Chapter 55: Beating Up the Pay-to-Win Player (Please Vote for Me)

In the heart of the desert, the Mandarin was drenched in sweat. Ever since he'd acquired the ten extraordinary rings, it had been a long time since he’d found himself in such a sorry state.

True, the power of the rings was formidable—ten abilities combined covered an impressive range—but the Mandarin’s reflexes and visual acuity simply could not keep up with the pace of this battle.

Could King Bradley evade the rays but not the Mandarin’s aim? This was a man blessed with the Ultimate Eye.

Each time the Mandarin unleashed a ray, King Bradley was already elsewhere before the attack could land. The only reason the Mandarin remained unscathed was the mobility his flight granted him.

A shockwave erupted—the sand sank in with a thunderous crash—yet only an afterimage of King Bradley lingered where he’d been.

A flash—a gleam of the sword—the sharp edge of Bradley’s blade swept toward the Mandarin.

Gravitational repulsion! The Mandarin retreated, deflecting the sword light. In that brief second or two, the distance between the two men closed even further.

The thought of taking a hostage had crossed the Mandarin’s mind, but Ivan Vanko was no fool. With King Bradley commanding nearly all attention, Vanko had taken Tony and burrowed underground; now, they hid beneath a dune, peering out at the world above through a narrow air vent.

Watching his formidable enemy forced to flee before King Bradley’s sword, Ivan’s eyes gleamed with excitement.

Tony, too, felt the effect. The force with which King Bradley, alone with his sword, shattered all opposition was reminiscent of his own days at the research society—no one in his field could compare, and any competitor was, in his eyes, mere trash.

A sudden sword strike outside—King Bradley’s blade, deflected by the Mandarin’s gravitational shield, veered by a few inches, failing to pierce his throat.

With his foe now right before him, the Mandarin’s heart quailed. All ten rings flashed at once, beams of every kind shooting from his hands in all directions—yet once again, every strike found only empty air.

Seizing the gap between the rays, King Bradley appeared before the Mandarin. With the benefit of previous encounters, Bradley adjusted his swordplay to offset the effects of gravity.

Yet as his blade touched the Mandarin’s robes, a chill began to creep from the tip, spreading toward Bradley. The Mandarin, though lacking in experience, had survived this long by being tough; he endured the cold’s damage to himself, laying this trap for King Bradley.

Bradley, expression unchanged, was unfazed. Battling alchemists in the past, he’d seen every sort of trap—those men, if nothing else, possessed knowledge leagues beyond the Mandarin’s, their ingenuity and adaptability far superior.

His sword trembled rapidly, creating a gap in the chill that clung to it. Bradley twisted his wrist, pulled his weapon free from the ice, and quickly retreated to gain distance.

Before Bradley could launch another attack, he saw the Mandarin clutch his side and flee without a backward glance.

What was pride compared to life? The Mandarin had survived this long precisely because he understood this. The trap had failed to injure Bradley, and the sword’s aura had left a bleeding hole in his own abdomen.

If this battle continued, the Mandarin doubted he’d survive the day. Somewhere nearby, Ivan Vanko, the alchemist, still lurked; if Vanko recovered his strength and struck at the right moment, even a brief lapse in attention would leave the Mandarin’s neck at the mercy of King Bradley’s blade.

Watching the Mandarin flee, Bradley made no move to pursue.

Never chase a desperate foe. He wasn’t entirely confident he could bring the man down—especially now that the distance had grown, the risk had surged to new heights.

“Come out—he’s gone. What are you still hiding for?” Bradley sheathed his sword and looked calmly at a patch of open ground, where the alchemical fluctuations were as bright to his eye as fireflies in the dark.

With a rumble, the sand began to stir. Ivan Vanko emerged from below, dragging Tony with him.

“Master King, how did you know something had gone wrong on my end?” Ivan asked curiously.

“You can thank Mage Kieran for that.” Bradley offered a brief explanation, then glanced at Tony Stark, who was still sitting in the sand. “This is the man you came for? Are you sure you’ve got the right person?”

Tony opened his mouth but couldn’t utter a word; in his current state, how could he even object?

“Seems like there’s no mistake,” Ivan said with a disappointed sigh after glancing at Tony.

Their dismissive attitudes deeply stung Tony’s pride, but in this situation, he could only remain silent.

“Perhaps he didn’t inherit any of Howard’s good traits. In that respect, I suppose my father did the world a favor—he left me with his only virtue,” Ivan said, shaking his head.

Spurred by their words, Tony climbed unsteadily to his feet. “Can I have a shovel?” he asked Ivan, his tone the humblest it had ever been in his life.

Ivan blinked. A shovel made of iron sand materialized in his hand, which he then handed to Tony.

Tony took the shovel and, moving heavily, walked toward where Yinsen’s body lay. After the recent battle, the remains were incomplete—now just a few blood-stained bones.

“Hmm, not bad. At least he’s got some psychological resilience,” Bradley observed approvingly. As he spoke, a portal opened behind them.

Before stepping through, Ivan looked back at Tony Stark. “Want us to give you a lift?”

“No need. I can manage,” Tony replied, keeping his head down as he continued to dig.

“As you wish. Oh, and remember my name—Ivan King Vanko. Next time we meet, I hope you’ll at least be worthy to call yourself my rival.”

As Ivan spoke, Bradley gave him a sidelong glance; if you’re going to add a middle name, it should be Bradley, not King, he thought.

“Argh!” Tony shouted after their departure, venting his frustration into the empty desert.

After he finished burying the last of Yinsen’s remains, Tony slumped to the ground and gazed up at the sky.

Yinsen… rest in peace…