Chapter 68: Where Is the Promised Reinforcement?

Bang!
Clap, clap, clap!
Duang!
Huff, huff!
All sorts of strange sounds filled Erica’s ears, almost making her want to cover them halfway.
I want to listen, I want to listen.
She stood with her arms crossed against the door, watching the two men locked in close combat, finding it more thrilling than watching two women wrestle in bed.
Matt was nothing special—young, brimming with masculine energy and excess hormones, his stamina as enduring as his remaining years; one minute felt like a year, and she was probably the only woman in the world who knew this.
But Stick—so old, yet still so persistent?
Who would have guessed?
Ten minutes had already passed!
One was young and strong, the other experienced and cunning.
Unable to rely on physical prowess, the elder could only use skill and experience to compete.
Master and apprentice exchanged blows, fists and feet flying, fighting with abandon.
Since it wasn't a life-or-death struggle, they didn’t use their signature weapons—the blind man’s cane and the long stick—which made it all the more interesting.
The more Erica watched, the more astonished she became.
Matt was much stronger than before!
His strength had grown, his speed had increased, his reflexes had sharpened, and his endurance was remarkable—though clearly lacking in real combat experience, a novice in that regard.
Despite having the advantage in every aspect, he was being schooled by Stick.
A man in his twenties losing to a grandfather of at least seventy—how disgraceful.
Of course, Matt was still formidable.
If it were a “friendly” contest like this, she knew she wouldn’t be a match for Matt, just as in bed.
But in a fight to the death?
No, never.
She would never harm Matt, not ever!

Bang!
Huff, huff!
Ah!
With a dull thud, Matt lay on the ground, gasping for breath.
“Can’t even beat an old man, Matt. It seems leaving you was the right decision,” Stick snorted and extended his left hand.
Matt followed suit, clasped hands, and used the leverage to get up. “So you found another apprentice? And a female one at that?”
“Erica is much better than you.”
Stick replied calmly, “She doesn’t have your weaknesses, and she never regards me as a father. When it’s time to kill, she never hesitates.”
“If that’s the case, you two can go.”

Matt’s breathing was heavy but quickly settled. “Keep training her. Don’t come looking for me.”
Stick said, “It’s because you have too many weaknesses and have made so many foolish decisions that I returned—to help you correct them. Forget the law you studied, pick up your weapon. Mercy and hesitation toward your enemies will only get more people killed.”
Matt thought of the man who killed his father.
Years ago, Erica had caught the killer and told him to take revenge.
He hadn’t; he handed the murderer to the police.
Ideological differences, amicable parting.
Matt snorted, “Go on, what happened?”
One was an ex-girlfriend, the other a master who felt like his father; he couldn’t just stand by.
Stick and Erica gave him the same feeling—a sense of death.
They were both threatened with death.
What kind of gang could threaten them?
A diplomat’s daughter and a mysterious elder with too many secrets?

“The Hand—an organization that threatens all of humanity, a shameful band of thieves and traitors.”
Stick’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Now, they’re after me, and they’re after Erica.”

...

An hour later.

“Sounds like something out of a Hollywood movie, or an early twentieth-century superhero comic,” Matt leaned against the window, speaking coolly.
Stick said, “You know I’m telling the truth.”
Matt’s lips twisted in a cold smile. “I’m not sure.”
Though he said that, he believed it.
Stick had no reason to lie to him.
The problem was, the story was awfully clichéd.
A place not of this earth, existing in some extra dimension—K’un-Lun?
A divine beast guarding K’un-Lun, a strange dragon named ‘Shou Lao’?
Inheriting the power of Shou Lao, the immortal Iron Fist passed down through generations?
Five traitors who stole the dragon’s bones?
Immortality, resurrection?
The ‘Pure Ones’ always opposing The Hand?
According to Stick, The Hand was formidable, even more so than the Italian Mafia.
Madame Gao, slain by the “Iron Fist,” had been one of the leaders of such an enormous organization.
More importantly, that seemingly lazy ‘Master Wang,’ who lounged all day basking in sunlight—he actually had such a background?
And such a man had his sights set on him.
Though he was past the age of childish fantasies, Matt couldn’t help but feel a bit of anticipation:

Could it be that ‘Master Wang’ had taken a fancy to him, wanting to make him his apprentice and successor to the Iron Fist?
But Master Wang seemed a bit too young—even younger than himself…

“The Iron Fist has appeared.”
Stick, despite his age, was as excited as a young man. “The Pure Ones follow K’un-Lun’s elders and the immortal Iron Fist. But for decades, we’ve never seen Iron Fist, lost contact with K’un-Lun. Now he’s left K’un-Lun and come to New York! He must be here to cleanse his house. I must find him and lead the Pure Ones to follow him!”

So, should I assume you’re just wishfully thinking? Iron Fist might not even know you exist… Matt mused inwardly.

Stick’s heart raced, his breathing quickened, and even the blood flow in his face surged.
He’d seen this reaction many times before.
Those star-struck girls, or boys chasing after girls, all acted the same way.
If a young man under twenty idolized a master like Stick, it would be understandable—admiration for the master.
But for Stick to idolize Master Wang this way… honestly, it felt rather discordant.

“I’ll help you—and you, Erica.”
Matt thought for a moment, deciding not to tell Stick that ‘Master Wang is the immortal Iron Fist.’
That was a secret.
Unless Master Wang allowed it, he wouldn’t divulge it.
But since the Pure Ones belonged to Iron Fist, to Master Wang, he decided to find an opportunity to inform Master Wang.
Master Wang, like the Pure Ones, was fighting The Hand, and he wouldn’t refuse such an ally.

“How many Pure Ones are left… Careful!”
Matt suddenly lowered his voice, pointing outside.
He heard something different.
Extremely faint footsteps, heartbeats, and breathing—someone was deliberately concealing their presence and had undergone professional training. Formidable opponents.

“They’re here.”
Though Stick lacked Matt’s extraordinary gifts, being blind had sharpened his senses beyond ordinary people, and he too sensed the looming danger.

Matt listened intently. “At least fifty men, each with guns—and knives, Japanese swords it seems. One among them is the strongest; his heartbeat is powerful, stronger than yours, just as strong as mine!”

Stick’s face changed slightly. “Yamaguchi-gumi ninjas—the world’s finest! It’s Shin, Shin Yoshioka, Murakami’s apprentice!”

Matt grabbed the blind man’s cane. “Quick, notify your Pure Ones—have them come as reinforcements! With so many men, and guns, we can’t win!”

No matter how skilled, a master fears the kitchen knife.
A kung fu master who has cultivated ‘chi’ might not be afraid, but he was.
No matter how sharp his senses, bullets could not be dodged; his mind might keep up, but his body could not, like a novelist brimming with ideas—twenty thousand words a day in imagination, but only able to write two thousand because the fingers are too slow.

At least fifty of the world’s best ninjas, armed, prepared—Matt felt overwhelmed.

“…There’s no one left.”
Stick’s mouth twitched. “In New York, the Pure Ones are only Erica and me.”