Who says you can't kill a man without a spearhead?

“I understand that—rules of the martial world, life and death are on your own responsibility!”

The moment Inoue Sanjirō heard Du Ruo’s agreement, his spirits lifted immediately, and he even uttered a rather dramatic line.

“Heh~ Then you don’t mind if my friend records this, do you?”

Du Ruo smiled disdainfully. This Japanese fellow either held him in unexpectedly high regard or, more likely, underestimated him completely. If a fight broke out with Du Ruo, the life or death outcome would be none of his concern—it would be entirely in Du Ruo’s hands.

Yet Du Ruo kept silent on this and simply lifted his chin, glancing up at Xiang Yuanyuan on the second floor of the tavern.

When Yang Huaming and Shi Dong had their duel earlier, Xiang Yuanyuan had already started filming. Du Ruo had noticed but said nothing. He knew her well; unless given permission, she wouldn’t recklessly share the footage, so he did not intervene.

“Carry on; don’t mind me. If you don’t want the video uploaded, I won’t upload it. If you agree, I’ll give the loser a mark,” Xiang Yuanyuan said, holding her phone and filming from above. Seeing everyone look her way, she waved and explained quickly.

“No problem. Don’t worry—I’ll be gentle,” Inoue Sanjirō responded confidently. He had already entered the courtyard with the blond man, removing the bamboo sword from his waist and holding it in his hand.

“Director Shi, may I borrow your spear? It’s a good chance to demonstrate my marksmanship.”

Du Ruo looked to Shi Dong, intending to use the spear for the duel rather than his Panlong Silk weapon. Ever since the last time he took the high-speed train and faced restrictions, even his steel needles were forbidden. He decided it was better to rely less on the Panlong Silk weapon to avoid similar troubles on trains and planes.

When he killed the wild buffalo last time, the Panlong Silk was too thin to be noticed or recorded by Chief Zhang and others, so to them it was just a metallic bracelet—no one suspected it was a weapon.

“Then let’s wait and see,” Shi Dong said, handing the spear to Du Ruo. He and Yang Huaming stood aside, exchanging a glance before looking up at Xiang Yuanyuan still filming upstairs.

Despite this, Yang Huaming took out his phone and started recording as well.

Du Ruo looked at the bamboo sword in Inoue Sanjirō’s hand, thought for a moment, then grabbed the spear’s tip, twisted it hard with his palm, unscrewing it, and casually tossed it onto the grass.

“Really unnecessary. Now it’s just a wooden stick. Don’t use that as an excuse if you lose,” Inoue Sanjirō said, stepping in front of Du Ruo.

Since it was a genuine duel, it had to be judged by real weapons. If Du Ruo used the spear, only a thrust with the spearhead would count as a win, while Inoue’s bamboo sword only needed to graze Du Ruo to claim victory.

Now that Du Ruo had removed the spearhead, it was just a wooden stick, and the rules for victory became unclear. You couldn’t just say a tap with a stick meant a loss.

“Ready? I’m pressed for time; a friend’s inviting me to dinner afterward,” Du Ruo said, ignoring the comment. How could he fight well with the spear without its tip?

Inoue Sanjirō said nothing, gripping his bamboo sword’s hilt at his waist, lowering his torso and slightly bending his knees to fix his gaze on Du Ruo. This was a standard stance of the Iai style, leaning forward with the sword ready to draw, allowing a swift thrust at close range.

Though this thrust lacked the speed and explosiveness of Yang Huaming’s fencing or the ease of a bow-step thrust with retreat, it was more enduring and better for advancing—showcasing confidence in dodging the opponent’s attacks.

Du Ruo grasped the spear with both hands, adopting a horse stance. One hand held the spear’s butt near his waist; the other gripped its shaft. His eyes did not look at Inoue Sanjirō but focused on the blunt spear tip.

Unlike Shi Dong, who searched for openings, Du Ruo trusted his spear skills more deeply. Inoue Sanjirō lowered his body to speed his advance and minimize openings. If Du Ruo moved first, Inoue would seize the moment to rush in and decide the duel with his bamboo sword.

“Whoosh—”

Du Ruo held the spear, but his eyes seemed to see no weapon. With a powerful step and unified waist and leg effort, his hand struck out like a crushing punch, driving the spear straight at his opponent.

This move had no red glow or afterimage—just pure physical force. Du Ruo’s thrust was a fully unleashed strike.

