042. The Green Armored Hero at the End of His Rope

Although he had encountered an ambush, Harry believed that as long as he was careful, armed with his pumpkin bombs and pumpkin daggers that zipped through the air like bees, taking out the mobsters below was merely a matter of time. Once he dealt with their heavy firepower, he could even drop down and fight them hand-to-hand if necessary, so he didn’t see it as a big problem.

Of course, what Harry didn’t know was that this was a conspiracy planned specifically against him, and the participants were not limited to just the mafia. Hidden in the darkness at that moment lay a threat that could truly be called deadly for him.

The mafia members were merely the obvious bait, the lure; the real killing move was concealed in the shadows, silently approaching Harry’s position.

Ninjas—those spies and assassins who operate in secrecy, hidden from sight.

In the world of American comics, ninjas might not form hand seals to summon fireballs or water dragons, but they possess powers beyond imagination, embodying both mystery and strength. Even Batman, before he became famous, studied martial arts under a ninja master.

The Japanese yakuza boss, Nobu Yoshioka, who had allied himself with the Kingpin, was a veteran ninja who had practiced ninjutsu for decades—at least of the jonin rank. He couldn’t perform shadow clones, Rasengan, Chidori, Flying Thunder God, summoning techniques, or use Sharingan, but that didn’t stop him from being a master of assassination. With his weapon, the kusarigama—a unique tool comprised of a long rope, one end a spiked metal ball, the other a sickle-bladed spearhead, able to slice through cowhide as easily as cutting fruit—he had claimed the lives of countless New York gangsters.

Among his victims were many renowned figures, akin to enforcers of notorious triads.

At that moment, this jonin Yoshioka, clad in dark night attire, was lurking just behind Harry, stealthily advancing with his kusarigama.

Yoshioka was patient. Upon finding Harry’s location, he did not rush to attack. Instead, he moved quietly, determined to take Harry down in one decisive blow.

His choice was correct, and his timing impeccable, striking at the very moment when Harry was most relaxed, unleashing a lethal attack.

But he had underestimated the defensive power of Harry’s flight suit.

Although its design was ugly, the flight suit’s defense was beyond reproach, impervious even to handgun bullets. Yoshioka’s kusarigama easily hooked Harry’s throat, but in the end, it merely showered sparks across the suit, failing to slice through or decapitate him.

Still, the attack nearly scared Harry out of his wits; just when he thought himself safe, danger from behind almost ended his life.

The proverb about the mantis stalking the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind, suddenly made perfect sense—fortunately, his flight suit’s formidable defense had saved him, or else he would already be dead.

Relieved, Harry immediately grabbed the rope of the kusarigama and pulled it toward himself with force.

Enhanced by the physical augmentation serum, Harry’s strength was overwhelming; Yoshioka could barely hold onto his weapon, nearly losing his grip entirely.

Yet Yoshioka remained unfazed, letting the rope be yanked away as he secretly gathered strength in his other hand, swinging the spiked ball hard toward Harry’s visor.

The suit had proven strong against cuts, but it was uncertain if it could withstand heavy impacts; even if it held, a solid blow might leave the Green Armored Hero dazed. Yoshioka seized this opportunity, charging in to launch a close-range assault.

The kusarigama was a long-range weapon; strapped to Yoshioka’s back was a samurai sword—capable of cleaving dozens of tiles and slicing through chainmail, its reputation somewhat mythologized.

Bang! The spiked ball flew, but Harry blocked it with his arm, avoiding a blow to the head. Yoshioka, now up close, brought his sword down in a flash of steel.

With a hiss, the blade struck. The flight suit held firm, but Harry staggered, and Yoshioka pressed his advantage, raining down blows.

Harry’s physical prowess was indeed impressive, yet his lack of combat technique was his downfall. Yoshioka’s relentless assault drove him toward the rooftop’s edge.

If he fell, the mobsters below would swarm like sharks scenting blood, tearing him apart—at that point, escape would be impossible.

Without his glider wings, the Green Armored Hero’s combat ability was reduced by more than half. All he could do was rely on his suit’s defense and brute strength to clumsily fend off Yoshioka’s attacks.

“This won’t do—if this keeps up, it’s a dead end. I need to find a way out, fast!”

Finally, Harry resolved to escape. He still had a few pumpkin bombs and daggers, originally meant for picking off the gangsters below, but now he would have to use them against Yoshioka and make his getaway.

Dodging furiously, Harry threw several pumpkin bombs. Yoshioka, recognizing their power from previous battles, immediately retreated—he knew better than to take them head-on or try to slice them with his blade.

But as Yoshioka backed off, the pumpkin bombs in midair suddenly sprouted curved blades, buzzing like wings, and flew straight at him.

Flying, turning, slicing, and exploding—these pumpkin daggers were enough to keep Yoshioka busy for a while. Seizing the moment, Harry dashed toward the other side of the factory, ready to leap from the building. If he landed in the thick jungle below, his stamina might carry him to safety.

Just as Harry prepared to take the leap, a throwing knife came whistling from afar, embedding itself several centimeters deep in the concrete at his toes, the handle vibrating with a low hum.

At the same time, several shadows flashed by, knocking the airborne pumpkin daggers aside. In the distance, explosions lit up the night sky, bathing everything in firelight.

By the glow, Harry saw yet another figure, who had appeared nearby without him noticing—a man, not tall but solidly built, with a shaved head and nervous movements. Most striking was the bullseye mark branded in the center of his forehead.

At that moment, the man was spinning a throwing knife in his hand, gazing arrogantly at Harry from afar.

“Green Armored Hero, right? I’ve never killed a superhero before. You’ll be the first—but definitely not the last!”

In that instant, the Green Armored Hero was cornered, with nowhere left to run.