Dragon Bone Seal

(Still censored? Fine, Chapter 88 was censored because of two characters. The first was "Beast," and the second was "abuse"…)

The thick earth cut off the inside from the outside, forming a natural barrier.

Sounds from outside came through like Wi-Fi passing through three walls, weakened to the extreme. Ordinary people simply could not hear them.

But Old Wang could.

He had heard countless bed quakes, ship quakes, earth quakes, aerial quakes, and cloud quakes in World of Warcraft. Over the past eighteen years, he had also heard similar sounds in different languages. While becoming a language expert, he had long trained his hearing to the point where he could hear flowers bloom and snow fall, blood flow and hearts beat.

A month ago, aside from his eyesight, his other four senses might not have measured up to Daredevil Matt’s. But today, after a month of nourishment from lovely young ladies’ essence, his skin had become softer, fairer, and smoother. His cultivation had recovered to its early previous-life level, and his five senses were no weaker than Matt’s.

But if he could see with his own eyes, why bother listening through a wall?

What the eyes saw might not be real, but what the ears heard was even more likely to be false.

More importantly, of his six senses—sight, hearing, smell, taste, touch, and thought—his hearing was actually the weakest.

His strongest sense was naturally not his eyesight.

Seeing at the soul level did not rely on vision at all.

The body truly existed; it was matter. The soul was illusory; it was energy.

The thick layer of earth was a prison blasted into existence, but it was also the best shelter for the body.

Old Wang used Soul Split and Zen Pilgrimage. The two skills had originally been one. Back then, to let those useless adventurers use them, he had split the technique of soul projection and dual soul-body control into two, simplifying it while also weakening it as necessary.

Now that the two had merged back into one, Old Wang controlled True Qi to protect his body from harm while sending his soul out of his body, passing through the walls and earthen barrier.

He "saw" everything.

He "heard" everything.

He sensed everything.

"Huh, it’s pretty lively… Is this an internal conflict?"

This was a huge space, roughly the size of a basketball court. Supports and beams held up the ceiling everywhere, while four groups stood in separate positions.

Closest to the entrance were around twenty Black men, holding equally black submachine guns and shotguns, with shoulder-fired rocket launchers or grenade launchers. In the dim light, they blended into their surroundings, as hard to make out as Egghead.

To their left were roughly the same number of Japanese people in black clothes, holding Japanese swords forged from refined steel, pistols hanging at their waists.

On the right were more white people, dressed in white, every one of them carrying a sword.

At the back were more than fifty white people in suits, every one of them armed with a gun.

Each group had a leader. They were the four Fingers of the Hand:

The dark-skinned, curly-haired African warlord Sowande; the swordsmanship master Bokuto, whose face always wore a smile; Murakami, the top ninja whose expression was as cold as Bokuto’s was warm; and Alexandra, the dignified and elegant lady of high society.

They stood far apart from one another, clearly on guard.

And behind them all stood a wall.

More precisely, it was an enormous stone prison, over a hundred meters long and wide and more than thirty meters tall. The surrounding area had been cleared, making it look like a giant stone cube—the world’s largest coffin.

Every wall was carved with dense, intricate writing.

It was a kind of pictograph Old Wang did not recognize at all. It looked somewhat similar to ancient traditional Chinese characters, resembling the oldest oracle bone script: abstract representations of concrete things. But their meanings were clearly different—

They were K’un-Lun writing, and even more so, K’un-Lun runes.

Every rune contained immense energy. It was a rather special kind of Qi, one Old Wang had never seen before. It gave ordinary runes an incredible power, somewhat similar to inscriptions and spell runes in World of Warcraft.

Together, all the runes turned this huge stone prison into a seal.

A seal for the Dragon Bone.

Only the power of the Iron Fist could open it.

The ground was littered with traces of explosions. The shallow earthquake from several hours ago had clearly been caused by the blasts, yet explosions of that intensity had failed to damage the stone prison even a little. Its sturdiness was obvious.

"Impressive," Old Wang sighed.

His powerful spirit allowed him to easily sense the immense energy contained in the stone prison. It far surpassed Pandaren Brewmaster Old Chen and Vomiting Blood Sect Leader Taran Zhu. Even compared to himself at his peak, it was only three to five levels lower.

