Chapter 362 Treacherous Nunchucks

“What?” Chauncey Yacovone was slightly taken aback. Dickson Watt opened the black bag he was carrying and took out his black nunchucks. “Seems like you deserve my Knight’s Rod.” “Knight’s Rod?” Chauncey seemed to remember something as his expression darkened suddenly. “Are you perhaps West Suez’s…” Before he could finish his sentence, Dickson charged toward him, with his Knight’s Rod swinging menacingly in his hands. Nunchucks were not an easy weapon to handle. A person who did not know how to use it would not fully realize its potential in battle. In fact, it might become a deadly burden. However, every weapon existed for a reason. Placed in someone else’s grasp, it could turn into a deadly weapon. With the nunchucks in his hands, Dickson’s aura completely changed. Just like when Thor had his trusted hammer, Mjollnir, in his hand. Whoosh! The nunchucks made a loud sound as it sliced through the air. Dickson once again charged toward Chauncey. However, it was a completely reversed situation. Dickson was the losing side in the previous fight. If not for Chauncey’s grace, he would have received more damage than just induced blood-vomiting. Yet, Chauncey was the one falling back under the nunchucks’ relentless assault. Wham! Dickson’s nunchucks finally broke Chauncey’s defense as it hit his body. One blow and Chauncey felt as if he was hit by a giant iron hammer and felt broken bones. When he fought, he did not fight to his maximum power and gave his opponent a chance. However, Dickson was different. He had no mercy; every one of his blows was out to deal fatal damage. After getting hit, Chauncey’s body coordination weakened, and a panicked expression appeared on his face as his flow was disrupted. Wham! Wham! Wham! The nunchucks struck him blow after blow, and he was at his limit. A minute later, Dickson’s last blow had Chauncey thrown backward. He felt like he was hit by a car. Right now, his face was swollen and bruises could be seen on many parts of his body. There were also numerous wounds, oozing blood. Not just that, plenty of his bones were either fractured or broken. With such a severe injury, it would take at least a year or two for him to heal completely. “You…” Chauncey was floored and could not lift himself up. He pointed at Dickson, wanting to say something but nothing came out. Dickson chucked his nunchucks into his bag. He bowed at Chauncey and said, “My apologies for going all out. In my understanding, whether it be a spar or a fight, there is no point if we do not fight to the best of our abilities.” He then turned and walked out of the courtyard. On his way out, he took out a small notebook from his pocket. He wrote the words “Wing Chun” in the notebook and drew a big cross over it. He left through the alleyway, just like when he came. Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks. He instantly heightened his vigilance as he sensed danger coming from nearby. Whoosh! Something came flying his way, and he ducked instinctively. The object managed to graze his face. He felt a searing pain on his cheek; a little skin was scraped off. Was it a bullet? “Who is it?” Dickson shouted and swiftly took out his nunchucks while observing his surroundings. Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! No answer was heard but the sounds of the objects flying at him. He quickly took a few steps back and swung his nunchucks around. Clang! Clang! Swinging his nunchucks, he tried desperately to deflect these unknown objects away. If he were to stop and observe, he would have seen that they were just stones. Nobody knew who the person behind the stones was, hurling them at such speeds as to becoming bullets. Under the multitude of forces applied, some of the stones deflected hit the alleyway’s walls and left marks on them. After blocking a dozen shots with his nunchucks, Dickson could not hold it anymore. Three stones hit him simultaneously and knocked him backward. He felt the distinct metallic taste of blood in his throat again, but unlike previously, he spat them all out. Tensed on his nerves, he looked around warily, expecting the stones to come flying at him at any moment. Five seconds passed. Ten seconds passed. A full minute passed without any action. Just like the receding tides of the ocean, the feeling of danger subsided. Perhaps the mastermind had left. “Who are you?” Dickson took a deep breath and scrambled onto his feet. Instead of feeling grateful that he was spared more serious injuries, he felt disappointed. He stood waiting for another ten minutes, fully expecting the stones to come flying again. In the end, disappointment awaited him. He kept his nunchucks and sighed. Carrying his bag, he disappeared into the end of the alleyway. Tyr Summers sat at the rear seats of a taxi cab playing with stones in his hand while observing the limping youth from the window. His lips curled into a smile as he remarked, “Dickson Watt of West Suez, you are indeed an interesting person.”