Aren't masters like this supposed to only exist in martial arts movies? How is one standing right in front of us?
"Tiger, we can't beat him! Should we retreat?" one of the burly thugs asked, gritting his teeth as he looked at the bald leader with a worried expression.
"Retreat? What retreat! Get him, for fuck's sake!" the bald man ordered again.
At his command, the remaining forty or so men pulled Wolf Fang Clubs from their nearby cars. The clubs were half a meter long and covered in protruding spikes, looking utterly intimidating. A blow from one of them would mean either death or serious injury.
The bald man himself grabbed a Wolf Fang Club that was over a meter long and charged viciously at Qin Long.
"You're just a cripple! I refuse to believe that over seventy of us can't take you down!" he roared. "Aim for his damn leg!"
