Reigning Supreme in Every Reality

On the familiar grassy plain, Lyon and Tony stood side by side, their hair swaying in the wind.

The late autumn climate on the west coast was rainy.

At this moment, flowing dark clouds took turns covering the sun, casting the whole world in cold tones.

The grass beneath their feet rippled like layered ocean waves under the desolate chill of the wind.

Lyon remained silent for a while in the face of the cold wind: "It's only 1:40 PM; we're too early."

"Being punctual is a good habit, and coming early gives us the advantage of setting the stage," Tony said confidently, standing upright with an air of authority. "You wouldn't want the Ten Rings to find your house and tear it down, right?"

"I don't live there anymore."

"Oh! Interesting. Then how about I clear out your place and use it to raise a pet dog?"

"If you do that, I'll shove your head into your rear end."

"…Disgusting. Can we change the topic?"

"Sure, I was just about to ask," Lyon said, glancing at the Mark IV armor hovering in the sky like a landmark.

"Where's your new suit?"

He glanced at Tony, who was dressed casually: "Didn't you say you'd use your new suit to fuck that Wenwu senseless today?"

Tony was clearly pleased with the question, a mysterious smirk curling on his lips. "You'll see it. I guarantee it'll leave you grinning all day long."

"Oh, so mysterious? Excellent. Now I'm looking forward to it," Lyon said with raised eyebrows. "Let's hope your cries for help later are nice and loud."

"Hah," Tony sneered, "cries for help? Not a chance! You'll see those underwear-on-their-head thugs flat on the ground after I'm done with them!"

"Sure, but the thugs aren't the main point. The real challenge is their big boss…"

Lyon's ears twitched slightly. "They're here."

"Where?" Tony scanned the grassy plains around them, but saw no one.

This place used to be part of Stark's old estate.

After being abandoned, it hadn't been redeveloped. Sparse palm trees dotted the surroundings, and for several kilometers in every direction, the land was open and flat.

Beyond that was the cliff, leading down to the shallows of the ocean below.

"There!" Lyon motioned toward the sky.

Tony followed his gaze and saw a speck in the distance, a black dot approaching from the horizon.

The roar of engines grew louder, gradually becoming more distinct.

"Seriously? I thought they'd climb up from the cliff edge like assassins in the movies, but they're arriving in helicopters?"

Three minutes later.

With an earsplitting roar, several helicopters sliced through the humid air, descending to land in front of Lyon and Tony.

The rotor blades churned up sharp gusts, scattering grass clippings into the air. The damp smell of churned earth filled the area, accompanied by the high-pitched whine of branches snapping in the whirlwind.

The helicopter doors opened one after another.

A group of masked individuals quickly disembarked, assembling in formation on the grassy plain.

The lead helicopter, like the boss in a video game making a grand entrance, remained stationary as the others formed rank.

Only after everyone stood in formation did the door on the right side of the lead helicopter slowly open. A polished combat boot stepped out first, followed by a figure in a black tactical outfit with a cinched waist, moving with deliberate, unhurried precision.

Tony squinted slightly, his irritation growing.

He couldn't shake the feeling of being disrespected, as if his opponent considered him unworthy of haste.

He had envisioned today's showdown as a one-man standoff against an army, where he'd blast away the mysteries of this ancient organization with guns and firepower.

Yet here the opponent was, swaggering in by helicopter, flaunting their presence in an overtly dramatic fashion, as if no one was worth their attention.

Meanwhile, Tony and his "little brother" were standing there like two clueless receptionists, seemingly waiting to greet the big boss with a shoe shine and a parasol.

"Look at that Chinese fucker flaunting his choppers.. my one suit costs more than 10 billion USD.." Tony muttered gritting his teeth.

He then took several deep breaths. He couldn't recall ever being looked down on like this before.

He was always the one doing the looking down after all.

"I want to rip that guy's head off right now, press it against the helicopter rotor, and ask him if he plans to ride a chopper again," Tony muttered to Lyon.

"Well, you'd better get started," Lyon replied, stepping back a pace. "The guy stepping off the helicopter now, the flashy old man, is Wenwu."

Lyon showed no particular emotion toward Wenwu's arrogance.

After all, the man was fated not to leave Los Angeles in one piece today.

What amused Lyon more was Tony's exasperation.

It was worth noting that Tony seemed to have a fundamental misunderstanding about today's confrontation.

He believed he was engaging in an honorable duel, imagining his opponent would arrive fully prepared, with mutual respect exchanged before the battle began.

But Wenwu had never issued a duel challenge. From the start, his attitude was that of delivering a death notice—a stance of disdain that hadn't wavered.

Tony was overplaying his part.

"Tony Stark, nice to meet you. I'm Wenwu."

Tony strode forward with wide eyes, but Wenwu spoke first.

He was a typical East Asian man with slicked-back hair, exuding a distinctly traditional and refined demeanor.

There was a depth in his eyes, carved by time, that made one immediately think of him as well-read, reserved, and restrained—a man embodying the literary adage of a gentleman who hides his sword.

But the moment he opened his mouth, his words were sharp and violent: "You even brought your little brother along. How unfortunate—today, neither of you will leave here alive."

Tony met Wenwu's gaze head-on, refusing to back down.

"Oh? Is that so? Why couldn't it be you and your men lying dead here instead?"

Tony was trying hard to sound tough.

However, the charm and flair that worked wonders in disarming ladies and dazzling the crowd seemed somewhat inadequate when faced with Wenwu's blade-like, piercing stare.

At least in Lyon's eyes, Tony seemed to be at a disadvantage.

"Me? Die here?" Wenwu chuckled as though he'd just heard a ridiculous joke.

He walked past Tony, casually surveying the surroundings.

"The burial site you've chosen for yourself is quite scenic, Mr. Stark."

Turning back, he raised a hand slightly in Tony's direction.

"Your contributions to the world are worthy of respect, but the reputation of the Ten Rings cannot be tarnished."

"I'll give you the chance to make a move, Mr. Stark, but you have no hope of survival. If you're planning to run, I suggest you do it quickly."

Though Wenwu looked at Tony, his gaze seemed to go right through him.

Centuries of battle had ingrained in Wenwu an unshakable belief in his own invincibility, a confidence rooted in his possession of the Ten Rings.

Tony opened his mouth, trying to think of something suitably grand or clever to say.

But as he mulled it over, he realized the coolest line he'd ever uttered in his life was still just, "I am Iron Man."

After hesitating for a few seconds, he reached out and tapped lightly on the chest with his finger.

"You're going to regret this," he said.

With that, Tony turned and stepped back, raising his hands slightly and giving them a subtle shake.

A few seconds later, the sound of something cutting through the air descended from above.

Several people turned their heads toward the source of the sound, only to see six fiery mechanical components tearing through the clouds and streaking straight toward Tony.

"Is that... Mark 42?" Lyon was momentarily stunned. "So this must be the 'big surprise' Tony mentioned?"

Mark 42, the suit from the movies, was known for its ability to break into separate components and fly toward Tony.

Now, however, it seemed to be called Mark 5.

The mechanical pieces—those for the arms, legs, and other parts—all flew directly toward Tony.

Aside from Lyon, everyone present felt at least a slight sense of awe.

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