Round 29: Shadow of the Mad City (Part 2)

“One hundred! Two hundred! Two hundred and fifty!”
Forty-seven delivered a series of heavy punches, striking the metal woman with relentless force—showing no mercy at all. The overwhelming power generated by his strikes created a terrifying pressure that somewhat restricted her swift movements. In fact, if she hadn’t possessed a body as strong as steel, those destructive blows alone would have torn her to shreds.
The metal woman rolled through the air as shiny fragments burst from her face and chest before being drawn back to her form-fitting armor. Even the force storm that had shaken the entire underground junkyard failed to dislodge even a single fragment.
Forty-seven ended his combo with a hook punch that detonated the air. The metal woman spun like a top in the air, cutting through waves of flying debris before finally crashing into a solid rock wall.
Forty-seven stood there, adjusting slightly. His steel-like muscles were composed of precise, intricate mechanisms—gears, axles, and sliding rods—all of which were fine-tuning to greater strength, drawing on an endless source of mysterious energy to manifest unstoppable, violent power…
The metal woman got back on her feet, half of her face shattered like an eggshell. This appearance added a strange, eerie beauty to her cold, striking looks, reminiscent of nuclear ruins under the sunset.
She showed no fear or hesitation. Just as Forty-seven had ignored his own wounds earlier, she completely ignored the severe damage to her face. Forty-seven charged forward like a train roaring toward its target, accompanied by a shrill whine that shook the cave. To counter his increasingly powerful punches, the metal woman accelerated even more, as if both her agility and his strength could increase indefinitely—causing chaotic, blue-white electrical patterns to appear around them, flashing in and out, as if the dark space around them were constantly breaking apart and reforming.
Dozens of flashes of metal tearing appeared on Forty-seven’s body at once, with the final attack sending a blinding beam through his skull. Spiral-shaped spikes from her fists pierced beneath his jaw and exited at the back of his head, acting like high-speed drills that created intense flames at both entry and exit points.
The light in Forty-seven’s eyes dimmed for a moment, but then burned even brighter—how could a heavyweight boxing match allow cheating with gloves?
He grabbed the woman’s wrist with one hand and pressed down on her shoulder with the other, simultaneously kicking her with his knee. After a brief struggle, she was pinned beneath him, one arm twisted into a knot. All the debris on the ground had been blown away, and now her head was buried deep in the solid rock, taking blow after blow. Forty-seven no longer cared about the rules of boxing, which also prohibited wrestling or knocking down opponents—he had turned this into an unrestricted fight.

The shattered rocks pressed against each other and spread outward. With 47’s relentless blows, ripples of jagged rock formations emerged one after another. Thick rock columns collapsed one after another, and more and more cracks appeared on the walls. The thunderous echoes continued without end. It was hard to imagine what would become of the port buildings on the ground and the metal woman bearing such heavy blows…

47 had already created a crater on the ground, as if caused by a meteor impact. He raised his hands, interlacing his fingers into a fist. The internal components in his body deformed and reconfigured, making his arms nearly twice as thick. By the time he was ready, the debris and dust that had fallen had buried his enemies beneath them, making them almost invisible.

But his decisive strike hadn’t yet been delivered. Just that brief pause was enough for the metal woman to recover from her struggle.

The cave was once again filled with star-like glimmers of light. Countless blades, glowing brilliantly, erupted like flowers, instantly enveloping the demonic 47 in a magnificent, enormous bloom.

Surrounded by the swirling starlight, 47 felt as if he were back on a space battlefield—though it fell short of the grandeur and beauty of real nebulae, it possessed a refined elegance, a kind of beauty in creation that was no less impressive.

Beauty always hid deadly danger. Long metal arms stretched in from all directions, each holding or wielding sharp weapons of various shapes.

For the first time, 47 adopted a purely defensive stance. The interconnected mechanisms throughout his body activated simultaneously, with armored slats emerging from within to replace his complex metal muscles. He had to defend himself; otherwise, he might be torn apart by this iron woman—which would be a huge problem.

Blades like starlight rained down, changing rapidly with each strike, aiming to inflict maximum damage at the most advantageous angles. Like true light, they were omnipresent, delivering countless cuts.

In just a few seconds, the swirling blades had carried out countless punctures and slashes.

47 was once again covered in wounds. His protective armor was riddled with cuts, most of which had penetrated. His joints were the main targets of the attacks and were the most damaged. His arms hung limp, and his head was tilted, as if paralyzed. The torrential attacks didn’t last long. Those metal arms disintegrated like illusions, leaving only one arm clinging to 47’s shoulder. The sea of blades swirling around reassembled into the body of its owner. All the light converged in those blue eyes. She raised her other hand, holding a pair of interlocked sawtooth blades rotating at high speed in opposite directions—it seemed she was determined to cut off 47’s precarious head.

