Chapter 6: Tyrant Fist

Whitney was in her thirties, but her skin was crystal clear, flawless, and fair. She looked like she was only around twenty-five. As a master alchemist, she had unique methods of maintaining her beauty, leaving no traces of aging. "What are you looking at, kid? Let me see." Whitney reached out and took the scroll from Connor's hands. Whether because of Whitney's speed or because Connor was momentarily distracted, he didn't have time to react before the scroll was already in Whitney's hands. "It's a type of combat technique," Connor replied honestly, knowing he couldn't hide it. "Tyrant Fist?" Whitney exclaimed, a flash of shock appearing on her beautiful face. "Is this the legendary Tyrant Fist? And you have it?" Whitney seemed to have heard of the Tyrant Fist before, so Connor asked, "Ms. Spencer, do you know its origins?" "I've heard more than just rumors." Whitney handed the scroll back to Connor and then said with dissatisfaction, "Oh, right. I'm warning you. Don't call me 'Ms. Spencer'. Call me Whitney. Don't make me sound so old!" "Then, Ms… Whitney, can you tell me the origins of the Tyrant Fist? I've read many books that mention it, but none explain where it came from." Connor quickly corrected himself under Whitney's sharp gaze. Whitney sighed softly, patted Connor's head, and said wistfully, "I'm getting old. I can't compare to you young people anymore." "You're so beautiful—anyone who sees you would think you're only in your teens." Connor flattered her. Whitney extended her slender finger and tapped Connor's nose. "You're good at sweet talk." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "If we're talking about the Tyrant Fist, it's famous because it was created by Albert Yale, who was known as the number one expert a thousand years ago. It's an unrivaled combat technique." Connor gasped in surprise. He had read about the Tyrant Fist in many books, praising it highly. However, none of them mentioned its origins. He had assumed its background was extraordinary, but he hadn't expected it to be this shocking. Albert was the most outstanding expert from a thousand years ago. He was the strongest, undefeated warrior of all races and lands and his contributions to combat techniques made him most legendary. Albert was obsessed with combat techniques. It was said that nearly half of all combat techniques on the continent today were either created by him or related to his techniques. According to rumors, he was born passionate about researching and developing combat techniques. Over his lifetime, he created at least ten thousand techniques. Nearly half were recognized as top-tier techniques, and countless new techniques were derived from his works. "Albert created the Tyrant Fist in his later years. You should know what that means. It represents the essence of all the combat techniques he developed throughout his life." Whitney's tone carried a hint of admiration. "Ten years ago, the Tyrant Fist was discovered in the Transverse Mountain, causing a massive stir. The entire continent was drawn to it, and countless experts, including many King-level experts, rushed there. But in the end, the Tyrant Fist disappeared. No one knew whether someone had taken it or if it had been destroyed." She glanced at the scroll in Connor's hand. "I never expected that your father ended up obtaining it. Well, it makes sense. To strengthen the Shayle family, your father was once trained in a skill called Phantom Hands, specifically for collecting combat techniques. He must have used it to acquire this one." "How do you know that?" Connor asked in shock. The Phantom Hands technique was Quentin's secret. Not even the clan leader, Vincent, knew about it. Only Connor was aware of it. This was to prevent unnecessary trouble. Whitney smiled but didn't answer. Instead, she asked, "Why do you think I have been treating your father for three years?" "I think it's because my father is too charming." Connor grinned mischievously. "You wish!" Whitney knocked him on the head. "You little brat! It's because your father is my savior. Years ago, I was ambushed, and at the critical moment, your father happened to pass by. Initially, he had only planned to steal a high-level combat technique from my attacker, but he saved me in the process." Connor said, "That must be because you are too beautiful, which is why someone ambushed you." He glanced at Whitney's bust, slender waist that seemed too delicate to hold, curvaceous hips, and long, elegant legs. "No man could resist a figure like yours. It's understandable." "And what about you?" Whitney's enchanting eyes gleamed as she threw him a flirtatious look. Though she was already alluring, this deliberate action made Connor feel a burning fire in his heart. An uncontrollable reaction arose within him. "Umm, well… Whitney, you should check on my dad instead." Connor hurriedly changed the subject. Whitney glanced at his reaction and giggled. "Looks like you're all grown up." Her words made Connor even more embarrassed. When he saw the purity in Whitney's eyes, he felt relieved, though also a little disappointed. Whitney examined Quentin's body and said, "The Tyrant Fist may be just a combat technique, but since it embodies Albert's entire life's work, comprehending it won't be easy. Don't rush. Also, don't tell anyone about it. The Shayle family might be wiped out." "I understand." Connor nodded. After examining Quentin, Whitney smiled and said, "Your father's condition hasn't changed. I'll leave you some medicine. Apply it to his core nexus daily to ensure his battle energy doesn't dissipate." "Thank you, Whitney." Connor accepted the medicine. Quentin's condition had always remained the same—unconscious with signs of dissipating battle energy. Over the years, Whitney had been using medicine to prevent its loss while also researching ways to cure him. "No need to be polite with me. Besides, I'm just repaying a favor." Whitney patted Connor's head and then turned to leave. After sending Whitney off, Connor resumed studying the Tyrant Fist. He was much more careful this time, closing the door to prevent anyone from barging in. Although he had never practiced combat techniques, he understood them well. Upon close examination, he realized the Tyrant Fist wasn't just one technique. It was a fusion of several, possibly even dozens, of powerful techniques. Mastering it would be incredibly difficult. Moreover, a prerequisite for training in the Tyrant Fist was reaching the lower Advanced-level. This was still a long way for Connor, who had just begun cultivating battle energy. The battle energy ranks were: Novice, Intermediate, Advanced, Spirit-level, Soaring-level, Cloud-level, Transcendent-level, Earth-level, Rainbow-level, Saint-level, and King-level. Each rank was further divided into lower, middle, and upper levels. Connor hadn't even reached lower Novice-level yet. However, just having battle energy gave him great confidence. Looking at the Tyrant Fist, Connor, who had planned to rest, felt reinvigorated. He stood up and walked out. "Snow, let's continue training!" As soon as he left, a shadow flickered in the corner, revealing Whitney. She watched Connor leave and muttered, "That kid cultivated battle energy? He almost fooled me. Strange… Even I couldn't solve his physique problem. Who helped him?" She shook her head. "Forget it. I should focus on my duel with Yasmin."