doesn’t he? Why can’t he?!’

After defeating over twenty men, Fang Can hadn’t broken a sweat, hadn’t even quickened his breathing—he defied their very understanding.

After all, while martialists have longer stamina, combat still drains them heavily.

High-intensity clashes involving dozens of strikes per breath meant their endurance wasn’t much greater than ordinary people’s.

But Fang Can was different—his Sun-Undying Demon Body could do this: wherever sunlight fell, it became his domain.

Sunlight restored his stamina, strengthened his physique, letting him fight all day like Captain America.

Standing at the center of the crowd, Fang Can waited quietly for a moment, then sighed helplessly: “Brothers, I’ll say it again—you can gang up on me.”

“If solo fighting won’t work, then gang up. If gang fighting won’t work, then ambush. If ambush fails, you can always poison me…”

Faced with Fang Can’s arrogance, someone finally snapped: “Fang Can, don’t get cocky! Do you really think if you beat us all one-on-one, you’ll beat us all in a group too?”

“I’ll tell you this—there are so many people here. No matter how skilled your technique is, you can’t defeat us all before your stamina runs out.”

“Li Brother’s right—everyone, charge together! Teach him a lesson! Can he really take down all of us by himself?”

Facing the rising fury, Fang Can inwardly shook his head helplessly: ‘When one side says something like this, they’ve already lost half the momentum.’

Finally, Fang Can’s arrogance enraged everyone completely; someone shouted first: “Beat the shit out of him!”

In a rush, the entire training ground surged toward Fang Can like a tidal wave, ready to drown him.

But in Fang Can’s heart, there was neither sorrow nor joy—he recalled Jiang Ningan’s teachings from long ago.

…

Several days prior, in the villa, watching Fang Can use his Mind-Image in a crude, savage manner, Jiang Ningan couldn’t help but advise:

“Your fighting style is too crude—it doesn’t unleash even a fraction of your Mind-Image’s power.”

“Oh, please, Master Jiang, guide me,” Fang Can asked curiously.

“Your Mind-Image is the materialization of your will—but beyond influencing minds, it can’t even lift a grain of sand.”

“Before ascending the Heavenly Path, the physical differences between martialists are slight; in most cases, a Ninth Xuanguan martialist’s strength is merely nine times that of a First Xuanguan.”

“Faced with overwhelming numbers, theoretically, two Eighth Xuanguan martialists working in perfect sync can kill a Ninth Xuanguan. Dozens of Fourth or Fifth Xuanguan martialists charging together can force even a Ninth to retreat.”

“But that’s only if you don’t use your Mind-Image—because your Mind-Image is an extension of your body. Though it can’t move sand, it can terrify the soul.”

“Don’t waste it by crudely projecting it outward. Instead, treat your Mind-Image as an extension of your limbs—use your techniques to achieve harmony between body and will.”

“Just before striking, visualize the destruction your punch will cause. Unleash the maximum destruction you can imagine—and then, the entire world will part before you.”

Listening to Jiang Ningan’s serious instruction, Fang Can nodded thoughtfully, committing every word to memory.

Time flew by—now, two days later.

Watching hundreds of disciples surge toward him like a zombie horde, aiming to break his limbs, Fang Can’s expression turned icy. He drew a deep, sharp breath.

A visible, powerful current of air rushed into his lungs; his steel-forged body finally began to move.

He used no weapon—only slowly raised his right fist. In the distance, the disciples seemed to see, behind him, a towering, majestic figure emerge.

“That’s his Mind-Image!” Yang Lie, watching from afar and ready to intervene, jerked violently—his tightly gripped wine flask slipped from his hands.

He had trained for over a decade, stuck at Fifth Xuanguan, unable to awaken his own Mind-Image—yet here, in this boy barely past First Xuanguan, he saw it.

In that instant, within a ten-meter radius around Fang Can, every person could faintly perceive, through the projection of Fang Can’s mind onto theirs, a towering figure.

It was a man with short black hair, clad in a tight blue suit, a red cape flowing behind him, a bold “S” emblazoned on his chest.

Though his attire differed, his face was unmistakably Fang Can’s.

The man’s muscular arms, like those of a Greek statue, rose high—his gaze radiated a divine light, as if blessing all living things.

It is well known: the longer a technique’s name, the more powerful it is.

So!

All martial arts, this is—

【Mind-Image: Soul-True Form · Cosplay · Superman Punch】

In an instant, Fang Can’s Mind-Image True Form’s right fist descended. In everyone’s vision, it erupted like a volcano, hurling up a tidal wave of dust.

In mere moments, the hard stone floor cracked into a crater several meters wide; a violent sandstorm, like a tornado, swept outward, flinging them all backward.

The whirlwind tore through their flesh like a meat grinder.

(End of Chapter)