Phoenix Plaza, basement.
Whoosh!
A blue figure swept through like a gust of wind, crossing more than ten meters in an instant. His palm struck Max Ma’s cheek, loosening his teeth; starting from his face, Max’s body spun, lifted upward, and twisted as it rose.
What!?
Max Ma’s heart clenched violently.
He tried to channel his Condensed Mist Internal Power, but before he could even raise his arms, an irresistible brute force—like a crushing boulder—overwhelmed him. He could only watch helplessly as the world in his vision flew backward.
Buzzing! Buzzing! Buzzing!
His ears rang with vibration, his mind in chaos.
It was as if crashing waves had overturned his thoughts, battering his mind. Max’s mouth hung open unconsciously, his head spinning, nearly fainting on the spot.
Bang.
He crashed to the ground, sliding another four or five meters, shocked and dazed as he stared at Andrew Han’s faint smile.
Only now, after facing such a terrifying slap, did Max Ma finally feel the same despair that those Specters must have felt—like a boulder crashing to earth, immovable and irresistible!
Ah...
Max Ma instinctively opened his mouth.
Obviously.
That slap was far from gentle, but even with such a scene, Andrew Han had held back. If he’d struck with full force, he could have shattered Max Ma’s skull.
You know...
You should be grateful you never showed any malice toward me. Otherwise, you’d already be dead." In the dim beam of the work lamp, Andrew Han’s face was calm and indifferent.
Inspiration can sense more than just Demons and Specters.
At the Upper Three Ranks and Martial Artist realm, Andrew Han could vaguely sense a person’s goodwill or malice.