"Watch out, President Bertha!"
The warning came too late.
The monstrous python lunged at Bertha, its thick, scaly body whipping through the air like a black whirlwind. The Martial Arts League members scattered in panic, their faces pale with shock.
Bertha herself was momentarily frozen, startled by the sudden ambush. Instinctively, she hurled her sword in an attempt to deflect the attack, but the beast was too fast. The python's foul breath, thick with the stench of blood and rot, enveloped her as its gaping maw lunged toward her shoulder—
Bang!
Suddenly, something crashed down from the heavens like divine retribution. A cyan flame exploded upon the python's head, searing into its flesh with a hiss so loud it pierced the soul. The creature writhed in agony, the otherworldly fire dancing across its scales, burning deeper than mere heat ever could.
"What the hell kind of fire is that?" someone gasped.
Drake, who had merged with the python, screamed in torment. His face twisted with pain as the flames engulfed the python's skull. He rolled on the ground, trying desperately to extinguish the cyan blaze, but the fire clung stubbornly, devouring him alive.
Within moments, the enormous python had been reduced to a pile of smoldering ash, its remnants drifting down like snow across Drake's battered body. He lay gasping, barely alive.
Silence fell.
Even Bertha, still catching her breath, stared at the spectacle in disbelief. The entire Martial Arts League stood frozen.
Was this… divine intervention?
Then—whoosh!
They all looked up—and what they saw would be etched into their memories forever.
From the sheer cliffside, a dazzlingly handsome young man descended on a mountain bike, skimming down the rocky surface as if defying gravity itself. He maneuvered with impossible grace, landing smoothly in front of them with the swagger of a hero from a dream.
What. The. Actual. Hell?
Cooler than a blockbuster action scene, his entrance was surreal.
Before anyone could even react, the young man bent down, scooped Bertha effortlessly into one arm, and—whoosh—sped off into the dense forest across the Hudson River. His voice rang out, mocking and wild:
"Ha ha! I'm borrowing your Master Bertha for a while!"
Panic broke out like a spark hitting dry straw.
"Oh shit! He kidnapped our leader!"
"After him! Don't just stand there! MOVE!"
The Martial Arts League members snapped to action, splitting into two squads—one to stay behind and secure the half-dead Drake, and the other to pursue the rogue rider.
But catching John?
That was a fantasy.
Whoosh!
The bike tore through the forest, flying across treetops like a spirit of the wind. In less than a minute, John and Bertha vanished into the verdant wilderness.
It was insane.
It was faster than the wind.
Bertha, still trapped under John's arm, could barely keep up with what was happening. The trees blurred into streaks of green, and the ground flashed far below. Her heart pounded against her ribs as she stared at the surreal, fast-moving scenery.
Was the bike… flying?!
Her brain short-circuited.
Moments later, they landed gently on solid ground.
Bertha yanked herself out from under John's arm and staggered back several steps, putting distance between them. Her chest heaved with anxiety and rage, her eyes locked onto him with distrust and confusion.
No one could blame her.
No normal person would remain calm after something like that.
She raised her sword defensively, voice cold and sharp. "Are you here to help me, or do you want something from me?"
She had already recognized him as a cultivator—there was no other explanation for his supernatural abilities. That bike wasn't a vehicle. It was a weapon—a divine artifact forged by a powerful hand.
But was he friend or foe?
If he were truly good, why did he kidnap her like some villain from a martial drama? Yet if he were evil… then why had he saved her life?
Her mind spun in circles.
John smiled, completely unfazed by the icy glare.
"I'm here to help you," he said casually. "But yes… I also want something in return."
Bertha's expression darkened.
She gripped her sword tighter, her tone turning fierce. "Don't even think about it! Just because you saved me doesn't mean I owe you my dignity. You better behave yourself!"
She knew she was no match for him. Against a cultivator of his level, she was barely a mosquito. But even so, she couldn't just kneel and surrender. She had her pride.
She was Master Bertha.
John raised his hands in mock innocence. "Whoa, now… Is that any way to greet your savior? You're jumping to conclusions."
Bertha narrowed her eyes. "Your gaze says enough. Don't bother pretending. You're a rogue."
John let out a theatrical sigh. "Ah, you wound me…"
Then, without warning, he stepped forward—and before she could react, he tapped twice on her chest.
"What are you doing?!" Bertha gasped, suddenly frozen in place.
Her limbs went numb. She couldn't move.
Her sword clattered to the ground.
Panic flooded her face, followed swiftly by humiliation and dread.
No. Not like this.
Was this how it would end? After guarding her virtue for so many years, was she going to be violated by this arrogant bastard?
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes.
Despair took hold of her heart.
"Ha ha… Little beauty…" John murmured, leaning in with a mischievous smirk, his breath brushing against her cheek.
Bertha's heart clenched. Her fists trembled—if only she could move!
She had been right all along. Men were scum. Cultivators? Even worse. Their strength made them feel invincible—untouchable. They could do anything they wanted and get away with it.
But then—
Lift!
John suddenly threw her over his shoulder like a sack of grain and strode toward a shimmering lake deep within the forest.
"Put me down! You bastard! Do you have any idea who I am?! I swear—if you touch me—!"
Splash!
John hurled her straight into the lake.
The water exploded around her.
Then, while she was still submerged, he undid the acupuncture points on her body with a casual flick of spiritual energy.