Europe.
The city of Naples.
This is the largest city in southern Italy, the country’s third-largest metropolitan area after Milan and Rome, and the 15th largest in Europe. Because of its location along the Mediterranean Sea, the city boasts beautiful scenery and is a tourist destination in the hearts of countless people.
It’s not just Europeans—travelers from all over the world, from every country and region, love to flock here. That’s why the city is especially bustling and luxurious, filled with romantic elements.
However, no matter how prosperous a place is, even the most developed city in the world, there will always be impoverished people. There will always be aspects that mar the city’s image, and people who struggle to afford food and rely on relief.
Naples is particularly notable in this regard. Especially at night, many tourists dare not go out, because between ten and twelve o’clock is when many unemployed drifters and various shady underworld figures become active.
In the dead of night, on a dimly lit street, five or six drunk, sloppily dressed, unkempt big men—holding beer bottles in one hand and cigarettes in the other—surrounded a young couple. They hurled all kinds of crude taunts, jeers, and curses, making the young woman tremble in fear behind her boyfriend. The man’s face was pale, and his eyes were full of terror.
They had bad luck. At this hour, in this place, running into people like this—the outcome looked grim. There was no need to guess what these men were. The young man was smart enough not to resist. He knew that discretion was the better part of valor. If he didn’t fight back, there was still a chance they might get out of this safely. If he let his temper flare, trying to be a “tough guy” for the sake of his pride and clash head-on with these brutes, the consequences would be unimaginable.
So, he immediately took out his wallet and handed it over to the men, hoping to lose some money to avoid disaster.
The man kept a low profile, pleading in Italian as he handed over the wallet, trying to get his girlfriend out of this dangerous place first.
Unfortunately, his female companion was actually quite pretty—blonde hair, blue eyes, a nice figure—a rare beauty. These drunk brutes took the wallet, saw the considerable amount of cash inside, nodded, and pocketed it, but they didn’t leave. Instead, they rubbed their chins, leering at the woman behind the man.
They exchanged glances, chuckled lewdly, and said in Italian, “You can go, but the woman stays. She needs to have a few drinks with us!”
Hearing this, both of them changed expression, looking utterly humiliated and terrified.
The worst-case scenario had happened.
The man’s face was very pale. Even though he was afraid, he couldn’t just abandon his girlfriend and run. He swallowed his anger and fear, tried to negotiate humbly, desperate to salvage the situation. He offered to go to the bank and withdraw more money to give them.
But these drunkards weren’t interested in that. Besides, they wouldn’t believe that if they let him go, he’d actually come back with money. More likely, he’d come back with the police instead.
After all, the man wasn’t stupid. If he left, he would definitely call the cops.
“Get lost!” A burly man with a tattoo on his arm grew impatient, tired of listening to the man’s pleas. He grabbed the man’s clothes, yanked him aside, and punched him to the ground with one blow.
Amid the woman’s screams, the thugs grinned and closed in, saying all kinds of filthy things.
Just then, at the end of the dark street, an old man who had been crouched unnoticed in a corner slowly stood up.
He was dressed in strange, dirty yellow robes. His long hair, including his graying beard, was equally matted and messy. He looked just like a homeless bum, a decrepit old beggar asking for spare change.
Normally, anyone who saw him would either toss him a couple of coins or avoid him in disgust, without giving him a second thought.
But now, just as the drunk thugs had knocked down the young man and were about to lay their hands on the woman, this old beggar stood up and walked over.
He moved very slowly, like a truly aged man on the verge of death, for whom taking even one step was difficult.
Yet, strangely enough, the old man’s pace was faster than many sports cars!
This dark, deep street was at least twenty meters long. From the moment the beggar-like old man stood up and reached the group twenty meters away, it took him only two or three seconds—like the blink of an eye!
By the time he arrived in front of them, the scoundrels hadn’t even had time to react. Their hands hadn’t yet touched the screaming woman.
The old beggar’s aura hadn’t changed one bit. His expression was calm and ordinary, devoid of any overwheening arrogance. He still looked like a frail, homeless old man on his last legs.
And then, in this state, the old beggar made his move. He raised one withered arm…
Bam!
He lightly touched the burly man who had just punched down the young man. With that single palm strike, the thug flew up, slammed into the wall, and then slumped down limply. He didn’t even struggle, and there was no more movement—as if he were dead!
Whoosh!
This sudden turn of events stunned everyone. The other thugs finally realized an old beggar had appeared beside them. And not just any beggar—one terrifyingly powerful, who had somehow ambushed their buddy and sent him flying, leaving his fate unknown.
The haze of alcohol instantly cleared more than half.
Then, they got angry. Furious.
They all started cursing, swinging their beer bottles wildly at the old beggar’s head and body, wanting to beat him to death and avenge their comrade.
Facing the remaining few men, whose rage surged like an avalanche, the old beggar’s aura remained completely unchanged. His body didn’t even move. He looked at them calmly.
In the blink of an eye, just as the first thug’s bottle was about to smash into the old beggar’s head, one of the old man’s hands hidden under his loose, dirty yellow robes moved again.
The old beggar’s fingers were withered but clean—completely unlike his dirty clothes, nothing like a beggar’s. He softly extended his index finger. It wasn’t straight, but slightly crooked, just like a real old man’s—without any threat whatsoever.
