066. The Man Who Lifted the Hammer of Thor

Old Bridge Town was a small settlement tucked away in the deserts of New Mexico, its permanent population barely numbering in the hundreds. Towns like this were scattered throughout the desert, surviving by fueling passing cars or by means of less reputable third industries, sustaining themselves on whatever the barren land would allow.

But today, Old Bridge Town had suddenly become lively. Crowds of idlers from all around the region had driven in, forming convoys to see what the fuss was about.

The previous night, accompanied by a flash of multicolored light, a hammer had fallen from the sky like a meteorite, crashing into the desert and leaving behind a massive crater.

Eyewitnesses claimed the hammer was of ordinary size, yet no matter how hard even the strongest men tried, they couldn't lift it. Not even towing it with a truck made it budge.

The more incredible the tale, the more people flocked to see for themselves, including some elderly folks in their eighties and nineties with shock-white hair.

When Su Ye and his companions arrived, they saw a scene straight out of a spectacle: countless idle men trying, in vain, to pull the so-called Hammer of Thor with their cars.

Among them, Su Ye recognized one driving a battered pickup—it was Old Li, the librarian from Central City High.

“Old Li, what a coincidence!” Su Ye approached, greeting him. They had just seen each other at the graduation ceremony a few days ago and even exchanged a few words.

Old Li sat in his pickup, the rear bumper torn off, parked helplessly by the roadside. He turned to Su Ye and said, “It’s the holidays, so I thought I’d go traveling. But you, boy, why aren’t you at home writing or drawing your comics? What brings you to this circus?”

Su Ye’s face instantly darkened. “Old Li, that Batman and Spider-Man comic wasn’t mine! I just saw it online by chance. Please, let me explain! Old Li, Old Li!”

But whether from selective hearing or simply ignoring him, Old Li just drove off, leaving the battered bumper behind, shaking his head as he went.

“These young hacks nowadays have no dedication, no future at all!”

Su Ye, left awkwardly in the dust, rejoined his group, mentally reminding himself that Old Li, given his age and size, should really avoid soda, especially the kind imported from Brazil.

By now, the fighters had arrived as well: aside from the team led by Mai Shiranui, who had detoured directly to New York, and the American team that survived on performance enhancers, six of the eight teams were present.

A dozen or so fighters stood at a distance, gazing at the Hammer of Thor with eyes alight with anticipation.

“This thing seems pretty mysterious. Could it be some sort of treasure, like the Kusanagi—?” Benimaru nudged Kyo Kusanagi and whispered.

The Kusanagi Sword, the Yasakani Jewel, and the Yata Mirror—these were the three sacred treasures of Japanese myth, passed down for generations. The Kusanagi Sword, also known as the Grasscutter, was Kyo Kusanagi’s family heirloom, so when it came to artifacts and sacred relics, Kyo’s opinion carried weight.

But Kyo just shook his head, admitting he wasn’t sure, though it certainly seemed possible.

“If that’s the case, then it’s likely there’s some condition that must be met to lift the hammer. If the requirement isn’t fulfilled, not even a crane will move it an inch,” Kyo mused. But before he could finish, Chang Koehan—who dragged a huge iron ball and was always shackled with chains wherever he went—marched right up to the hammer and grabbed hold.

“Hmph!” Chang used all his strength, his face turning red, but the hammer didn’t move a hair.

“Damn it!” Chang, quick-tempered and explosive by nature—a convict on parole—flew into a rage, fastening his iron chain to the hammer’s handle and began swinging his massive iron ball around.

Some enthusiasts had calculated the specs of Chang’s iron ball: at 227 centimeters tall, Chang’s ball was roughly 60 centimeters in diameter. Using the volume formula for a sphere, the ball came out to about 0.113 cubic meters. Given iron’s density at 7,860 kilograms per cubic meter, the ball weighed approximately 888 kilograms.

Not eighteen hundred, not twenty-eight hundred—just eight hundred and eighty-eight kilos of iron, hauled everywhere by Chang Koehan, who dashed about nimbly, crashed into opponents, and tossed the ball one-handed like a discus. Such feats required many times the ball’s weight in strength.

Even more impressive, the fighters struck by this iron ball could still stand up and keep fighting as if nothing had happened.

So, do you still think that fighters from The King of Fighters are so much weaker than Spider-Man with his twenty-ton lifting strength? The comparison isn’t so far-fetched after all.

Chang fastened the chain and spun the iron ball like a hammer thrower, then released it. The heavy ball whooshed through the air.

“This fat guy’s a beast!” The onlookers couldn’t help but marvel. A ball so big that several men couldn’t even budge it, and yet he tossed it like it was a toy. Was it secretly just a painted foam ball?

As everyone watched in disbelief, the ball flew out, the chain went taut with a metallic clatter, but the hammer didn’t move at all.

Instead, the chain snapped the ball back, which rebounded and struck Chang squarely on the forehead.

Bang!

A thunderous clang rang out, and Chang dropped to the ground. A few seconds later, he sat up, scratching his head, picked up his iron ball, and sheepishly returned to Kim Kaphwan’s side.

“Master, I can’t move it.”

The crowd immediately concluded that the ball must be plastic—otherwise, Chang’s head would’ve split open by now.

Chang’s failure only reinforced Kyo’s theory: unless you were the destined one, the hammer would not be moved.

But perhaps the chosen one was among these fighters.

Everyone exchanged glances, then lined up to try their luck with the hammer. In the end, though, the result was disappointing. Not one of them—including Su Ye—could budge it. It seemed none of them were fated for the hammer.

Su Ye wasn’t surprised; even the Spider-Man of the MCU couldn’t lift it, so it was only natural that he, an impostor, couldn’t either.

As for Batman—he had already become one with the shadows.

Just as everyone was preparing to leave in disappointment, Su Ye noticed an old man who had been napping and drinking on the sidelines since their arrival—Zhen Yuan-Zhai.

While everyone else was busy trying their luck with the hammer, Zhen Yuan-Zhai had dozed off, snoring gently.

“Master Zhen,” Su Ye walked over and gently roused him. “Aren’t you going to give the hammer a try?”

The long white hair on Zhen Yuan-Zhai’s forehead veiled his face, and it was unclear whether his eyes were open or not. He yawned, “Children’s games. I’ll leave it to you youngsters.”

“But Master Zhen, you’re still ‘active,’ aren’t you?” Su Ye grinned.

Since 1994, he’d looked like an old man and had fought in The King of Fighters tournaments all the way up to the fourteenth edition in 2016—a fighting career spanning over twenty years, and still considered ‘active.’ How could he claim not to be interested in young people’s games?

As expected, after hearing Su Ye’s words, Zhen Yuan-Zhai slowly got to his feet, swayed over to the hammer, and, with a flick of his wrist, picked it up as easily as if it were his wine gourd.

In that instant, everyone—including Su Ye—was struck speechless with shock.