Just a few days ago, Stark had been summoned by the Department of Defense.
They wanted him to hand over his technology—for "national security purposes."
At the time, he had been so arrogant, so proud. Not only had he seen right through their little schemes, but he'd publicly declared that his technology was decades ahead of the rest of the world.
No one, he'd said, could possibly replicate it.
Which was why he'd never turn over the Iron Man armor—or the Arc Reactor.
And now, just days later, his own words had come back to slap him in the face.
Something he'd never seen coming.
"Looks like you've got company," Senju Haruto said casually.
Right now, Whiplash hadn't yet received any help from Justin Hammer. The Arc Reactor on his chest and the weapons in his hands were all things he'd built himself in his home workshop.
They looked impressive enough—but because of his limited resources, he was far from being a real threat.
Even Stark alone could take him down.
There was no need for Haruto to lift a finger.
"Yeah."
Stark grunted in reply, speeding up his work until he finally activated one of his machines.
At this point, he hadn't even started developing his Iron Legion. The defense systems in his home were still fairly basic.
Whiplash, on the other hand, clearly knew he might run into resistance.
After just a few minutes of combat, he'd destroyed every defensive machine that could have fought back—and after smashing through a wall, he stepped right into Stark's view.
"Tony Stark."
Whiplash was chewing gum as he spoke, his lips curling into a predatory grin—like a leopard spotting its prey.
What delighted him most was that Stark seemed to be in the middle of some research.
And he wasn't even wearing his armor.
In other words, taking down Tony Stark right now would be about as easy as crushing a rabbit.
"Who the hell are you? Ten Rings sent you?"
Even with Whiplash standing just a few feet away, Stark's expression didn't change. He even had the nerve to crack a joke.
"That group doesn't have much of a future. I'd suggest you find a better employer."
He spread his hands like he was offering life advice.
In truth, he wasn't nervous at all.
Sure, the device on Whiplash's chest had caught his attention—but in terms of combat power? If he just slipped into his armor, this guy wouldn't stand a chance.
And besides, Haruto was standing right next to him.
Forget Whiplash—even the Ten Rings, even Iron Monger—none of them had ever managed to hurt him with Haruto around.
So what was there to be afraid of?
"Hmph."
Whiplash let out a cold snort, glancing around the room. No armor in sight.
As for Haruto, he looked like a teenager—slim, calm, and not exactly the bodyguard type.
Probably just Stark's assistant.
Right now, the kid wasn't saying a word—must've been scared stiff by the sudden intrusion.
Wouldn't take long before he fainted.
At least, that's what Whiplash thought.
"I'm here to reclaim the honor that was stolen from my father. It was your father who stole his work!"
"Father's sins repaid by the son!"
Whiplash roared and swung his right arm, his energy whip cracking through the air toward Stark.
Stark blinked, completely baffled.
At this point, there was no reason for the man to lie.
So he wasn't some hired gun from the Ten Rings after all.
That assumption had made sense—Stark had history with that organization.
After all, he'd built the Arc Reactor in one of their cave bases.
Even though he'd been extremely cautious at the time, it was still possible someone had copied parts of his design.
It wasn't impossible. The real thing had been right there in front of them.
But saying Howard Stark stole someone else's technology?
That made no sense at all.
As far as Stark knew, his father had been one of the greatest minds of his time—so brilliant that even after his death, he was still teaching Tony lessons through his work.
A top-tier genius.
Why would someone like that need to steal another man's research?
Ridiculous.
Still, logic aside, the whip was already slicing through the air.
Tony dove and rolled to the side as it came down.
BOOM!
A brand-new support machine was split clean in half, exploding violently as debris flew in every direction.
Stark swallowed hard. He didn't have his armor right now.
He'd already ordered JARVIS to bring it over as soon as he saw Whiplash—but that would take time.
"You're not planning to help out?" he called to Haruto.
If Haruto decided to intervene, he could probably end the fight with a single finger.
"An opponent this weak doesn't interest me," Haruto replied flatly, not even glancing at him.
First of all, he wasn't Stark's bodyguard.
And second—Whiplash was barely worth the effort.
"Relax, Tony. The old you might not have been able to beat him," Haruto said after a pause. "But you're not that man anymore, are you?"
He smiled faintly. "Remember what Professor Arthur taught you."
As soon as he said that, Haruto conjured a glowing Sling Ring out of thin air and tossed it to Stark.
A true sorcerer didn't need tools to fight—but for someone like Stark, a beginner, magic without a focus was nearly impossible.
Just like Thor in Ragnarok—when he lost his hammer, he didn't even know how to summon lightning anymore.
"Stark!"
Whiplash couldn't tell what kind of object the ring was—and he didn't care.
All he wanted was to beat Stark bloody, make him kneel, and force him to admit that Howard Stark was a thief.
With a shout, he swung again—this time both arms at once.
Twin energy whips lashed out, hissing through the air toward Stark and Haruto.
The sound crackled like thunder, the whips writhing like serpents aiming for their throats.
At the very last second, Stark slid the Sling Ring onto his finger and began to chant under his breath.
A crimson magic circle flared to life before him, expanding outward into a glowing shield.
BANG!
The whips slammed into it, bursting into blinding white light.
The shield shattered, the blast wave throwing Stark backward and sending him sprawling across the floor.
Whiplash's own whips recoiled violently.
He hadn't expected this—Stark, of all people, using magic.
For a moment, he froze, completely caught off guard.
Then—
ZZZZT!
One of his own whips snapped back and slashed across his left shoulder, sizzling like a steak hitting a hot pan.
The pain was instant, white-hot, searing through him until he lost his balance and crashed to the floor.
As for Haruto?
He simply raised his pinky finger—and with a casual flick, deflected the other whip aside.
...
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