Though Chen Mo had no ambition to rule the world, the immense power now in his hands had made him nearly untouchable. Nothing seemed capable of threatening him anymore, and that feeling of absolute control had gradually eroded his once-careful, cautious nature.
When Wang Kun's family was kidnapped, he had noticed the flaw in his arrangements, but even that hadn't truly awakened him to how much his mindset had shifted. Later, when he wiped out the Mafia families, he had charged in head-on with little planning, relying purely on brute force.
To Chen Mo back then, those crime families were nothing more than insignificant pawns — not even worth mentioning. He treated the whole operation as practice, even amusement, never once taking it seriously, much less cautiously.
Luckily, none of those gangsters were true experts. They hadn't thought to set traps, plant bombs, or station snipers. So when Chen Mo's men attacked in the night, they caught them completely off guard, and victory was absolute.
But had there been even a few sharpshooters — or a lookout posted near the docks who'd noticed something — with Chen Mo charging in so recklessly, his side might have suffered real losses.
Even this time, infiltrating the Hydra base, he had come with that same careless confidence.
He'd sent Steve to rescue the prisoners while he himself strolled through the upper levels, intending only to "visit" Baron Strucker — the chess piece he had once personally placed on the board.
He never expected that very piece to turn around and strike him like a hammer to the skull.
It wasn't until Strucker's blade tore through his combat suit that Chen Mo finally snapped awake.
In that instant, he realized he had lost himself — forgotten the caution and composure that had defined him when he first arrived in this world.
All of it had happened in a flash, and Strucker had no idea that his single desperate strike had jolted Chen Mo back into clarity — restoring the cold, sharp, calculating mind that had once made him unstoppable.
It was simple, really. Chen Mo's power and influence had grown too fast; his mentality hadn't kept pace.
And being trapped inside a "movie world" where nothing quite felt real, he'd grown indulgent — reckless — and far too free with his actions.
Now that he'd regained his focus, his gaze toward Baron Strucker had changed entirely.
From the intelligence Chen Mo had gathered, Baron Wolfgang von Strucker was a noble from Bavaria — the lord of Castle Strucker.
He'd been an early supporter of Hitler and, with the Führer's full backing, had founded Hydra, developing advanced weaponry for the Nazi regime.
In truth, he was one of Hitler's most loyal lieutenants.
But Chen Mo also knew the baron's secret — an ambition even larger than Hitler's. His loyalty was only a mask to seize the power he needed to pursue his own conquest.
Strucker was a master swordsman, skilled in combat and deadly in close quarters.
Chen Mo had long known this, but he had never taken it seriously. With the Sword of the King in his hand and a body six times stronger and faster than any human's, he believed no swordsman alive could stand against him.
And with his Adamantium armor, what weapon could possibly harm him?
That arrogance had led him to wait until the blade was already at his chest before dodging — and he'd paid for it when Strucker's flawless feint sliced open his suit.
Now, with his mind reset and his pride in check, Chen Mo's interest didn't wane — it sharpened.
It was rare to meet a true sword master. As one who also wielded a blade, Chen Mo would not waste the chance to test and refine his own swordsmanship.
Fixing his eyes on the baron, who stood poised with rapier aimed at him, Chen Mo reached a steady hand behind his back and gripped the hilt of the Sword of the King.
He drew it slowly, the steel whispering against its sheath.
The shield on his arm? Not needed — not for this duel.
Baron Strucker's expression had grown grave.
The power Chen Mo had shown when he kicked the iron door aside spoke for itself, but it was his agility — the inhuman quickness he'd displayed in dodging that last thrust — that truly terrified him.
That stab had been perfect — close enough that no normal human could've escaped.
The final burst of speed at the end of his lunge had been too fast to follow with the naked eye.
Even he, a master of the blade, could not have dodged his own strike at that distance.
And yet Chen Mo had slipped aside effortlessly, faster than his sword itself.
It defied logic.
How could a human move like that?
His next move — the instinctive change from thrust to slash — had been pure muscle memory, a reflex born of countless duels.
And it had worked.
As a swordsman, Strucker's control and precision were terrifying. His techniques had been refined through decades of training until they became reflexive — his body could act faster than thought, unleashing the exact counter for every situation.
Even when his mind hesitated, his body attacked the most vital point on pure instinct.
That was what had caught Chen Mo off guard — that single, unplanned reflex.
Now, with the Sword of the King gleaming in his hand, Chen Mo's eyes grew cold.
He planted his foot and surged forward, power exploding beneath him as he closed the distance in a blur.
His blade came down from above, a heavy arc aimed straight at Strucker's skull.
The long, broad sword carved through the air, the silver edge howling like a storm.
Chen Mo's swordsmanship had never been formally trained.
He had built it himself — born in battle, shaped by experience.
His strikes were simple, direct, brutally efficient — each one meant to kill.
It mirrored his fighting style: pure aggression, no wasted motion.
That, too, reflected his pride.
In the beginning, he had studied techniques from many schools, blending them carefully into his own.
But as his strength grew, he'd stopped learning — no longer bothering with "lesser men."
He'd built his own system in isolation, a closed loop of power and confidence.
It worked fine against soldiers and thugs — but against a true master, it was flawed.
And now, facing Baron Strucker, Chen Mo deliberately suppressed his own strength and speed to roughly twice that of a normal man — to truly feel what it meant to cross blades with a master.
Strucker's style was the opposite: pure precision and speed, embodied in his slender rapier.
Even without knowing that the Sword of the King could cut through iron as if it were paper, Strucker had no intention of meeting Chen Mo's downward blow head-on.
He shifted his stance lightly — and the real duel began.