Yet, that very finger, at the instant the beer bottle came down, blocked its path. And then…
Crack.
The bottle was pierced by that simple, utterly unthreatening finger!
In an instant, the bottle’s body was covered in cracks, then shattered into glass shards—each one razor-sharp—falling through the air.
Then came the strangest thing. The glass shards, which had only fallen halfway, suddenly stopped in midair, as if seized by an invisible giant hand. Then, they shot off in all directions!
Thus, these glass fragments that should have simply fallen to the ground now became sharp throwing knives, flying toward the thugs.
Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh!
No surprise. When these eerie glass shards shot out, their aim was incredibly precise—truly, every shot hit its mark. Each shard pierced the bodies of the thugs, and blood burst forth.
Before the thugs could even scream, just like the first man, they all collapsed limply.
All of this happened in less than half a minute. The young woman, who had just been paralyzed with fear, widened her eyes in disbelief at the old man whose aura had never changed from beginning to end—still the same decrepit, dying old man.
This old man had just saved her life?
It was unbelievable.
Was this old man a messenger of God?
How could a frail, withered old man take down several burly men in an instant?
And in such a bizarre way—piercing a beer bottle with one finger, then controlling the fragments as weapons.
That seemed like something only God could do. How could an ordinary person achieve that?
Just as the pretty woman regained her senses and wanted to run over and thank him in surprise, she noticed that the old man, after frowning slightly, suddenly turned and strode away, disappearing from her sight in the blink of an eye.
Half a minute later, the vanished old man appeared on another secluded street. He stopped, turned around, and faced the endless darkness ahead. “Come out,” he said.
“Greetings, Ascetic Mihail.” A well-dressed, refined man—like a top-tier urban elite—stepped out of the darkness. He looked at the old man with respect and admiration. “I’ve long heard that Ascetic Mihail’s cultivation has reached unfathomable depths, nearly on par with the greatest ascetics. Seeing you today, it’s truly as impressive as rumored. I never imagined that Ascetic Mihail’s mastery over all things could surpass human limits, reaching a level that, according to the categories set by Eastern martial artists, means ‘every blade of grass and every tree can be used to kill’…”
The old man, who looked like a beggar but was named Mihail, showed no emotion upon hearing these words. His face remained calm like an ancient well. He spoke flatly, “What do you want from me?”
The elite-looking man said seriously, “We want to ask Ascetic Mihail for a favor.”
Mihail frowned again. “I can help. But I’ve said before, I don’t have much fondness for your ‘Tianshu’ organization. Unless it’s necessary, don’t come looking for me. If you ask me for help, I’ll only help you once. After that, we owe each other nothing. Have you considered that?”
The elite man nodded. “Yes, we’ve considered it. This time, our Tianshu has received concrete information that the Seven Assassins group from China will strike at us with full force. Even that ‘Lion King’ will get involved, aiming to completely wipe out our Tianshu organization. We have no choice but to ask for Ascetic Mihail’s help. Just this once. After you help us this time, Tianshu will never dare bother you again.”
Whoosh!
Hearing this, a glimmer of light appeared in the old beggar’s usually emotionless eyes. A hint of surprise crept into his voice. “You actually dared to provoke the Seven Assassins group, and even made that Lion King come personally?”
“Please, Ascetic Michel, help us! That Lion King, according to the Eastern martial artists’ ranking system, has already reached the Dan Jin level. He is also a formidable figure who understands killing with every blade of grass and every tree. Even if our Seven Assassins organization could summon the most powerful elite assassins, it wouldn’t help much. Only if you, Ascetic Michel, step in is there a chance,” the elite man said sincerely.
The old beggar frowned deeply and said honestly, “Even among Dan Jin level experts, strength varies. That Lion King is definitely among the best. And we don’t know if he has allies. Even if he’s alone, it would likely be very difficult for me to stop him.”
The elite man’s heart trembled. So the Lion King was truly that powerful—even Ascetic Michel admitted he might not be a match.
This time, Tianshu was facing the greatest crisis in its history.
After all, the enemies weren’t just the Lion King. There was also Jiang Fei—young, yet who had openly and decisively defeated the number one swordsman of Japan, the modern-day sword master Yanagi Munenori!
If those two attacked together, the consequences would be unimaginable.
“Ascetic Mihail, don’t worry. Besides you, we have also invited others as strong as you, just in case,” the elite man said in a deep voice.
The old beggar Mihail shook his head and said with a cold laugh, “You Tianshu people really know you’re in deep trouble this time. You’ve not only asked for me but also used up all those favors at once.”
The elite man lowered his head, not daring to answer.
“Well, fine. Since that’s the case, I agree. I’ll go and meet this Lion King for you,” Mihail said after a long pause.
Asia.
A country not far from China: India.
On the banks of the Ganges River, there was an unremarkable little temple. Inside, a monk with one arm and shoulder bare poured a cup of freshly boiled water from a teapot. Then, he picked it up with his bare hand. By the time it reached his lips, the scalding tea had instantly turned ice-cold, and he drank it.
He closed his eyes, nodded to the Westerner in front of him, and said, “I understand. I will meet this Lion King for you when the time comes.”
