Iron Fist Is Here?

"Looks like… I was a little off?"

Another flash of magical light flickered, and a slightly chubby figure suddenly appeared in midair.

He dropped like a cannonball, kicking up dust everywhere. Old Wang took out his phone, opened the map, and recalibrated his location. He was still less than a hundred kilometers from the spot Skye had indicated.

Teleportation carried risks. Use with caution.

If Jaina had come personally to cast the spell, there probably would not have been any problem.

But Old Wang was only borrowing it. Azeroth Miss made a profit as the middleman. Although the quality was guaranteed, logistics issues were unavoidable. The last mile was not necessarily delivered precisely, and slight deviations were inevitable. He could not ask for too much.

On the scale of several thousand kilometers, a few dozen kilometers could only be considered an "extremely minor" deviation.

"Hope I make it in time."

There was no need to use Teleportation over a distance of just a few dozen kilometers. Azeroth Blood was too expensive. Old Wang narrowed his eyes against the wind and stood with his hands behind his back.

Soul Projection!

Soul Split was constrained by both body and soul. The time the soul could remain outside the body was limited, but it certainly would not be as short as fifteen minutes.

A real man had to last. Even if his strength had only recovered to one percent of its peak from his previous life, holding on for several hours would not be a problem.

Although this world lacked the guidance and protection of the Mists of Pandaria, preventing him from instantly moving thousands or tens of thousands of kilometers away, the speed of the soul was unrestricted by space. With its weight being nearly zero, it was far faster than an eagle or cheetah.

Perhaps it was not as miraculous as the immortals of ancient legend, but roaming the Northern Sea by morning and Mount Cangwu by evening was no challenge.

In fact, the pinnacle of a Monk might have been the "Earthly Immortal" of myth and legend.

Shaohao, the last Pandaren emperor, had summoned the Mists of Pandaria, healing more than a tenth of Azeroth’s land and living beings in one go. His Human Weapon was truly an unrivaled heavenly breast, so how was he any different from an immortal?

Such milk belonged only in heaven; how many times could mortals ever taste it?

Although Old Wang’s body was far inferior to what it had been in his previous life, even inferior to Shaohao’s, his soul was stronger than Shaohao’s after he had holed up for tens of thousands of years. Even burdened by a frail body, he could still roam dozens of kilometers in just a few minutes.

The continuous sounds of battle drew closer and closer. Heroes always arrived at the final moment.

The timing was just right.

"May, it looks like we’re going to die here."

Hiding inside the Quinjet and breathing in the choking smell of smoke and gunpowder, Coulson had no time to worry about how much the several-hundred-million-dollar hunk of metal might sell for, or whether the Director would be heartbroken. His own life seemed about to end.

Crossbones was actually working with the Winter Soldier!

Five minutes earlier, the Quinjet had rushed here at full speed. They had barely arrived in time to witness the S.H.I.E.L.D. Rapid Response Special Forces pursuing the Winter Soldier. The Winter Soldier, who had been fleeing in haste, seemed badly injured and had been forced into a corner of an abandoned school. Coulson had immediately ordered support.

Crossbones had given a live report through the earpiece. The Winter Soldier’s mechanical arm had been hit by a sniper and blasted by a high-explosive grenade. It was already ruined, and his strength had fallen far below its former level. His threat rating had dropped by at least 2.0. The incident had instantly gone from Level 5 to Level 4, completely manageable.

Yet who could have expected that the moment the Quinjet emerged from stealth and revealed itself, it would be hit by a missile and forced into an emergency landing?

Nearly half the agents they had brought were dead.

Even May, who had been piloting the aircraft, was seriously injured.

With no other choice, they could only take cover in the Quinjet’s wreckage and hold them off.

More terrifyingly, the enemy had clearly planned this in advance. All signals had been jammed. They could not even send a text message or voice message.

That meant that even after killing all of them, Crossbones could still swagger back to S.H.I.E.L.D. and continue hiding there.

The Director was in danger now. S.H.I.E.L.D. was finished!

"Don’t give up, Phil! The Director won’t be able to contact us, so he’ll definitely send reinforcements. We still have hope."

