Madman!

Chapter 43: Ambitions of Power

"This month's money!" After finishing dinner, Chen Wujun placed a thousand dollars on the table.

"The debt's almost paid off. I'll save this for you." Chen Hanliang glanced at the money, then shot a disappointed glare at Chen Wuhong.

"You're several years older than Wujun. Look at him, then look at yourself!"

"I swear I'll never gamble again!" Chen Wuhong declared solemnly.

As for his second brother... he had plenty to say, but didn't dare voice any of it.

Chen Wujun stood and went to his room to grab a few things.

"I'm heading back to the martial hall!"

"Second Brother, I never see you anymore!" Chen Wuqi whined from the dinner table. Six months ago, his second brother could still watch cartoons with him.

Now even when he came home on weekends, he was nowhere to be found.

"Been a bit busy lately! Should ease up in a few months." Chen Wujun smiled.Half a year ago, he could still sit with his little brother watching Saint Seiya and Mashin Hero Wataru.

But now his mind was consumed by ambition—an insatiable hunger to climb higher, a yearning for strength, status, and wealth.

He made his way to the gambling den, only to find it had already opened its doors today.

Stepping inside, he spotted seven or eight footsoldiers along with a few unfamiliar faces. As for customers—not a single one.

"Brother Jun!" the footsoldiers called out in unison.

This time was different from before. Word had already traveled back—Chen Wujun had truly risen in rank.

Watching the crowd of underlings greet him, Chen Wujun felt rather pleased. He enjoyed this kind of scene.

He was the center of everyone's attention. Everyone had to show him respect.

He relished it.

The ambition for power grew ceaselessly in his heart. He wanted more.

"Brother Jun, Sister Shark Jiu sent people to help out. The den's been closed for days, so the regulars don't know we're open again yet. Should be back to normal in a few days."

"Brother Jun! Sister Shark Jiu sent us over to lend a hand." The unfamiliar footsoldiers approached to pay their respects.

Chen Wujun asked a few questions and learned they were card dealers and bookkeepers, then told them to get to work.

"Where's Curry?" Chen Wujun asked.

"He's keeping an eye on the other den." Ah Fei replied.

"You guys manage both dens for now. On top of the usual pay, you'll get a 1.5% cut of the net winnings each month. Find ways to bring in more business." Chen Wujun laid out his instructions.

"Thank you, Brother Jun!" Ah Fei expressed his gratitude immediately.

An ordinary footsoldier earned three thousand a month. Minor leaders like them who practiced New Arts pulled in eight to twelve thousand, plus extra for jobs on the side.

Those with Enhancement Reconstruction below 25% were barely stronger than regular people. Crossing 25% put you in a different tier, and exceeding 40% elevated you yet another level entirely.

Beyond 40%, you weren't just drawing a salary anymore. You became someone like Ah Hao or Cun Bao—leading a crew, managing a slice of operations, with multiple income streams.

He and Curry had both just barely crossed the 25% Enhancement Reconstruction threshold, earning only eight thousand a month.

The 1.5% cut from both dens' net winnings would come to roughly three or four thousand a month—an extra two thousand each for them.

"Keep up the good work!" Chen Wujun clapped Ah Fei on the shoulder.

He had figured it out a while ago: if you wanted to be a boss, you didn't just have to look the part—you had to act it too.

Internally, that meant knowing how to distribute the spoils.

Hoard all the benefits for yourself, and nobody would follow you.

Chen Wujun then produced a photograph.

"Send two men to stake out a location. When they spot this guy, break his leg."

Ah Fei studied the photo. The man in it looked slightly older than Chen Wujun, with a passing resemblance in features.

"Brother Jun, this guy looks a bit like you. He wouldn't be a relative, would he?"

"Move on him when he's alone. Don't touch the leg that's already broken—break the other one!" Chen Wujun didn't answer the question, continuing with his instructions instead.

"Understood. I'll take care of it!" Ah Fei nodded.

After finishing his orders, Chen Wujun took a stroll around the inside and outside of the den.

Because of that degenerate gambler back home, he used to despise gambling dens.

But now this was his... These people would gamble somewhere regardless. Over a hundred dens packed into the Walled City—if not here, then somewhere else. It wasn't like he was the one forcing them to gamble.

"Keep watch here. Things should be quiet for a while. Call me if anything comes up." Chen Wujun gave Ah Fei his parting instructions, then visited the other den at Yongfa Building on Elderly Street. After making his rounds, he returned to his quarters.

'The dens are sorted. Just need to show my face now and then, and the money rolls in every month. Now I need to focus all my energy on preparing for the ring fight four months from now!'

'This place is getting a bit cramped...'

Chen Wujun felt his quarters were too small and too bare—he couldn't even throw a proper punch without bumping into something.

Perhaps it was time for a change of residence.

After a moment's thought, he shelved the idea for now and picked up the copy of "Cold Steel Combat Arts."

'This is a military combat system. No idea where Sister Shark Jiu got her hands on it, but with so many people enlisting and leaving the service every year, it was bound to circulate. Wouldn't be surprised if some New Arts schools trained in it too...'

