But the next moment, Hashimoto Yoma's figure pierced through the flames and thick smoke, directly bursting through the explosion; his clothes were completely incinerated, leaving him entirely naked.
However, he didn't care at all; instead, after leaping out, he shook his hair, stroked his cheek, and revealed a confident smile.
His hair hadn't even been singed by the raging fire, and though the marks from colliding with bullets were still visible on his body, there were no wounds—he was as perfect as a classical statue.
Vigorous power surged within him, the wings formed by his muscles fully spread, and golden phantom wings appeared behind his back, ears, and calves, with endless brilliance shimmering on his muscles.
For a moment, he was like a god.
The guards were stunned; their gunfire instinctively ceased as they gazed at his confident and philosophical figure, swallowing hard.
Had it not been for Kishibe Rohan's command, they would have likely fled long ago.
"First group's 'warm-up' is over! Next is cardiopulmonary function training!"
Hashimoto Yoma grinned, revealing his pearly white teeth; each tooth was as crystal clear and lustrous as fine jade, yet as hard as diamond.
He suddenly inhaled, his chest expanding like a bellows, his entire body's muscles further swelling, and his veins winding like coiling dragons!
The next moment, he inflated like a large balloon, the surrounding air deeply compressed within his abdomen; he opened his mouth and exhaled, unleashing an air cannon!
The air cannon didn't strike the enemies but instead hit the ground in front of him, directly blowing away the soil, sand, and rocks, filling the sky and plunging the entire area into complete turbidity.
It was like a sand-made smoke bomb, and while the enemies had no visibility, Yoma took one step forward and one step back, assuming a Mountain Leaning Strike posture.
The muscles on his shoulder twisted, and the golden phantom wings wrapped around his arm, like a small round shield.
This move was originally used with armor and shields, a close-combat armored grappling technique, but now he used phantom wings in place of a shield and his own muscles to unleash this strike.
This attack was full of technique, but the focus wasn't on the move itself, but rather on the terrifying, brute force of a primeval beast, directly smashing into the reinforced metal door, adorned with Heaven's Door!
Clang!!!
Amidst a deafening roar, the heavy metal door twisted and deformed instantly, as if struck by a high-speed train; a hole was directly punched through the metal door, and the thick metal warped inward, revealing a human-shaped imprint.
Then, after Yoma snapped his fingers upon entering, the door, along with its hinges and fragments of the wall, crashed inward!
The few guards behind the door didn't even let out a scream before they were crushed into a pulp, as if they had been transported to another dimension by a massive force.
Hashimoto Yoma stepped over the ruins and flesh into the village, his golden pupils scanning the guards who were temporarily stiff with shock and fear; he clenched his hand, displaying his robust forearm muscles.
"Next, strength training begins! Starting with a set of boxing."
He moved.
His attacks were the most direct form of overwhelming force!
His fists were like pile drivers; each blow smashed a guard, armor and all, into scattered fragments.
Thick armor or bulletproof vests offered them no protection, as ridiculous as their own flesh.
His legs were like steel whips; wherever they swept, human bodies were thrown like straw, crashing into walls or obstacles, evenly pulverized into a meaty paste that coated the entire wall.
He even casually picked up a luxury car parked by the roadside, treating it like a dumbbell, gripping the car and pressing and twisting it into the ground, crushing it until it was only a little over a person's size, then splitting it in half with a single chop and using it for a set of flyes.
The meticulously arranged defenses of the wealthy village, before his pure, ultimate strength, crumbled like sandcastles on a beach, allowing him to play with great pleasure.
Screams, explosions, and the collapse of buildings rose and fell, mixing with Hashimoto Yoma's earnest workout, forming a symphony of destruction.
He wasn't killing people; he was educating and enlightening these brainwashed individuals, making them realize the beauty of strength and the sanctity of muscle.
In his view, merely by demonstrating his power in this way, those who survived would surely realize their past mistakes and develop a new faith in muscles.
As for those who died... that was divine punishment; who told them they had bad luck?
He twisted the fallen guards' bodies into various bodybuilding poses with brute force, piling them along both sides of the road.
For those who weren't strong enough, he twisted several people together, like pretzels, and then meticulously sculpted them; with their numbers and Hashimoto Yoma's exquisite sculpting, they looked as strong as Ronnie.
As for the extra heads, he covered them with peeled skin as offerings to the gods.
"Ah, Hermes, you are the god of muscle and speed, the patron of merchants, the wielder of the power of lies; I offer this sacrifice to you.
Bless me with stronger muscles, a more sculpted body..."
Watching Hashimoto Yoma, holding a dagger he'd acquired from who knows where, slowly cut off a person's head and placed it before the Hermes statue he had just carved into a wall, the entire scene was one of worship.
Perhaps truly moved by him, the surviving guards and soldiers also followed him, devoutly worshipping, filled with a fanatical faith.
"Long live the gods, long live the gods..."
"Praise muscle, praise strength, I must train!"
(Actually, they were either scared insane or deceived by the lie-intelligence.)
Nodding contentedly to the guards and soldiers, Hashimoto Yoma departed, like a locomotive across the wilderness, galloping freely.
He would not stop no matter what obstacles he encountered; he crushed everything in his path, invincible, almost never pausing.
Soon, he passed through the wealthy village, which resembled a purgatory, Hashimoto Yoma disdainfully glanced back, then shook off the minced meat from his body, and arrived at the foot of the green mountain.
A thousand stone steps wound upwards, disappearing into the clouds, and a vermillion torii gate shimmered with an ominous glow in the sunlight; an old man already stood there, awaiting his uninvited guest.
And atop the mountain, the shrine stood silently, as if waiting for something, an invisible will enveloping Hashimoto Yoma.
But this will could not affect him; Hashimoto Yoma looked up, his gaze seemingly piercing through the clouds, locking onto the mountaintop.
He could feel a vast, ancient will there, completely different from the Hermes divine power within him, yet equally powerful.
Hmm, he didn't know who was stronger, Hermes or that will, but it was definitely stronger than him.
"Kishibe Rohan..."
He licked his lips, the golden flames in his eyes burning to their extreme, bursting into a morbid smile, his tongue hanging long, directly down to his chin.
"I'm here! To deliver the most fervent 'muscle greeting' to your boring order!"
He abandoned the stone steps, dropped to all fours, his muscles bulging to a terrifying degree, and then, like a true golden lightning bolt, he began the most savage, most direct charge up the nearly vertical, steep mountain wall!
Rocks shattered beneath his claws, trees were snapped by his impact; he surged directly and violently towards the mountaintop shrine in a nearly climbing manner!
But the old man waiting for him moved.