Yet, despite this, the speed was astonishing. Inoue Sanjirō had been watching Du Ruo’s muscles, and as Du Ruo pushed off, Inoue instinctively turned his head. But the spear’s tip, lacking its head, still grazed his face.

His pupils widened—there was no time to think. His body reacted faster than his mind, twisting his head while pushing off with his feet. His body sprinted forward along the spear shaft, hands drawing the bamboo sword.

This was the famous Iai-draw slash—the foundational sword technique of the Japanese.

“Heh~ A jumping clown,” Inoue Sanjirō muttered.

To others, his speed seemed lightning-fast, his foundation solid, with muscle reflexes acting before thought—a result of thousands of daily repetitions.

Honestly, if Shi Dong had the spear and launched a surprise attack, he might win. But in a fair duel, Inoue Sanjirō’s odds were higher.

Yet Inoue’s move was utterly useless in Du Ruo’s eyes. Instinctively, Du Ruo recalled Qi Jiguang’s wolf brush—a long bamboo pole with a spearhead and barbs to counter the iai sword draws of that era’s samurai swords.

Now, Du Ruo’s spear lacked barbs, but that didn’t matter. After the thrust, he didn’t retract the spear. Instead, he flexed his waist sharply, body trembling, and shifted the spear’s force—his first use of a spear technique: the block.

The three fundamental spear techniques were block, seize, and thrust. Block involved shaking the spear backward to strike or parry; seize was the forward shake with the same purpose; thrust was the direct stab.

Du Ruo’s earlier thrust was powered by his fist technique, not spear skill. This time, the block was fully employed. The three-meter spear vibrated with his force, striking fiercely at Inoue Sanjirō, who was pushing forward along the spear shaft.

“Smack—thud!”

The first sound was crisp; the second, muffled. Du Ruo’s spear strike was powered by his entire body, hitting the bamboo sword just drawn by Inoue. The sword snapped instantly, and the spear’s force continued unabated, striking Inoue’s chest.

The tremendous impact shattered Inoue’s advance and sent him flying backward three steps.

Inoue Sanjirō felt a sharp pain in his chest as his body lost control, as if hit by a cart. He withdrew three steps with the force and collapsed onto the ground, his upper body instinctively leaning down.

“Whoosh—”

Du Ruo did not stop after the block but drove the spear fiercely toward Inoue Sanjirō.

“My life ends here!” flashed through Inoue’s mind. Then came a sudden “Bang!” near his ear, followed by sharp pain on his face. His legs weakened.

After a moment, Inoue realized he was still conscious. He instinctively touched his face; his hand came away with blood. He turned to see the spear’s tip embedded in the concrete floor. The pain had come from the spear piercing the concrete, sending shards that cut his face.

“Whew…”

Inoue Sanjirō exhaled deeply, and with that breath, his upper body’s last strength gave out. He collapsed, leaning against the spear.

Du Ruo’s spear thrust had not aimed at his head but slightly downward, embedding in the ground to prevent Inoue from falling fully, letting him rest on the spear itself.

“Who said no spearhead means no one can be pierced?” Du Ruo said lightly with a smile.

“!!!”

Silence fell. No one spoke, all eyes fixed on the spear now resting against the ground.

Though Du Ruo had loosened his grip, the spear only dipped slightly but remained stubbornly upright—with Inoue Sanjirō still leaning on it.

This meant Du Ruo’s strike had pierced the stone and concrete floor, and judging by the remaining visible spear length—about two meters—it had driven nearly a meter into the soil beneath.

The sheer force was terrifying.

Though Du Ruo’s words seemed boastful, no one doubted the spear’s power. Had it struck Inoue directly, it would have pierced him through, with force to spare.

“Clack—”

Yang Huaming’s phone, which had been recording, dropped to the ground. He didn’t bother picking it up, swallowing nervously instead.

“Learned something new today. Twenty years of training down the drain,” Yang Huaming muttered, staring at the spear lodged in the earth.

Shi Dong nodded repeatedly nearby.

“Take him away. I said I don’t like the Japanese, but we bear no grudge. I spared you today; that strike was punishment for your spying. Next time, come find me directly. If you spy again without cause, it won’t just be a simple beating. Don’t forget the hematuria you had last time—if your kidneys can be injured, so can your internal organs,” Du Ruo said, pointing at Inoue still leaning weakly against the spear, addressing the blond man who stood agape.

“Yes! Yes!!” the blond man exclaimed in his native tongue, half-supporting the limp Inoue Sanjirō as they headed out of the yard.

“Wait!!” Du Ruo suddenly called out, watching them leave the courtyard.