Thousands of troops halted at once, no longer chasing after the members of the Smoke Pot Mercenary Corps. The few remaining members managed to catch their breath, but instead of relaxing, they turned with terror to look back at Sandrift Oasis.
It wasn’t just them—the middle-aged folks were watching, the old-timers were watching, everyone’s eyes were glued to the source of that creaking sound.
A strong wind howled, whistling through the air. Sand and dust swirled, blurring reality like a dream.
Creak, creak—slow and steady, an old car gradually emerged from the depths of the sandstorm.
Just the silhouette of that old car was enough to send the remaining Smoke Pot Mercenary Corps members stumbling backward in horror. Surrounded on all sides, they ignored the danger and channeled their strength, darting away at full speed, desperate to break free. But the middle-aged folks and the old-timers didn’t pay them much mind—the leftovers would get dealt with eventually. One middle-aged man focused his power into his eyes, peering through the sandstorm... and then he froze.
As the old car emerged from the sandstorm, thousands of soldiers surrounding Sandrift Oasis were left dumbstruck.
Amid the soft rustling, one person crawled on their knees, another hunched over to push—the old car rolled forward. In this world, strange folks and odd happenings are a dime a dozen. If we’re just talking about people acting like beasts, well, that’s hardly enough to make you lose your mind. But here’s the kicker: everyone present recognized the two pulling the car.
"Wait, isn’t that... isn’t that the Rainblade King?!"
"No way, the Rainblade King acting like a dog? That can’t be real!"
"Look at the picture—the drawing’s crystal clear! And that Flying Feather Sword on his hip, there’s no mistake, it’s him!"
Someone opened up a picture book and started pointing at the scene, making sure everyone could compare. To avoid getting mowed down by top-tier fighters on the battlefield, every squad carried a manual with sketches of enemy VIPs. So the Rainblade King crawling on the ground was instantly recognized—suddenly, everyone was pointing at him.
Rainblade King was breathing like a windbox, his teeth grinding so hard you could hear it, and the veins on his face looked ready to burst. The shame was crushing his soul, but what’s wild is—even like this, he didn’t change a thing about his crawling posture or the way he pulled the cart.
"Isn’t that the Phantom Shade Master back there?!"
"No doubt about it, that’s him!"
"No way, this has gotta be fake. Aren’t those two supposed to be top-tier martial artists? How’d they end up like this?"
Suspicion was inevitable—everyone was doubtful except for the middle-aged man. His expression shifted from shock to dead serious. He knew those two pulling the cart were the real deal, genuine masters. No need for extra proof; just look at how that old car was rolling along, listen to the sandboards scraping the ground, and check out those waves—wait, waves?
Hold up, is there something under those sand waves?
The middle-aged man frowned. All he saw was yellow sand piling up like waves, and under those waves, something seemed to pop up now and then. He squinted, looked closer... was that—a face? Yep, no mistake, it was a face! Every time the "wave" dipped, the face would poke out, gasping for air; when the "wave" rose, it dove back down like a pro swimmer, using its own skin to dig a trench through the sand.
The middle-aged man couldn’t help but be amazed.
Sand isn’t water—rubbing against it is brutal. To still have skin on your face after that, this guy under the cart was definitely a master too. He looked kinda familiar—must be Zach Four. Zach Four, Rainblade King, Phantom Shade Master. Three top-tier martial artists, all working like beasts of burden—actually, not even as good as beasts. Even a king-level master couldn’t pull this off. So who’s the guy sitting in the cart? What kind of monster is he?
The old car rolled straight toward the flagship, totally unfazed by the army surrounding it. Not that they didn’t want to stop it, but the innate power pulling that cart was faster and slicker than the quickest sand skiff—they just couldn’t block it.
The middle-aged man clenched his fist, gritting his teeth in secret.
With the sides unclear, the middle-aged man decided to speak up and test the waters—at least ask what’s going on. If things went south... True energy boiled inside him, his cloak puffed up, fingers curled inside his sleeve—he was ready to go all out at a moment’s notice.
But what he didn’t expect was that the man in the cart spoke first.
"Never thought I’d see an old friend today. Yang is truly delighted." The man looked at the middle-aged guy on the deck and smiled faintly. "It’s been ages since we parted. King Gamble, not only have you reached the innate stage, you’ve made it to King-level. Congratulations!"
King Gamble? That’s a name from way back—feels like a whole lifetime ago.
How does he know about my old identity?
Could it be he’s already investigated me?
