Blue Dragon Stronghold, Hall of Righteousness.
Ian Song's choice of seat drew a flurry of gossip from the bandit chiefs. They whispered among themselves, but not a single one dared warn him that spot was strictly forbidden.
With Ian's cultivation, not a single sound in the Hall of Righteousness escaped his ears. He knew he was hogging Bear King's seat—but did he care? Not one bit.
So he sat there without a care, even waving Bull Bolton over to join him, helping himself to the meat and fruit like he owned the place.
That kid's done for!
Seeing this, one of the bandit chiefs gloated, "Not only did he take Bear King's seat, he even started eating before Lone-Blade Gideon arrived. Now he's pissed off both Gideon and Bear King."
Look, Bear King's coming! This is gonna be good!
Suddenly, someone shouted, and all the chiefs whipped their heads toward the entrance. Sure enough, a mountain of a man—nearly two meters tall, arms thicker than most men's thighs—strode in.
Trailing behind was a younger guy with a similar bear-like build, a head shorter but just as beefy. Anyone could tell this was Bear King's son, Tyson 'Little Bear' Barrett.
Soon, Bear King and his son stomped into the hall. One look and Bear King's face turned stormy—some punk had stolen his seat.
Who the hell are you, brat? That seat's my old man's—get out before I smash you!
Bear King barely had time to react before Tyson barreled forward, swinging a paw the size of a fan right at Ian's face. With that kind of force, a regular guy would've been sent flying.
The hell? Where'd this bear come from, barging in on my meal!
Ian yelped, leaned back, and dodged Tyson's slap like it was nothing.
Pah!
At the same time, Ian spat out a fruit pit he'd been chewing. It shot out like a dark bullet, smacked Tyson square in the chest, and sent the big guy crashing right into the middle of the hall.
Huh, this kid's got some real skills!
The crowd stared, wide-eyed—Tyson had just been blasted away by a fruit pit. The guy wasn't weak, either; as a third-rate martial artist with his old man's brute strength, he barely had rivals at his level.
Tyson scrambled up, face burning with shame. Getting tossed by a scrawny kid in front of everyone? Talk about losing face.
You little punk, you dare sneak attack me? Time to show you how tough I really am!
Tyson roared and charged again, fists swinging wild.
Sneak attack your sister! I blasted you fair and square! Ian snapped, grabbing a pear off the table and chucking it.
Thud!
Tyson, mid-charge, got smacked again and went flying, landing in the center of the hall—same spot as before.
Most of the chiefs felt a chill—no wonder Ian dared to grab Bear King's seat. Turns out he's the real deal, probably peak third-rate.
But Bear King Bruno Barrett was peak second-rate, with freakish strength—he could go toe-to-toe with first-rate masters.
Tyson scrambled up, about to charge again, but Bear King barked, "Tyson, fall back!"
Yes, sir!
Tyson's eyes flashed with frustration, but he backed off. For all his bluster, he wasn't dumb. Getting tossed twice, he knew he was outclassed.
Bear King stomped over, eyes blazing. "Kid, get out of my seat now and maybe I'll let you live!"
Tch, first I chase off a little bear, now a big bear shows up. Can a guy eat in peace around here? Ian grumbled, not bothered at all.
The crowd stared, jaws dropping. Was this kid suicidal or just crazy?
He just called Bear King a big bear!
You little bastard, die!
Bear King snarled and swung his massive fist down at Ian's head.
Get lost!
Ian snorted, grabbed a jujube from the table.
A flash of green light—Bear King's massive frame was blasted backward, crashing into the center of the hall, landing exactly where Tyson had just hit.
Hiss—
The chiefs all sucked in a breath, stunned by what they'd just seen.
Bear King was supposed to be on par with first-rate masters, but got sent flying with one shot. Just how strong was Ian Song? Was he already top-tier?
For a second, everyone looked at Ian with a mix of awe and fear.
Bear King was dazed—knocked down by a jujube, of all things. He shot Ian a wary look, saw Ian ignoring him, and quietly breathed a sigh of relief.
He got up, gave Tyson a look, and went straight to the first empty seat on the right—the one that used to belong to Edgar 'Third Hawk' Young, number three among the chiefs.
Storm came fast, went even faster.
But the chiefs could tell—this banquet was gonna be anything but peaceful tonight.
Right on cue, a skinny old man in a flowered jacket walked into the hall all by himself.
He swept the hall, then froze—his seat was taken by Bear King, and Bear King's spot was occupied by some stranger.
Here we go again. More drama incoming!
The chiefs traded glances, all thinking the same thing.
After a moment, the skinny old man strode up to Bear King and smiled. "Bear King, why are you sitting in my seat?"
I sit where I want. Whatcha gonna do about it? Bear King sneered, full of swagger.
Yep, that was Edgar 'Third Hawk' Young—chief of Black Eagle Stronghold, ranked third among the 108.
Edgar had tried to play nice, but Bear King just glared. Edgar's smile turned nasty. "Bear King, you may outrank me, but I'm not scared. Get out of my seat, or I'll get rough!"
Get rough, then! You think your Bear Grandpa's scared of some skinny monkey? Bear King jumped up, ready to brawl.
Edgar hesitated, then forced a smile. "Easy, Bear King—just joking around!"
Spineless! Bear King snorted.
Edgar's face darkened, eyes flashing with killing intent. He held back, turned to Ian, and glared. "Kid, who do you think you are? That seat's not for you—give it up for your grandpa!"
As soon as he said it, Edgar felt the weird looks. Tyson looked absolutely delighted.
Kid, are you deaf or just stupid? Get outta my seat, now! Edgar barked again.
Heh, chased off two bears and now a flower monkey shows up. Here, have a peach! Ian said, grabbing a peach and tossing it at Edgar.