CHAPTER 1128: SECTION 700: THE OATH (PART 4)_2

After all, compared to Malin’s team, the young people he chose were as helpless as goblins.

So, since someone as powerful as Malin said he would take people inside, the Sage was more than happy to feel reassured.

When Konen was mentioned, Malin turned to look at Konen—this kid was completely out of place at human banquets, and the guests didn’t know how to converse with him—judging by appearance, this kid was a standard zombie, but the problem was, he clearly understood human speech.

He didn’t speak human language very accurately, and Thainan’s tone of speech left him quite helpless.

Malin waved at him to come over, this kid who was wrestling with a big pork knuckle, then introduced him to the Sage.

Upon hearing that he was the son of the biochemical leader from the extreme East of Westland and the child of Malin’s father’s apprentice, the Sage conversed with him in Westland language and finally stated that the kid understood Thainan, English, Spanish, and Greek.

Thainan and English should be understandable to all biochemists and zombies—you see, if humans had to teach their creations to speak, that’d be ridiculous.

Of course, it’s normal that Konen can understand but not speak very well, considering that in his homeland, few people speak Thainan.

As for Spanish... although it had disappeared, there were still quite a few towns using Spanish in the eastern regions of Sydney. In other places, there might be some lost Spanish descendants; perhaps Konen’s mother was one of them.

Regarding Greek, this was unexpected for Malin, who previously thought those biochemists seemed like the Russian type, not products of a Greek biochemical factory.

Finding out Konen understood Thainan, the Sage showed a keen interest in the young man, even stating that if Malin stays, he would be willing to teach Konen when he returns.

Malin was also happy for Konen to learn more about Thainan culture.

Knowing Konen understood Thainan, and finding out he was regarded as Malin’s apprentice, some young people eagerly jumped out—saying they wanted to have a bout with Konen.

It was agreed that both sides would only use sticks. Malin let Konen choose, and the kid picked an ironwood long stick, the kind with natural wood knots at the end.

Malin eventually used the World Tree Sapling to transform into the same type—using the World Tree Sapling on ordinary people would at least not casually break little bones.

Then facing a boy, Konen’s first stick swept the boy along with the stick out of the courtyard.

Malin watched as the World Tree Sapling first broke the stick in Konen’s hand, then hit the boy on the head, and saw the head deform; had it not been for the properties of the sapling aligning with the boy’s faction, Malin feared he would have to piece that boy’s head back together.

Anyway, Konen’s strength reminded Malin of himself years ago, roughly the same, a hit deal.

These kids seemed unafraid of death; among them, a few even had strength comparable to Konen’s, but once Konen let loose, they still lost in power—so-called one force defeats ten skills, at his age, Konen could be called Truth.

But Konen wasn’t undefeated; two particularly fast ones managed to circle to Konen’s weak side—that is, his left side, using sticks to hit Konen’s ribs, which in actual combat would be a deadly strike.

The kids finished fighting, and Malin was about to grab some buffet snacks, but he couldn’t resist someone seeking him out for a bare-knuckle fight.

In other words, an unarmed combat.

"Who is this?" Looking at the bald strongman before him, Malin asked the Sage.

"The chief martial artist of the Martial Monk Tower, knows your identity and wants to test his limit." The Sage explained.

Since he knew and still wanted to challenge himself, Malin softened his expression considerably.

Entering the field, Malin clasped his hands and raised his left hand with a smile: "Since you know my identity, I’ll let you have one punch, just one punch."

"Thank you so much." After the middle-aged man spoke, the joy on his face was replaced by seriousness.

He assumed a stance, held back for a minute, then punched Malin’s palm.

Honestly, the force was strong, Malin almost wanted to step back to relieve it, but considering his status as True Lord, retreating now would look bad, so he didn’t move, merely let the force transmit via his arm to his back.

Then the punch’s energy traversed to Malin’s shoulder and exited through his body.

"Thank you." Retracting his fist, the martial artist chief clasped his hands in gratitude.

Malin was about to return the gesture when he heard a cry behind him, he turned to see a boy from who knows where collapsing straight to the ground, spraying two feet of nosebleed along the way.

"That strength just now..."

"You punched the strength in, I channeled it out..."

The embarrassment on the faces of the martial artist chief and Malin was visibly perceptible, seeing the boy’s breath more out than in, Malin had to pull out a bottle of World Tree Fruit Extract to save him.

The person was saved, and the atmosphere immediately became lively—the uninformed felt they watched a great spectacle, seeing the battle between legends, the visitor from Westland managing to direct the infused energy of the Martial Monk Tower chief outward, injuring another in the process, proving both were genuine powerhouses.

The knowledgeable were terrified—besides what the uninformed saw, they noticed Malin’s elixir, and High-Rank Transcendents recognized it at a glance, knowing its value.

No need to mention, when the banquet just began, Malin took out a box filled with this stuff, saying it was a prestigious gift for Meng Quyi’s grandmother.

At that time, they couldn’t see clearly, now they did, their scalps tingled—this divine medicine, capable of saving someone with even a breath left, wasn’t abundant, even for wealthy families.

......

Earlier, after accepting the box Malin handed over, the Meng family’s third son was now trembling with both hands.

How many bottles were in that box just now?

It seemed like two layers, at least forty-eight bottles?

Forty-eight bottles of elixir-grade existence; if he had slipped just now, the cost of that fall would have been enough for his mother to kill him several times over.

Thinking of this, he turned to glance at the wife who had previously given him bad advice, and the woman had almost buried her head in her chest. Noticing her husband’s silent reproach, she lowered her head even further.

"Old Three, luckily your hand didn’t shake just now." Their mother uttered some eerie, pleasure-driven remarks from behind.

"Nonsense, mother, you’re joking, that was a fine match prepared by Quyi for your dowry, even if I fell to my death, they wouldn’t suffer any harm." Finishing, the Meng third son sighed inwardly—fortunately, he hadn’t listened to his unwise wife, or he’d be doomed this time.

He was still sighing here when a burst of crackling suddenly sounded from the hall, then a cat ran out—with the box lid over its head.

The elderly lady extended a hand, intending to strangle the cat with Psychic Palm.

Malin, smiling, reached out, grabbed the cat into his arms, then raised his free hand, re-sealing the spilled bottles.

"Nothing broke, great-grandmother, let’s not be too harsh on a little creature," Malin suggested with a smile.

This statement made the elderly lady laugh: "Indeed, let’s handle it as you suggest, but this little rascal is too daring, needs to be hung up and punished."

"You’re right, a bit of physical suffering is inevitable." Malin’s smile widened.

At the same time, he looked at the little girl trembling like a quail in the distance.

You want to stand up for your brother, you’re a good sister, but you’re not a good child.

Some physical suffering, I can’t help you with that, silly child.