The middle-aged man stared—the guy in the cart looked young, but his expression was calm and steady, impossible to guess his age. What stood out was the weird crystal he was fiddling with. At first glance, it looked like nothing special, just a big carrot-shaped chunk of raw crystal. But the middle-aged man frowned, his gut told him this crystal was anything but ordinary.
When he focused and looked closer, he suddenly sensed a strange energy deep inside the crystal, but it was all blurry and hard to make out. The more he stared, the more it pulled him in—the vaguer it got, the more he wanted to figure it out. But when his gaze dug too deep, his mind was rocked, cold sweat broke out all over—he felt a pressure that was out of this world.
That little crystal suddenly started growing in his mind—bigger than the car, bigger than the ship, bigger than a mountain. At its core, a dull glow exploded into dazzling light, swirling with terrifying power, like it could rip open the sky, shatter the world, destroy everything and rebuild it from scratch.
The middle-aged man’s mouth went dry, his pupils dilated—he knew something was wrong. He’d slipped up and gotten caught, but he was powerless to resist. Crack! His fingers shattered the rail, his heart rate spiked, and his mental energy flooded out like a broken dam. He couldn’t stop his strength from draining away.
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Crap! At this rate, in less than a breath, I’ll—die of mental exhaustion!
Just then, a hand like white jade gently brushed the surface of the crystal, breaking the spell.
Boom boom boom! The middle-aged man shot backward like someone cut the rope in a tug-of-war, totally out of control. His energy surged, wood splintered under his feet, and he crashed through several walls, landing deep in the ship’s cabin like a cannonball.
Impossible!
How could this happen?!
All that... just from a single glance!
The middle-aged man lay buried in debris, pale as a ghost. Partly from exhaustion, partly from sheer terror. Sweat poured off him in buckets—this King-level master was so weak he could barely breathe. What was that crystal? How could it leave a King-level master so helpless, like a regular person staring straight at a king’s divine phenomenon?
And the young guy who could break that mind control so easily—just how strong was he?
There was only one answer—Saint Primordial Infinity!
This was Saint Primordial Infinity, face to face!
With powers like that, there’s no way this Saint Primordial had checked into my background ahead of time—I’m not even important enough for that. So if he recognized me, it means he really does know me, really is an "old friend."
But when did I ever have such a badass friend? Why don’t I remember that?
"To spot the crystal’s secret, King Gamble, your mind really is something else. Looks like you’ll hit King-level peak any day now—Yang is impressed." The young man stared at the crystal in his hand—hurting a King-level master with just a glance was nothing to him. He spoke softly, his voice drifting on the wind: "The first time I met you was at the Golden Hook Casino in Eight Directions City. That night, the east wind was blowing, and you were in top form, going head-to-head with the Golden Pavilion’s boss. I was amazed."
Eight Directions City? Golden Pavilion?
Old memories surfaced, and the middle-aged man struggled up from the rubble. His head felt like a saw was grinding through it, but he pressed his hand to his forehead and tried to remember. Finally, a blurry figure came to mind.
It really seemed like there was a young man like that.
Back then, he was the star—everyone watched him face off with Fatty Jin, and that young guy was just one of the crowd. He caught my eye for a second, but that was it. Nothing special, his skills were average. Who’d have thought that after a few years, he’d be on top and I’d be at rock bottom?
"Never expected, after all this time, the King Gamble would turn outlaw—now you’re the ‘protector of the people, defender of the realm, man of the people, tackling tough problems’—a real bandit king? Fate’s a wild ride." The young man tucked the crystal into his sleeve, his gaze growing cold. "Of course, a bandit king has his own way of doing things. So, old friend, what kind of bandit king do you want to be?"
His cold eyes swept the crowd—troops everywhere, bows drawn, killing intent thick. The young man flashed a gentle smile: "I’m short one for my team. Old friend, want to help pull the cart?"
As soon as he finished, a wave of malice exploded—not from anyone else, but from Rainblade King crawling on the ground. He reacted the most. Red light shot out from under his messy hair, like two cracks opening in hell. Come on, pull the cart, of course I want in. Not just pull the cart—I want to be the one under it! So what if you’re a King-level master? What I want most is to see all those big shots come down here and be beasts of burden with me!
Whoosh—King Gamble flashed back to the rail. He was pale, jaw clenched, but he didn’t bow his head. He just gripped his fist in silence, ready to go all out if needed.
"Pull the cart? Pull what cart, kid? Hey, kid, you remember me, right?" An old man nearby finally couldn’t hold back. He whipped off his sunglasses, revealing a pair of milky white eyes. He looked like a blind old geezer, but he wasn’t—he was born that way and had tricked plenty of people.