Rising from the Ashes (Andrew) novel Chapter 1832

Just as Andrew had predicted, Joseph went in with a full-on blitz from the very first move. His fists tore through the air with relentless speed, launching a brutal offensive on all sides of Zachary.

As a practitioner of physical techniques in martial arts, Joseph's greatest advantage was his explosive, fast-paced assault.

Zachary clenched his jaw and stayed rooted, holding his ground with steady footwork. Whenever he was about to get overwhelmed, he took a step back. However, the moment he saw an opening, he reclaimed his position without fail.

Joseph's expression remained cold. "Is that all you've got? Just standing there and taking hits? A pathetic approach to martial arts will only lead to a pathetic end!"

With a sharp battle cry, his muscles bulged visibly. Then, he slammed a punch straight at Zachary's face.

Zachary crossed his arms to block, but it was useless. A wave of pain shot through his entire body, like his meridians were splitting open. He staggered two steps back and had just enough time to raise his arms again before Joseph's next blow came crashing down like a storm.

With a loud tear, Zachary's sleeve burst open, revealing a bloodied arm with mangled flesh.

A collective gasp rippled through the audience below.

Someone cheered, "Joseph really lives up to the hype!"

"That's the Yeagers' Eighteen Avalanche Blows! Every punch hits like a freight train!"

"Zachary's already starting to fall apart. Joseph's got this in the bag!"

From the other side of the hall, Matthew's booming laughter echoed proudly. He was absolutely glowing with pride. After all, his son was dominating, and as far as he was concerned, that made him look just as good.

Meanwhile, Andrew stood calmly among the crowd, blending in. His face carried none of the tension others had, just a hint of boredom and mild amusement.

Just then, Joseph landed another brutal punch, swinging recklessly at Zachary's arm.

Flesh tore open, and bone nearly showed beneath the blood. Sweat dripped from Zachary's forehead like rain, but his eyes never wavered.

Andrew had taught him one word: endure. However, it did not mean taking hits without fighting back. It meant resisting the urge to clash head-on during a storm of attacks.

Just like in war: when the enemy's blade is at its sharpest, you avoid it.

Then, when that edge dulls and the momentum fades, that is when you strike.

Joseph's breathing started to hitch, his chest rising and falling with effort. He was clearly growing frustrated and growled, "What are you, a coward? Don't you even know how to fight back?"