More importantly, the stone prison was not independent.

No matter how powerful a seal was, it would gradually weaken under the erosion of time.

Perhaps hundreds or thousands of years had passed, yet the stone prison remained sturdy because it had always received a supply of energy—from within, from the sealed Dragon Bone.

The stone prison and the Dragon Bone formed a single whole.

To forcibly break the stone prison meant forcibly overcoming the combined power of that generation’s Iron Fist and the Dragon Bone.

This was absolutely beyond ordinary people and ordinary bombs. Even Super Heroes who were not particularly powerful could never accomplish it.

Such an enormous Dragon Bone meant this divine dragon from K’un-Lun must have lived for hundreds or thousands of years before its death. The accumulation of a thousand years was not something the likes of Danny Rand could defeat. A thousand Dannys would not be enough.

"No wonder they need the Iron Fist…"

The Iron Fist was a key, a password.

Even a key carved from wood could open the seal, as long as it fit.

Old Wang even suspected that the sealed Dragon Bone had most likely been prepared by a previous Iron Fist—or rather, by K’un-Lun’s elders—for future Iron Fists.

"Black Sky isn’t here?"

Old Wang scanned the area but did not find the teenage boy S.H.I.E.L.D. had investigated, another Black Sky besides Elektra.

"Could he be upstairs? Could Black Sky… be personally taking part in the slaughter?"

Old Wang frowned slightly, then decided not to worry about it.

The four Fingers, four kung fu masters who had mastered Qi—each possessed roughly the strength of a single widow. Together, they even qualified to challenge the Defenders.

That was nothing.

The issue was the more than one hundred elite fighters with swords, blades, and guns.

That was nothing either.

To a Grandmaster who had recovered one percent of his True Qi, it was merely the difference between soloing the Deadmines after graduating from Black Temple and soloing Scarlet Monastery.

There was only one enemy he truly feared:

Black Sky.

In the television series, the newly resurrected Black Sky Elektra had beaten the Defenders senseless all by herself. A certain weakest Iron Fist was completely no match for her.

Yet Black Sky was not here.

Old Wang thought seriously for two seconds, drifted behind one of the Black men, and gently blew out a breath.

With two loops of chain wrapped around his body, Robbie followed Skye’s directions and headed alone toward a certain sewer.

Although the Spirit of Vengeance strongly objected—how could the mighty Ghost Rider crawl through sewers like a little rat?—Robbie, who had learned meditation from Old Wang, had already embarked on the path of spiritual cultivation—

By comparison, Ghost Rider and Death Knight were not alike. Instead, Ghost Rider was somewhat similar to a warlock. Both could borrow the power of other evil beings, but whether they controlled that power or were controlled by it depended on their own efforts.

While the Spirit of Vengeance was not yet powerful enough, Robbie held the dominant position due to his connection to his physical body.

However, just as he reached the sewer entrance, Skye’s voice came through his earpiece:

"Robbie, get to the upper floors of the building! Black Sky is upstairs. Agent Romanoff got beaten badly, and Matt and the others are about to collapse!"

"Beast’s target is Elektra! She’s more suitable than that teenage boy as Beast’s vessel. She’s more mature, healthier, stronger, and wilder!"

"Beast has already killed quite a few people and accumulated a lot of power. Once it abandons its current vessel and takes over Elektra’s body, New York will face a massive slaughter!"

The moment he heard that, the Spirit of Vengeance’s voice immediately rang out in Robbie’s mind. "Listen to me, kid. We can’t beat Beast right now. China has a saying: ‘A gentleman’s revenge can wait ten years.’ I think we should hide somewhere first. I’ll take you to judge evil, and once we’ve killed a few thousand, maybe tens of thousands of people, we can come back and settle the score with Beast!"

Robbie stopped short. "You speak Chinese too?"

The Spirit of Vengeance chuckled. "Of course! I’ve lived for hundreds of millions of years. I know every language on Earth—at least several thousand if you count dialects…"

Robbie snorted and quickened his pace. "You count as a gentleman?"

The Spirit of Vengeance froze.

It suddenly felt incomparably irritated.

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