At first glance, the man before Fenric looked like an ordinary uncle living out his retirement in peace.
Especially with that pair of worn slippers—it was impossible to associate this man with the legendary King of Killers.
Fenric was speechless.
Seriously?
In the original story, when Sing found him, Fire Cloud had been squatting in a pit.
Now, here he was again—still squatting in the same pit.
Does this guy spend his whole life… doing this?
"Who are you looking for?"
The man, disheveled and unkempt like a lazy uncle, raised his head in mild surprise when he noticed Fenric.
"I'm looking for you—Fire Cloud," Fenric replied with a faint smirk. "But you should probably put your pants on first."
Without another word, Fenric closed the iron door.
A short while later, a deep, resonant voice called out, "Alright, boy. Come in!"
Fenric reopened the iron door.
"What business do you have with me?"
The Fire Cloud didn't bother hiding his identity.
"Nothing major," Fenric said casually, his smile unwavering. "I heard the legendary King of Killers was here. I came to witness your style—and perhaps have a little sparring match with you."
The old killer blinked, sizing Fenric up before shaking his head.
"I only fight with worthy opponents," Fire Cloud said flatly. "Boy, you're strong and your blood is raging, but you clearly haven't trained in proper martial arts. I've no interest in fighting you."
"Senior, your eyesight is indeed sharp."
Fenric chuckled. "You can tell at a glance that I've never formally trained in martial arts. As expected of Fire Cloud!"
He then added with a grin, "But I'm very good at fighting. Why not give this junior a little guidance?"
Though Fenric had no real animosity toward the man, he admired martial fanatics like him. His tone remained respectful.
"A good fighter, you say?"
Fire Cloud gave a low laugh. "How good could you be? Come then—throw a punch and show me."
His tone wasn't mocking, but it carried a faint disbelief, as though Fenric's words were mere bravado.
This wasn't because Fire Cloud lacked judgment—on the contrary, his eyes were sharp.
He could sense Fenric's power and vitality, but the absence of a martial foundation made him doubt the young man's true ability.
In this world, strength was defined by martial arts, not mysterious abilities.
How could someone who never trained properly claim to be "good at fighting"?
—-
"Alright then," Fenric said, his lips curling into a confident smile. "But don't say I didn't warn you—my fists are heavy. If you can't take it, just tell me."
With that, he stepped forward.
—-
At first, Fire Cloud remained indifferent.
But when he saw Fenric's fist suddenly darken, its surface gleaming like polished black steel, his eyes narrowed.
The moment Fenric's punch shot forward, the air cracked with a thunderous boom.
Whoosh!
The sound of the strike tearing through the air was deafening.
For the first time, Fire Cloud's expression turned serious. He quickly raised an arm to block.
BOOM—!
A heavy collision echoed.
The old killer staggered back three or four steps, his heels dragging across the ground until he finally stopped just before hitting the wall.
Fenric raised an eyebrow in surprise.
That punch had carried at least seventy to eighty percent of his strength. With his current stats, he could have shattered a normal human's body with that single blow.
Yet this uncle looking man had blocked it with just his arm—without even a scratch.
What an impressive level of defense!
What Fenric didn't realize was that Fire Cloud was even more astonished.
"Natural-born supernatural strength?"
His eyes widened as he examined Fenric's blackened fist.
"Boy, what's with that hand? Did you train in some kind of iron-body martial art?"
But even as he asked, Fire Cloud shook his head.
"No… that's impossible. No horizontal training could ever achieve that."
And he wasn't wrong.
Fenric's Armament Haki could harden his body to the strength of steel. To call it "invulnerable" was no exaggeration. No martial artist could replicate such a feat through traditional training.
Fenric merely smiled, saying nothing. Instead, he asked, "Well, senior? Was my punch strong enough for your taste?"
A glint of interest flashed in Fire Cloud's eyes.
"Boy, since you know my name, you should also know my rule when I fight someone."
"I know," Fenric replied calmly. "Either I kill you… or you kill me."
"Good," Fire Cloud said, a grin spreading across his face. There was both malice and excitement in that smile.
He lived for battles against the strong—and Fenric had just proven himself worthy.
"I can't fight seriously in here," Fenric said. "Senior, shall we move somewhere more open?"
"Fine by me."
They walked out together, easily brushing past the foreign soldiers who were far too terrified to stop them.
The chosen battlefield wasn't far—an open wasteland beside the mental hospital.
The two stood at opposite ends, facing each other in silence.
Fenric's expression turned solemn.
He knew better than to underestimate this man. In the original story, Fire Cloud's strength was nothing short of terrifying.
He could catch bullets with his bare fingers, crush walls with a single kick, and even survive the divine Buddha Palm Technique that fell from the heavens.
By Samsara Space standards, Fire Cloud's strength was likely close to A-rank.
"Young man," Fire Cloud said, "what's your name? I don't kill nameless challengers."
"Just call me Shura," Fenric replied.
"Shura?"
A cold smile tugged at the corner of Fire Cloud's lips.
The name was arrogant, almost sacrilegious. In Buddhist terms, Shura referred to beings that rivaled the heavens but were still bound by karma—a symbol of relentless conflict.
"Come, then," Fire Cloud said with a low laugh. "Show me what you've got. I'll go easy on you—for now."
"Good!"
The moment the word left his mouth, Fenric's eyes burned with light. A powerful aura surged around him, majestic and unyielding—like that of an ancient king.