“This is not the place I planned for us to meet, but you are... what is the word... tricky,” said the man through a bandana.

Thomas, as usual, didn’t feel the need to reply. He did, however, note the man's accent and guessed he was an agent of the Han Empire.

“Right. You do not talk. That is fine. But I will introduce myself so you know who has killed you. My name is Qin Zhanfeng. And it will bring me great honor to kill the traitor you trai—”

Before Zhanfeng could finish, Thomas lashed out with a jab. It was faster than his hook but lacked power. Zhanfeng managed to block it with his forearm, stumbling back but suffering no serious harm.

“Ah, straight to business, then,” the Han agent said, removing his hat, bandana, and gun before assuming a loose, agile stance. One hand extended slightly, palm out, while he bounced lightly on his toes.

Thomas wasted no time, lunging forward with a heavy jab. Zhanfeng sidestepped swiftly with precise movements, and countered with a flurry of strikes to Thomas’s ribs and thighs. The blows were quick, hard to follow, but caused minimal damage. The boxer pressed on, trying to set up a fight ending blow, each punch coming closer to connecting.

Zhanfeng circled, his footwork keeping him one step ahead. He delivered snapping low kicks to Thomas’s legs, chipping away at his base, and followed with palm strikes and quick jabs to the midsection. Though his attacks landed cleanly, Thomas’s massive frame absorbed them like a wall of iron. Zhangfeng’s frustration began to mount as it seemed his strikes weren’t doing enough damage.

Thomas’s patience wore thin, despite not showing it, the endless barrage of hits was beginning to take its toll. He began to cut off Zhangfeng’s angles, trying to use his reach and strength to control the fight. Zhanfeng dodged another swing, landing a sharp kick to Thomas’s side before landing a spinning backfist that struck Thomas’s jaw. Thomas’s head snapped sideways, but he recovered quickly, his eyes narrowing in determination.

Zhanfeng kept dodging, weaving just out of Thomas’s range, but the boxer’s relentless assault was taking a toll. Thomas feinted with a left hook, and as Zhanfeng moved to evade, a crushing right cross caught him in the chest. The impact sent Zhanfeng sprawling onto the cobblestones, his breath leaving him in a painful gasp. He lay there momentarily, vision spinning.

Despite the pain, Zhanfeng smiled and pulled a small silver vial from his sash. “It is admitted that you are better than me. So you must ask why do I smile? Well now, before you die, you will get to see why the Han Empire dominates all enemies”

With trembling hands, he uncorked the vial and drank the shimmering potion in one gulp. His face twisted in disgust, but the effect was obvious immediately. Strength surged through his limbs. As he rose to his feet his eyes blazed with newfound energy and he seemed to move even easier than before.

Not caring for the mans dramatics, Thomas advanced, fists raised, but Zhanfeng was ready. With terrifying speed, he slipped past Thomas’s punches, delivering powerful strikes that made the big man stumble. A spinning kick to the ribs and a palm strike to the chest knocked the wind out of Thomas, who staggered backward. The hits, which had barely fazed him before, now felt like some of the hardest blows he had ever endured. Zhanfeng grinned, feeling invincible.

“You now realize that the question of this fight has been answered,” Zhanfeng taunted. He danced around Thomas, delivering swift, punishing blows, and laughed as the boxer struggled to keep up. He drove a crushing kick into Thomas’s side, and the big man fell to his knees, gasping for air.

"It is right that you kneel before a representative of the Faceless Emperor" said Zhangfeng. Thomas stayed down, trying to catch his breath. He dug his left hand into the sand, clutching his side with his right and discreetly slipping it into his pocket. Rising slowly, he feigned weakness, stumbling slightly before he set his jaw and raised his left hand.

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Zhanfeng, too confident in his new strength, failed to sense the danger and launched forwards. Thomas flung a fistful of sand into Zhanfeng’s eyes, the grit blinding him. Zhanfeng stumbled back, hands going to his face to try and clear his vision. Seizing the moment, Thomas surged forward. His right hand, now armored with brass knuckles, delivered a brutal hook to Zhanfeng’s ribs. The blow crushed into his chest, forcing the air from his lungs. As Zhanfeng doubled over, Thomas put all his strength into a right uppercut. The brass knuckles connected with his chin, snapping his head back and lifting him off his feet. Zhanfeng crumpled to the cobblestones, unconscious but somehow still alive.