“Hmph, Interdimensional Space?” 47 muttered, tilting his head as he looked at the metal woman, whose body was still partially scattered and unfinished.

The ground exploded. The moment the rotating blades descended, a sun-like column of fire erupted from 47’s right elbow. His fist was propelled upward like a rocket, then slammed into the metal woman’s body like an icebreaker crushing ice.

For a moment, it seemed as though time had stopped. 47 could clearly see the sharp teeth on the blade edges, which resembled pliers and scissors, interlocking tightly enough to cut through anything solid. The metal woman in front of him was forced to bend over due to 47’s punch to her abdomen, her face almost touching the tip of his nose. 47 could even see a deep red in her blue eyes—his own eyes—and he believed she could see the star-like blue in his eyes as well.

His right arm was transforming into a combat suit. Every movement of the spokes, every rotation of the gears, every change in the components was crystal clear. At the same time, he could sense that “power” had separated from those moving levers and axles to become an independent entity, surging out through every crack and pouring into the enemy’s body through his newly formed fist, unstoppable, as if it were an extension of himself. Even her body structure flashed into his mind like lightning, vanishing in an instant.

The power detached from 47 then erupted. After spreading and exploding, it took on a tangible form—a swirling cloud of lightning and fire. The energy that entered the metal woman’s body exploded, sending her flying high like a kite with a broken string, straight into the cave ceiling, triggering an even larger explosion. The blade armor on her body spread out like petals again, embedding itself in the rock walls to channel the violent force storm within her outward. Her graceful and perfect body was visible for a moment before being submerged in a waterfall of burning debris.

“Military Killing Fist!” 47 tilted his head, allowing the collapsing cave to engulf him. Amidst the torrent of falling rocks, his voice came again: “Or… Heavenly Fire Explosion Fist?”

Xinbu stood on the roof of a three-story building that had already tilted. Before she could decide whether to enter the underground caves of Deep Flow City to investigate firsthand, the building collapsed. The immense force rushing upward completely shattered its structure. Not only her building but an entire block collapsed. All the buildings that had barely held up during the previous shock crumbled, and those that had already fallen sank along with the ground. Dust and smoke billowed up, turning the area into a pot of highly boiling porridge in Xinbu’s eyes floating in midair. Fortunately, everyone had fled when the first ground tremor occurred; otherwise, the casualties would have been even worse.

Absolute destructive power. Although the disturbance of the magic web hadn’t happened again, Xinbu knew well that few spells, even among those of destruction, could achieve such effects. Someone was fighting down there—who could it be?

A figure flying out of the dust not far away caught the Storm Queen’s attention. The figure was extremely fast—so fast that Xinbu could only catch a glimpse of its star-like blue color. But Xinbu could sense that the figure had glanced at her, and just that brief moment of gaze made the magic power within her pulse.

The air around Xinbu twisted slightly, flashing like something pure and silver-bright burning before vanishing instantly. She followed the direction the figure had gone, not even caring whether there were still people beneath this collapsed neighborhood.

After she left, the place became eerily quiet. There was a rare sense of tranquility in these ruined ruins, like a backyard often used by noble youths for dates—though not a single flower was in sight.

This silence was soon broken. A hand covered in razor-thin layers of iron armor emerged from the rubble, reminiscent of the zombie scenes in the third-rate horror movies 47 had seen. Its five fingers, like five pythons, writhed in different poses, emitting creaking sounds—a truly terrifying sight for a hand. As it moved, the armor on the hand kept changing, and by the time it finally formed into a fist, it somewhat resembled a human hand.

More steel-bodied figures were gradually pulled out of the ground by this hand, undergoing the same complex, twisted reconfiguration. By the time 47 finally climbed out, he looked brand new, as if just out of the factory.

Yet 47 knew he had actually suffered considerable damage. After taking so many hits, it was impossible to remain unharmed—a feeling akin to “exhaustion” struck him for the first time. But it didn’t matter. He moved around a bit, guessing that the Iron Virgin in the tree hole couldn’t be much stronger than him, perhaps even more injured. As he walked up the slope, an abundant energy, seemingly coming from nowhere, seeped into his body, just like water flowing downhill or air rising when heated.

Since he felt this way, so must the other party as well. 47’s head turned with a click, and an excited smile appeared on his face—he was already looking forward to their next encounter.

Standing at the edge of the ruins, 47 pondered whether to wait for Moriel to come to him or head back to the Red Robe Mage’s stronghold to wait for them—the dwarf woman had quite a few valuable items there.

“May I ask you a question?” Suddenly, without warning, a cold, emotionless voice came from behind him, seemingly stirring the already frigid air.