He flipped it open. The table of contents listed a series of entries:

1. Tactical Philosophy and Victory Conditions

2. Physical Application of Magnetic Field Reconstruction

3. Stances, Footwork, and Impact-Resistant Structure

4. Strike Templates: Close-Range Bursts and Three-Point Destruction

5. Clinch Work, Takedowns, and Wall-Corner Offense-Defense

...

Chen Wujun felt a headache forming just looking at the table of contents, but he forced himself to flip through page by page—and before long, he was completely absorbed.

'This military combat system is nothing like Old Arts. Its sole objective is to "rapidly strip the opponent of combat capability." Every movement exists to pressure—destroy—control the enemy!'

'Movements are short, direct, stripped of excess posturing. Straight to the vitals. Even more direct than Wolf Fist, with fewer variations and virtually no defensive techniques...'

'Heavy emphasis on impact-resistance training, especially the forearms and the shoulder's frontal line. Bone density would be extremely high. Specializes in short-range explosive power, with exceptional pain tolerance...'

'So when fighting Yu Wei, I must be wary of his forearms and shoulders. His pain threshold will be high—strikes to non-critical areas will barely slow him down. I absolutely cannot forget that!'

'Everything pursues efficiency. Life or death decided in the first three seconds, outcome determined within fifteen—that's the tempo of this military combat system. Almost zero complex variations. Yu Wei came from the military, so he'll certainly fight by this doctrine...'

Chen Wujun usually grew drowsy reading books, but the more he read this one, the more fascinated he became. It gave him direct insight into the philosophy and combat methodology of military fighting techniques.

The manual also contained extensive information on New Arts training.

And the most critical element of New Arts was willpower. The higher one's level in New Arts, the more absolute their conviction in their own will—the more obsessive they became.

Those who lacked sufficient resolve, sufficient obsession, could never reach the upper echelons of New Arts.

Chen Wujun happened to glance at his watch and discovered he'd been reading from eight-thirty in the evening all the way to midnight.

And he'd only gotten through a third of this volume of "Cold Steel Combat Arts."

'It's already this late...'

'I've missed tonight's training session. Need to be up at five tomorrow morning to practice.'

Chen Wujun stuffed the book under his pillow, switched off the light, and went to sleep.

...

Queen Elizabeth Hospital. The public mortuary.

"Master Bing!"

Two young men in the morgue bowed to the figure who entered.

Master Bing walked past each corpse on the slabs with an expressionless face, lifting the white sheets one by one, examining the wounds.

He then turned to the man beside him. "What do you make of it?"

"A seasoned killer. Every cut was lethal—almost all targeted vitals. This person has a particular fondness for stabbing the neck..." the man reported after his examination.

"Different technique from last time."

He had examined Ah Hao's body previously. The wounds this time were completely different from before.

Chen Wujun's martial skill had grown enormously over these past months, which meant his force application and the angle of blade entry had changed significantly from before.

"Not the same person?" Master Bing let out a cold snort.

"I believe it is the same person."

"Someone's specifically targeting my men, and they always go for the neck."

He wasn't a federal detective. If he believed it was one person, then it was one person.

As for why the technique differed, he couldn't care less.

"Someone's got eyes on you. Have you crossed anyone lately?" Master Bing's icy gaze fell upon a footsoldier nearby.

Two robberies in the span of a few months. He was about to burst a blood vessel from fury.

The monetary loss was a secondary concern.

If this kept happening and he still couldn't find the culprit, he might as well pack it in.

"No, we just lend and collect. We don't have conflicts with any Walled City factions! If you're talking about offending people—well, we're debt collectors. Sometimes we have to put a scare into them..." The footsoldier's face was ashen.

"Investigate every borrower. Check whether anyone in their families knows martial arts. Start with the ones from the past few months!"

"You have one month. I want to see the person. And I'll flay them alive!"

...

South of the Walled City, in the warehouse at Ma Tau Wai, Chen Wujun was wading through knee-deep fine sand in the pit, pushing forward step by step.

With each stride, his hips drove his thighs into a twisting motion, feeling the flow of sand as his toes raked backward through the grains like a plow blade.

Yet his speed through the sand pit was far from slow—only marginally slower than on flat ground. His movements showed no clumsiness whatsoever. His upper body remained perfectly still, giving the impression he was gliding across solid earth.

Creeeak—

The warehouse door swung open. Zhou Qing stepped inside and immediately spotted Chen Wujun circling endlessly through the sand pit.

"Master!"

Chen Wujun saw Zhou Qing enter, lifted his hip, pulled back with his spine, and his body sprang clean out of the pit. Twin streams of sand cascaded from his legs.

The entire motion looked as though someone had yanked him out by the back.

"Your Mud-Wading Step—you've practiced it well." Zhou Qing gave a slight nod, a glint of approval flashing through his eyes.

To achieve this level with the Mud-Wading Step in such a short time was truly remarkable.

Talent and diligence—neither could be lacking.

And that leap out of knee-deep sand—an ordinary person would struggle just to walk through it, yet he'd vaulted out in a single bound.

It was proof enough that his entire body's force had achieved full integration, with explosive power in his thighs and tremendous strength through his waist and back.

And in how short a time?

He truly hadn't expected to encounter someone with this caliber of talent in a place like the Walled City.

Among all the martial artists he'd seen over so many years, this boy ranked among the very best.

Of course, his audacity and knack for stirring up trouble were equally top-tier.

That only made Zhou Qing like him more.