Chapter Thirty: Facing the Butterfly Blade with Bare Flesh

A dozen or so Yamaguchi-gumi members clad in suits and ties wielded butterfly knives, brandishing them with practiced skill, the cold gleam of their blades flickering reflections in Wang Fan's eyes.

"All together now—take down this cultivator from Huaguo!" Matsushita and his head bodyguard shouted furiously, their voices brimming with disdain for the Huaguo people, murderous intent, and an unwavering resolve to eliminate Wang Fan.

The angry roar echoed into the ears of their companions, and in that instant, the bodyguards’ eyes widened, bloodshot threads appearing within. Butterfly knives twirled deftly in their hands as they surged down the mountain path, eager to subdue and kill Wang Fan.

A dozen men charging at once—though butterfly knives are short, their dazzling blades thrust together were blindingly intimidating.

If it were an ordinary person, they would drop to their knees before such a barrage; even a common cultivator would hesitate, unsure if they could overcome so many opponents.

But Wang Fan was no ordinary cultivator. He was the inheritor of the Emperor’s legacy, a man whose cultivation had reached the very limits of his current realm. Facing the dozen butterfly knives, his expression betrayed no fear—only calm composure.

His eyes were as cold as snow in winter, and a chilling smile curled at his lips, reminiscent of the sinister grin of a demon from the depths of the netherworld, enough to send shivers down one's spine.

As the Yamaguchi-gumi bodyguards closed in, Wang Fan moved as well, stepping forward like a giant. The mountain path shook beneath his stride, a fierce wind whipping up as his clothes billowed with a sharp, fluttering sound.

He clenched his fists and swung them out, mighty as grinding millstones, hurling them with tremendous force. Thunderous explosions echoed through the air as his fists struck—this was the power of his flesh, the force of his Devouring Heaven Demon Technique, all his boundless energy converging in that moment upon his fists. It was a punch at the peak, an assault refined to the utmost limit.

Seeing Wang Fan raise his fists, Matsushita and the bodyguards beside him revealed cold, sinister smiles, their white teeth appearing ghastly in the sunlight.

To dare face our butterfly knives with mere flesh and blood—does he really underestimate the icy blades wielded by the Yamaguchi-gumi?

Does this Huaguo cultivator imagine himself invincible, attempting to block knives with his fists? Surely he must be dreaming!

My butterfly knife is not to be trifled with! We'll ruin his hands, turn him into a cripple, and then finish him off.

These were the most genuine thoughts that flickered through the minds of the Yamaguchi-gumi officers as they sneered.

Yet in the next instant, Wang Fan’s heavy, cultivated fists—perfection embodied in flesh—collided with several butterfly knives glinting with cold, ghostly light. A dull sound rang out as the blades struck Wang Fan’s fists, unable to even scratch his skin.

The bodyguards, gripping the knives, were stunned, staring in disbelief at their weapons.

They had swung with full force—were they using fake knives?

Such doubts crept in, and just as they wondered, Wang Fan’s fists, as if propelled by rockets, barreled forward with unstoppable might. His fists, as large as sandbags, smashed the stainless steel butterfly knives, snapping their blades. The momentum did not cease; his fists struck two bodyguards in the chest, sending them flying in an arc through the air before crashing to the ground, unable to rise.

As those two were thrown aside, the remaining bodyguards had already swung their butterfly knives at Wang Fan, the cold blades poised to slice his arms, as if to sever them from his body.

Wang Fan’s mocking smile deepened. He channeled vast energy into his hands and arms, reinforcing his perfected flesh to an even more terrifying strength. A dozen butterfly knives struck his arms, but though they left marks upon his skin, they failed to sever his limbs.

The bodyguards’ faces twisted in terror, unable to believe what they’d seen, stunned beyond comprehension.

They had never imagined that the body of a Huaguo cultivator could be so formidable, their full-force knife strikes utterly ineffective.

A dozen bodyguards were left in shock for half a second, and in that brief moment, the energy surged across Wang Fan’s arms. His skin trembled like a loom in motion, waves undulating violently, and the blades of the butterfly knives were gripped tightly between his flesh.

Wang Fan then swung his arms, unleashing tremendous force—so immense it was nearly a ton or two. With such strength, the bodyguards lost all control over their knives, each weapon flying from their grasp.

In that instant, Wang Fan transformed his hands into bowstrings, striking the airborne knives. The butterfly knives became instruments of death, each blow piercing a bodyguard fatally.

Within a single second, he struck a dozen times, his hands leaving only blurred afterimages in the air. After that second, all the bodyguards who had surrounded Wang Fan lay dead—some with their throats pierced, others with blades through their hearts or skulls.

The Yamaguchi-gumi bodyguards, who had wielded their butterfly knives with such flair, perished in that brief second. One by one, they collapsed, and Wang Fan, in the same instant, withdrew his hands from the air.

He then fixed his icy gaze upon a man standing before him—not just anyone, but Yamaguchi Taro, the brother of the Yamaguchi-gumi boss and the officer in charge of the Huaguo district.

Yamaguchi Taro was no longer the arrogant, domineering figure he had once been; now, he was consumed by dread and terror.

He looked at Wang Fan as if confronted by a demon.

In the span of a single second, a dozen elite Yamaguchi-gumi bodyguards had fallen. To Yamaguchi Taro, Wang Fan was no different from a demon incarnate.