Most soldiers had witnessed this guard's power—Morton had subdued vicious assassins more than once.
They all wore expressions that showed they were ready for a good show, their eyes fixed on Germain.
Faced with Morton's imposing presence, would that man, who looked only moderately fit, dare to fight?
"Don't kill him," Chairman Netero said softly, his hands hidden in the sleeves of his robe, squinting as he spoke to Germain.
"But don't hold back too much either; it won't leave a strong impression."
Germain turned his head and asked, "Then how much force should I use?"
"Enough to put him on a stretcher, but still able to be saved by Cheadle and Sanbica's emergency treatment."
It was like pressing on an ant's leg with a finger—enough to break it, but not enough to crush it into pulp.
Germain frowned and pondered silently.
To be honest, he was used to killing enemies outright, rarely leaving survivors.
It was indeed a problem for him to only cause severe injuries without killing.
Seeing Germain hesitate to step forward, Morton misunderstood the situation.
There must be a problem…
Morton looked at the younger black-suited hunter with suspicion.
How could someone his age have the achievements described in the report?
This Germain might have some skill, but that was about it.
Netero seemed to want to lift this young man up. Could it be that he intended to make him the next chairman?
Ha… If I expose this lie, that would be interesting.
Morton chuckled a few times, spat on the ground, then shouted loudly, "Germain, are you still going to fight? Are you scared?"
Admiral Mike didn't say a word, which meant he silently agreed with Morton's challenge.
Soon, more soldiers joined in, shouting, "Germain, are you still fighting or not?" Laughter and jeers filled the air.
The soldiers' shouts and laughter echoed back and forth through the canyon, reverberating endlessly.
Steiner stood awkwardly behind Germain. From his position, helping either side would lead to a bad outcome.
Bisky was grinding her teeth with anger. She quickly walked over to Germain in three big steps, crossed her arms, and said angrily,
"Germain, listen, hit him with everything you've got!"
Chairman Netero calmly stroked his beard without hurry and smiled, "Little Bisky, killing isn't very nice, you know."
"They clearly aren't planning to leave any room for mercy… Fine, then at least give him a lesson. Let him understand what manners mean."
"Oh ho ho…"
Germain glanced at this master and apprentice pair with a puzzled look, then walked toward Morton.
Suddenly, he thought about what he should do. This way, Morton wouldn't even have to get seriously hurt.
"You finally came," Morton said in a taunting tone, but his whole body was on high alert, ready to strike. "I thought you might turn around and leave. Although I could understand that too."
Angering the opponent was part of Morton's tactics, but he wouldn't underestimate Germain. He was prepared to give it his all.
Since Chairman Netero valued him so much, his strength couldn't be weak.
Only someone talented was worth being lifted up with great effort.
Now, what I had to do was make him fall from a great height with a loud crash into the valley...
Suddenly, Morton's instincts—honed from crawling through mountains of corpses and rivers of blood—alerted him to danger.
And that danger was coming from ahead.
He almost swallowed nervously, then instinctively yanked the chain and swung his meteor hammer toward Germain's head with explosive force.
Only after releasing it did he realize something was wrong... If Germain's head was smashed open, it might not actually be good for them.
But the meteor hammer was already flying; there was no time to take it back... The blame fell on the sudden, indescribable surge coming from Germain's body.
His attack was purely a reflex.
Boom—
Like a nightmare made real, Germain casually swung his fist and shattered the meteor hammer into pieces!
Morton stared in shock as metal shards scattered, then saw Germain step closer while further releasing his aura.
Just moments ago, Germain had a sudden insight. Thinking of the Chimera Ant King and his three Royal Guards, he now knew exactly what to do.
Aura burst forth from his body like a broken dam flooding a river, instantly engulfing Morton right before him, then spreading outward to swallow everyone present.
Malice—the intent to take your life—was poured into everyone without reserve.
Chairman Netero, Bisky, Morel, Shizuku, and other Nen users immediately raised their defenses with Nen, but their brows furrowed tightly.
Several Nen bodyguards were also shocked, almost instinctively positioning themselves in front of Admiral Mike to shield him from the blast.
Meanwhile, many ordinary soldiers were like naked bodies standing in freezing snow.
They clenched their teeth, trembling violently, unable to speak a word, and one after another collapsed to the ground.
At the storm's center stood Morton, sweat pouring inside his heavy armor, his limbs stiff and his breath shallow...
This feeling reminded him of when he first started learning Nen—the helplessness and despair of a novice barely understanding the world around him.
The world — was it really still this distant?
Morton's legs suddenly gave out, and he fell to his knees.
He stared wide-eyed as Germain conjured a strange weapon, one only a butcher would use.
Death — it was a tool of death itself.
Morton gave up struggling and stopped thinking.
He let the saw-like blade strike down, but only his helmet was cut through.
The suffocating feeling suddenly disappeared.
Morton took a long moment to come back to his senses.
He realized his mouth had been hanging open, drool sliding down the corner, making him look like a fool.
He wanted to stand, but couldn't.
His legs had gone completely numb.
In fact, very few people at the scene could still stand.
Most had fallen, unconscious.
When he lifted his head, he saw Germain looking down at him, like a god.
The string of his reason snapped at that moment.
Heat and warmth flooded his pants, wetting a large patch.
Then, he collapsed fully onto the ground.
He heard the devil's whisper.
"10, 9, 8... 3, 2, 1. I win."
*******
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