Every time Rian swung his baton, bones shattered—yet he always pulled his strength just enough not to kill.
Still, it didn't matter where he hit. Whether arms, ribs, or legs, the result was the same—crushed into splinters. The fragments were so fine, none larger than a sugar cube.
And as dozens of officers surged behind him, no one dared question what they saw.
"That's not a baton," someone muttered. "That's a divine weapon—tap it and you break. Swing it and you die."
To the crowd of Fuso nationals, each hit from Rian felt like getting rammed by a speeding car.
Screams, groans, chaos, and crying filled the air.
Thousands had gathered, but even hundreds of officers couldn't stop the escalating riot.
And yet… Rian couldn't be stopped.
Even when others fell, he stood firm.
His high constitution score meant he didn't feel fatigue.
His superior agility let him dodge and react faster than the eye could track.
His immense strength made swinging a baton feel like waving a feather.
And his sharp perception gave him a full 360-degree grasp of the battlefield.
Whether it was a woman shrieking with a mouth full of curses or a muscular man charging with murder in his eyes—they were all equal before him.
One by one.
They fell.
"If any feminist groups want to scream 'sexism' over this," Rian muttered, "send them down here. I'll let them take a swing."
Even in the chaos, he seemed calm—almost bored.
The other officers, by contrast, were exhausted.
"Why is Rian so chill while I feel like my arms are going to fall off?!"
"Jesus! What is he, some kind of monster?!"
"I've only hit like ten people and I'm ready to drop dead…"
Even the riot shield units, the supposed backbone of riot control, stood dumbfounded watching the patrol officers take over the job.
"Aren't we the ones trained for this?"
"Since when did patrol officers get so hardcore?!"
Rian wasn't just fighting. He was leading.
"Go Rian!"
"Officer Rian for the win!"
Even without direct orders, the riot squads began cheering for him.
Inside City Hall, council members stared in stunned silence.
"My God! Who is this officer? He's brutal!"
"That's Inspector Rian—the one-man army who took down that terrorist group!"
"Haha! Make him our public image ambassador! The world needs to see what kind of cops L.A. has!"
"With him on the streets, crime won't stand a chance."
Councilman Liam grinned, sensing his moment.
"Gentlemen, I propose we officially make Inspector Rian the new Super Cop of Los Angeles!"
"Brilliant idea, Liam!"
"I've got friends in the White House. We might even get him a medal from the President!"
For the first time, the council agreed unanimously on one person.
Meanwhile, outside—
The police line had crumbled.
Only Rian remained standing.
Dozens of officers were down—wounded, exhausted, or unconscious.
But Rian stood tall, alone, before tens of thousands of furious protesters.
And yet… in their eyes, he wasn't a man.
He was a god.
A demonic war god in the shape of a cop.
The Fuso people, long taught to worship strength, couldn't help but feel awe.
They feared him—but they also revered him.
But not everyone was cowering.
From deep in the crowd, Saburō Oda, leader of the Black Dragon Society's youth wing, watched in disbelief.
"Yaga! Why is he this strong?!"
"No! He must die!"
Saburō couldn't stay in the shadows anymore.
He jumped onto a raised platform and shouted in Japanese:
"You idiots! That man's name is Rian—and he's Chinese!"
"He holds 10,000 photos that could ruin everything the Empire worked for!"
"If we don't kill him, and he leaks them, the dream of restoring our Empire is over! Do you want to stay a broken nation forever?!"
His voice ignited the mob.
Fear turned to rage. Caution turned to madness.
"Kill him!"
"He's just one guy—we're ten thousand!"
Even if they were scared, numbers made them bold.
But Rian heard every word.
His superhuman mind processed the Japanese easily—thanks to years of watching Japanese films with Chinese subtitles, he'd mastered the language effortlessly.
He smirked.
"Today, I'm stronger than Guan Yu, Lü Bu, and Genghis Khan combined," he muttered. "Come on, then."
He cracked his knuckles.
And slowly… raised one hand, palm up, beckoning them with a curled finger.
The crowd roared.
Thousands surged forward.
Saburō Oda unsheathed a Fuso short-blade from his waist, preparing to sneak up and stab Rian from behind.
But Rian didn't flinch.
His dimension-level attributes filled him with absolute confidence.
He hurled his broken baton aside—it had snapped after bashing hundreds of bones.
"No baton? No problem," he grinned.
He had fists.
And fists were stronger.
He quickly opened his system menu.
"Exchange points: unlock Bajiquan—Master Level."
In a flash, knowledge flooded his brain. Decades of martial arts experience, distilled into muscle memory.
Taichi trains you for years—Bajiquan kills in one.
When Rian threw his first punch, a man's jaw exploded.
When he swung his leg, a sumo-sized thug's pelvis cracked like glass.
Crunch!
He even heard testicles pop.
Congratulations! The future of two Fuso men has been permanently altered.
Then, out of the crowd, a cry:
"It's Akagi-san! Our black belt master! He'll kill that Chinese dog!"
Akagi, a towering karateka, charged at Rian.
Wearing a black belt and a snow-white gi, Akagi looked like a warrior—solid stance, measured breathing, sharp eyes.
He flew forward with a textbook karate kick.
Rian didn't dodge.
He punched.
His fist met Akagi's foot—and shattered it instantly.
Splinters of wood flew from Akagi's geta sandal.
Then came the crack of bone.
Akagi's leg bent sideways.
His calf split in two, his shinbone punching through skin like a dagger.
He screamed, writhing on the floor.
A younger, better-dressed man rushed in.
"Akagi-niisan! I'll avenge you!"
Rian blinked.
Why does that guy look like he's lost a lover, not a teacher?
The younger fighter tried to kick—but Rian's counter-kick landed first.
Snap!
Two more eggs cracked. A new brother joined Akagi in the hall of the broken.
One by one, more challengers came.
And one by one, they fell.
Soon, only a few hundred were still standing.
Then just a hundred.
Then fewer.
Each time Rian stepped forward, they stepped back.
Until finally… they all stopped.
Rian raised a single hand.
And yelled in Japanese:
"Kneel."
The entire crowd shook.
Then… they obeyed.
Eight thousand men dropped to their knees on the street before City Hall.
In the chaos, silence fell.
And there stood Rian—back to City Hall, alone and undefeated, towering before the masses now prostrated at his feet.