Thomas rolled Zhanfeng onto his stomach and tore strips from his clothing to hogtie him so he could get information. Even with his enhanced strength, there would be no escaping that by himself. Next, Thomas searched him for anything useful. He found a bag containing more of the silver vials and took it. Whatever they were, they had made Zhanfeng faster and stronger. The only other item of interest was a note written in what Thomas assumed was Han. He pocketed it, intending to have Mr. Liu translate it.

As Thomas finished, Zhanfeng stirred, his eyes fluttering open. He groaned, working his jaw painfully, and slowly realized he was bound. He struggled, only to accept that he couldn’t free himself. Finally, he looked up at Thomas with a smirk. “You have beaten me. And so again you must ask why do I smile? You see, you are not the only one who is sneaky. Although you have won this fight, I have won the battle by keeping you distracted.”

Realization crashed into Thomas. He had been played. While he thought he was drawing Zhanfeng out, he was actually being separated from Mr. Liu. Thomas took off running back to the safe house. The injuries he had sustained in the fight slowed him and panic started to grip him. He found himself concerned for Mr Liu and not just because the boss had said to keep him safe.

As he ran he heard the jingle of the small silver vials in their pouch. He stopped and considered for a second before grabbing one and downing it. The taste was revolting, like rotted pumpkin and vinegar. It burned all the way down, but almost instantly, he felt warmth flood his body. His injuries vanished, he felt lighter, stronger, and more focused. He felt like he could fight a mountain and win.

Thomas took off running, now moving at a pace that would leave a racehorse in awe. Unaccustomed to his newfound speed, he accidentally plowed into a market stall closed for the night, splintering wood and scattering clothing everywhere. Fortunately, he was still on a side street, out of sight of the crowds in the plaza.

Keeping up his pace, he navigated the side streets, avoiding the plaza and its gathering crowds. Even with the detour, he arrived at the safe house in record time. His heart sank when he saw the reinforced door had been kicked in. Shouts and gunfire from inside told him he might not be too late.

He flattened himself against the wall and peeked into the room. One Han agent lay dead on the floor, a gaping hole in his chest from a shotgun blast. The guard who had fired it lay nearby, with a shotgun in his hand and his head facing the wrong way..

Gunshots erupted from the next room. Thomas slipped in and pressed himself against the wall to see what was happening. A Han agent had the driver pinned by the neck, lifting him off the ground and slowly choking the life out of him. The driver struggled to raise his gun, but the agent grabbed his wrist and twisted it until the bones snapped. The driver tried to scream, but the grip on his throat allowed no sound to escape.

Mr. Liu, battered and bruised, grabbed a fire poker and made a desperate charge. Before he could strike, Thomas crashed into the Han agent’s back, the sickening sound of bones breaking as he drove his shoulder into the man’s spine with all his strength and speed. The driver fell limply to the ground and the agent let out a scream of pain as he was launched through the wall and into the courtyard.

The Han agent tried to rise, but Thomas was on him in an instant, raining punch after punch into the back of his skull until it finally gave way. Certain the man was dead, Thomas stumbled back into the house.

He checked for a pulse on the driver but found none. Placing his ear to the man’s chest, he detected no heartbeat or breath. He had been too late.

Turning, Thomas found Mr. Liu slumped against an overturned table. He rushed over, checking for serious injuries.

“I… am okay. Only bruise. You saved my life. We… brothers now,” Mr. Liu said, his voice weak.

Thomas, as always, didn’t think this was a time for a chat. He pulled Mr. Liu to his feet and packed anything essential. Searching the dead Han agents, he took more of the silver vials. In minutes, he had them loaded into the stagecoach and on their way.

Though the night outside San Antonio held its own dangers, Thomas knew staying likely meant death. The two rode through the night and into the next morning. As the morning started to get late, Thomas found himself starting to feel queasy. He tried to ignore it and push on, but soon found himself throwing up the small breakfast of beef jerky they had had. His limbs started to feel heavy and his head began to spin. He fought to stay conscious, but was soon overcome.