Hm? I didn’t even notice anyone there. 47 turned and saw a person emerging from the shadow of a half-destroyed house. Beyond this fortunate building, the surrounding structures had mostly survived after being ravaged by 47.

It was a female paladin, also wielding two giant swords and dressed in silver-white chain armor, but one he had never seen before. She had short, masculine hair, a valiant appearance, and silver-white eyes similar to those of night elves, fixed on 47 yet seemingly not really seeing him.

“Didn’t your mother teach you to look at people when you talk to them, Silver-Eyed Witch?” 47 repeated Moriel’s words to accuse her.

The female holy warrior showed not the slightest sign of anger at being called a witch. Her silver-white eyes remained fixed on 47; upon closer inspection, they weren’t entirely white—just their iris was so pale that it was hard to distinguish it from the mercury-like sclera. She looked at 47 as if he were a corpse, or rather, in her eyes, 47 was no different from anything around him.

This wasn’t the reaction of a holy knight.

“Who are you?” The silver-eyed holy warrior’s question lacked any tact, her tone as cold as ice—typical of a holy warrior.

“A person from the Abyss. And who are you?” Expecting no answer, 47 turned and walked away, maliciously speculating about what she would become after awakening—would she turn into a mess?

“A holy knight of the Dawn Knight Order, Jane Fonda.” The female holy warrior remained expressionless but replied promptly. Hearing her footsteps, she had already caught up. Her indifferent attitude, combined with her clingy behavior and icy expression, was utterly uninteresting. She didn’t resemble the holy warriors 47 had encountered at all; she seemed like a debt collector. If it weren’t for the old holy warrior Anton sleeping in the Forest of Slumber, who gave 47 some fondness for holy warriors, he would have at least refused to engage in direct conflict with them. Perhaps he would have turned around and kicked her.

“Who are you? What’s going on here? Does it have anything to do with you?” 47 quickened his pace, but whether due to being exhausted from fighting the Iron Virgin for three hundred rounds or something else, Jane managed to keep up beside him. She didn’t seem fast, yet 47 couldn’t shake her off—running? That would be too humiliating.

“Little girl, don’t meddle in adults’ affairs. Go home and go to bed.” 47 reached out to push Jane away, who was walking alongside him. This was a dangerous move for her—with just a little force, the female holy warrior might be flung aside. But whether this Jane was foolish or calm, she showed no fear. After being pushed two steps back, she continued following behind, just out of reach, like a thoughtless doll.

“Are you looking for trouble?” 47 stopped and turned to stare at her, his tone now clearly impatient—Having dealt with Mr. Interdimensional, was he really afraid of some little swordswoman?

“As a suspect in this serious incident in the port area, I must follow you until you’re willing to cooperate.” Jane also stopped, completely ignoring 47’s murderous aura—perhaps it froze her even before she reached him.

“Great, it was me! Come on, arrest me! Tomorrow I’m going to set this wretched city on fire with a massive incendiary bomb and smother all of you chestless, brainless idiots!” 47 clapped his hands. Since this silly girl from the Dawn Knight Order refused to stay in the Glorious Temple to learn sewing and embroidery, he had to teach her a lesson—well, throw her into the sea; maybe she could skate on the water by tomorrow.

“Lying and threatening won’t earn you respect, strange warrior.” Jane stared at Forty-Seven, though her vacant gaze could just as well have passed through him and focused on some void behind him. “Tell me your name so I can find you.”
“You forgot to say ‘please,’ Jane Fonda, beautiful lady, defender of justice, flower of Deepflow City, pride of the North…” Forty-Seven tried to say more, but was interrupted by Jane.
“Please.”
Damn it, why do I keep running into crazy women tonight!
“Alright, alright. My name is Forty-Seven. Now turn around and stop following me!”
“Forty-Seven?” Hearing this name, Jane finally showed a slight reaction—like a gust of cold wind blowing over ice; it remained cold no matter what. “No wonder I couldn’t sense you… It’s you. I heard your name from a friend.”
“Ha, I hope he’s still alive.”
“Milia,” Jane continued, stepping forward. The wind she created seemed even colder than the air on a cold night, but Forty-Seven was insensitive to it. “She has a high opinion of you.”
“Come with me,” Jane said, walking ahead without caring whether Forty-Seven would follow. “Tonight, the Dawn Knights and Deepflow City’s army are joining forces to clean up the docks and strike at the forces of the Shirek Church… Drug trafficking must be banned, but causing such chaos is really not worth it.”
There was noise coming this way, and Forty-Seven could already see the flickering of torches.
He curled his lips and headed in another direction. After taking a few steps, he turned back—damn it, Jane was following again! Whatever… If she wants to follow, let her. I’ll go home first.