Melinda had received the strictest training. The word "give up" did not exist in her dictionary.

Women were made of water, but The Cavalry was made of iron!

She struggled to her feet, raised her submachine gun, and listened to the unending gunfire and approaching footsteps. Ignoring the tender look Coulson gave her, she focused all her attention on the battle.

Coulson shook his head.

This woman’s combat power was off the charts, and her intelligence was more than adequate, but her emotional intelligence was pitifully low.

Forget it. This was fine.

Dying together in battle was not so bad either.

Coulson gripped his pistol tightly.

He had gone on plenty of field missions and was one of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s rare Level 8 Agents, but none of his talent had gone into combat. Whether hand-to-hand fighting or firearms, he was only barely passable. He could not handle overly complicated weapons. Other than Lola, the things he loved most in life were planes and pistols.

The battle continued. Agents kept dying, until only the two of them remained.

Hydra’s infiltration of S.H.I.E.L.D. far exceeded his imagination. Reinforcements would definitely come, but they definitely would not arrive in time.

Death was the only ending today.

Of course Coulson would not simply give up, but he had already prepared himself to end his life in battle.

The enemy drew closer and closer.

He waited silently, ready to charge out at any moment.

Then suddenly, the gunfire seemed to grow more intense, accompanied even by screams and running footsteps.

What was happening?

He did not know. Under these circumstances, he naturally did not dare look outside. Their electronic equipment was unusable, leaving them completely in the dark, but his instincts told him something was wrong.

The Winter Soldier, Crossbones, and the others seemed to be exchanging fire with someone else?

Could S.H.I.E.L.D.’s reinforcements have arrived?

Coulson did not dare rush out recklessly, because it could be a trap.

He decided to wait a little longer.

The gunfire and screams dwindled at incredible speed, then vanished completely.

Strange.

What exactly had happened?

Coulson waited another minute, then exchanged a glance with Melinda.

Clearly, it was no longer appropriate to keep waiting. Something seemed to have changed outside, and they had to find out what it was.

"I’ll go out first. Cover me!" Coulson gestured.

Yet before he could even finish the gesture, Melinda had already rushed out.

"May!"

Coulson’s heart tightened, and he hurried after her.

Then he froze.

What kind of scene was this?

Dozens of Hydra members wearing S.H.I.E.L.D. combat uniforms lay sprawled across the ground in all kinds of poses. There did not seem to be any bullet holes or even blood on them. Their eyes were wide open, their faces twisted in terror and panic, giving him the horrifying feeling that they had died with their eyes open.

Though there were no visible wounds, every one of their bodies was twisted to varying degrees.

Some had their arms bent backward, some had their legs hooked over their necks, and others had sunken chests. This looked like a brutal slaughter—no, even a massacre—not a fierce firefight.

How had these people died?

Coulson was about to step forward to examine them when Melinda’s dry yet excited voice rang out. "Iron Fist. He’s here. It must have been him!"

Iron Fist?

Coulson froze.

Qi?

Could it really be that mysterious power from the East?

May, something was off about your tone. Did you care that much about Iron Fist? Did you want to see him that badly?

Coulson was in no mood to dwell on it.

He looked around but did not spot the Winter Soldier.

He was gone, and so was that box.

Where had they gone?

"Look at the footprints on the ground!" Melinda suddenly said.

Coulson snapped back to his senses and quickly examined them.

Melinda truly was an operations expert. She was far better than him at this sort of thing. There really was something wrong with these footprints.

This was not the city. They were surrounded by wilderness, and the ground was not asphalt, but dirt.

Like Captain America, the Winter Soldier had a much greater body density than an ordinary person. Combined with his hard mechanical arm, the mysterious box, and his incredible running speed, he had left deep footprints in the ground.

Between those deep prints, spaced far apart from one another, were shallower footprints spaced even farther apart, along with…

Traces of someone rolling across the ground.

Was there even any need to ask?

Coulson took a deep breath and looked in the direction where the footprints vanished.

"Iron Fist is hunting the Winter Soldier!"

"His target is that box!"

"We have to notify the Director immediately!"