Asmon didn’t even glance at his downed opponent. He turned his icy gaze to Stelter, his voice cutting through the stunned silence like a knife. “Old dog, you’re up next.”
Stelter’s expression soured. “Asmon, don’t think for a second that just because you bested Thurman, you can handle me. I’m not him.”
Asmon chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. “No, you’re not. But you’re just as disappointing. One move—same as him.”
As if on cue, Asmon raised his fist, a glowing dragon shadow materializing around it. The translucent beast twisted and coiled, its roar sending shivers down everyone’s spines.
“Ball Destroyer Punch!” Asmon declared, his voice brimming with power and just a touch of flair.
The dragon shot forward, claws outstretched, its roar echoing across the platform. Stelter’s confidence wavered as he scrambled to counter with the Thrumpwood family’s signature Shockwave Palm. Energy rippled outward, but it was like trying to stop a freight train with a paper shield. The dragon tore through his defense, slamming into him with enough force to level a small mountain.
Stelter flew backward, skidding across the platform like a human tumbleweed. Before he could even process what had happened, Asmon was there, moving faster than a thought. A swift palm strike sent the elder flying again, landing in a crumpled heap. Intense pain spread from his family’s jewel like it’s been crushed, stomped by Elephant.
Asmon didn’t let up. In an instant, he was standing over Stelter, his boot pressed firmly against the man’s chest. “So,” Asmon said, his tone almost conversational, “how about we settle this? I’m the patriarch now. Yes or no?”
Stelter’s defiance crumbled like a cookie under pressure. “I… I accept! I yield!” he croaked, his voice trembling.
The audience collectively forgot how to blink. The Thrumpwood family’s “waste” had just demolished not one but TWO of its so-called powerhouses. Down below, Cole rubbed his eyes, convinced he was seeing things. “When…when did Young Master Asmon become this strong?” he muttered, half to himself.
The answer? It didn’t matter. What mattered was the look of awe on everyone’s faces. Asmon wasn’t just a fighter; he was a phenomenon. The once-scorned member of the Thrumpwood family was now its brightest star, eclipsing even Owen, Goldenridge City’s prodigy.
Back on the platform, Merilyn Snow stared at Asmon like he’d grown a second head. Sure, she’d known he was skilled—he’d figured out her physique at first glance, a feat most couldn’t dream of. But this? This was something else.
'Asmon, just how many layers of mystery are you hiding?' she wondered, her shock mingled with admiration.
Back at the Thrumpwood estate, Stelter’s ambitions crumbled overnight. His supporters scattered, and Asmon promoted Cole to elder, securing his position as the new patriarch. Word of his triumph spread like wildfire, his name quickly becoming the talk of the town. The boy they’d mocked as “waste” had risen from the ashes, proving that sometimes, the underdog doesn’t just win—he completely rewrites the game.
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After putting the Stelter fiasco behind him, Asmon handed over all family responsibilities to Cole, stepping aside to let him manage things. But don’t think Asmon just lounged around sipping tea. Nope. He put Cole to work gathering medicinal herbs, then turned those herbs into pill that boosted the Thrumpwood family’s strength. Bonus points: under Asmon’s guidance, Cole leveled up from the sixth to the level seventh of Imperial Qi realm—like upgrading from a bicycle to a motorcycle in the power department.
With the family running smoothly again, Asmon decided it was high time he returned to Silvercrest Martial Institute. But, just as he was packing his bags, Cole came barreling toward him, looking like he’d seen a ghost.
“Master Asmon, bad news! Our medicine garden in Azurecrest Mountain —it’s been taken over by the Blood Fiend Gang!”
Asmon paused mid-step, his brow furrowing. “The Blood Fiend Gang? Seriously? What on earth do they want with our medicine garden?”
Ah, the Blood Fiend Gang. A merry band of cutthroats and scoundrels operating near Goldenridge City, led by their delightful leader, Blood Fiend. This guy wasn’t just scary by name—he was an level eight of Imperial Qi realm powerhouse, the kind of fighter who sent shivers down spines and made even the city’s top families think twice before crossing him.
Cole sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I think they caught wind that your father’s not around anymore. Blood Fiend must figure there’s no one left in our family to stand up to him.”
Ah, Victor Thrumpwood. The man, the myth, the legend. At the ninth level of Imperial Qi, Asmon’s dad was once the human equivalent of a “Do Not Disturb” sign for the Thrumpwood family. With him gone, apparently, every bandit and his dog thought they could take a bite out of the family assets.
Asmon’s gaze turned frosty. “So, they think the Thrumpwood family’s easy pickings now, huh?” He cracked his knuckles. “Fine. Let’s show them exactly how wrong they are. I’ll go handle this myself.”
Azurecrest Mountain wasn’t exactly a trek across the continent—just a brisk ten-mile jaunt from Goldenridge City. It took Asmon less than half an hour to reach the medicine garden, which, sure enough, had been hijacked by the Blood Fiend Gang.
At the entrance, two gang members were standing around looking incredibly busy… at doing absolutely nothing. One of them leaned against a post, chatting animatedly. “Man, with this garden under our control, the boss is gonna be rolling in wealth! No one’s gonna mess with us now.”
His buddy nodded lazily. “Yeah, but don’t let your guard down. The Thrumpwood family might not take this lying down.”
The first guy snorted. “Pfft, what can they do? Victor’s not here anymore. They’d be walking into their graves if they tried.”
Asome come, walking up to them with an air of calm confidence. One of the men spotted him and barked, “Hey, kid! Who are you? This ain’t a playground—scram before you get hurt!”
Asmon smiled faintly. “I’m the ‘dead man’ you were just talking about.”
The bald gang member blinked, then grinned like he’d just been handed a comedy goldmine. “Well, look at this. A Thrumpwood family brat, all alone and looking for trouble. You must have a death wish, kid.”
Asmon’s voice was as sharp as the chill in his eyes. “This garden belongs to the Thrumpwood family. Why wouldn’t I show up? Now, quit wasting my time. Go tell Blood Fiend to come out here and face me.”
The man laughed, loud and derisive. “You think you’re important enough to meet the boss? Listen, run along before this mountain becomes your tomb.”
Asmon sighed. “It’s always the small fry that think they’re bigger than they are. Fine. Let me show you what I mean.”
He flicked his wrist, and a leaf on the ground shot into his hand. With a surge of energy, he turned it into a deadly weapon. The leaf zipped through the air faster than a blink and neatly sliced across the bald man’s throat. Thud. Down he went.
Red bloomed on the ground as the second gang member froze, his face drained of color. He stared at Asmon like he was staring at death itself. “Y-you…”
Asmon fixed him with a cold glare. “Unless you want to join him, I suggest you go tell Blood Fiend to come out here. Now.”