“Ding. You have knocked down your opponent in an unofficial match. The system has automatically extracted superior attributes: Waist Power 3, Takedown Technique 1, Leg Technique 1, Coordination 2. Please check your status promptly.”
The system notification chid, and Jason Luo imdiately knew—Shadow was down for good.
He turned toward Mad Bones. “So, what now? Still want to keep going?”
Mad Bones didn’t look nervous in the slightest. “Didn’t expect you to know Sanda. Guess we underestimated you. But honestly, losing to him wouldn’t have been so bad. Losing to , though—you’ll regret it.”
With that, he suddenly dropped to one knee, circling his fists in a ritual motion before reversing direction. It was solemn, deliberate… and instantly familiar.
Jason Luo’s eyes narrowed. He’d seen this before at Coach Datchai’s gym. It was the pre-fight ritual unique to Muay Thai—one of the most dangerous stand-up fighting arts in the world.
Coach Datchai had explained it once: Muay Thai, known as the “Art of Eight Limbs,” uses fists, elbows, knees, and shins as weapons. It’s a hard-style discipline that trains the body to endure and deliver devastating strikes. Historically, it was even banned from official competitions for its sheer brutality, only being allowed back after years of rule modifications.
Now Jason Luo was about to face that sa ruthless fighting style—and a thrill ran through him, a mix of nerves and excitent.
When Mad Bones finished the ritual, he rose to his feet, let out a sharp battle cry, and advanced slowly toward Jason. Then, surprisingly, he gestured for Jason to make the first move.
Jason didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward and unleashed a fast combination of punches—but sothing imdiately felt off. The opponent wasn’t dodging, only blocking. And his defense was unlike anything Jason had seen. Though he held a standard guard, whenever Jason aid for his head, Mad Bones deliberately t the blows with his forehead. When Jason attacked his ribs or abdon, Mad Bones countered by slamming his elbows into Jason’s fists—eting every punch with the hardest part of his body.
Seriously? That’s insane!
Every hit Jason threw landed on bone, not flesh. His punches did no damage, and instead, a dull numbness spread through his hands.
Mad Bones grinned, done showing off, and then retaliated. He launched a flurry of vicious low kicks—each one like being struck with a club. Jason’s shins felt like they were on fire.
Damn, his legs are made of steel!
Jason tried to grab his opponent’s leg, but the mont his guard dropped, Mad Bones retracted and leaned forward, driving a brutal elbow downward. Jason couldn’t guard both high and low—he was completely on the defensive.
He’d t a real fighter this ti.
Muay Thai was every bit as fierce as Datchai had warned. Jason could handle the upper-body strikes, but he was losing badly in the lower-body exchanges. Those low kicks were monstrous—these guys trained by striking bare-legged against wooden posts every day.
And their power generation was unique. Regular fighters used their hips and thighs to drive low kicks. Muay Thai fighters, though, used direct lower-leg force—faster, sharper, deadlier.
After several more sweeps, Jason’s right leg was swollen and throbbing red. Panic set in—he couldn’t keep taking hits like that. He lunged forward, forcing close contact to neutralize the kicks.
Mad Bones didn’t back down. Instead, he t Jason head-on with elbows and knees, his strikes accompanied by fierce, rhythmic shouts: “Yabale! Yabale!”
Jason gritted his teeth, preferring close combat despite the danger. At least this way, his legs got a break—he wasn’t sure how much more they could take.
The clinch was brutal. At such close range, neither had ti to dodge or block properly. It ca down to endurance and toughness. Fists t elbows; ribs t knees.
Jason relied on his superior Stamina and Conditioning Attributes, while Mad Bones drew on his hardened physique. The exchange left both n bloodied and bruised. Finally, after realizing neither would yield easily, they stepped back, glaring at each other.
Mad Bones wiped the corner of his mouth, smirking. “Not bad. But you’re still going down. Watch this—my legs!”
He spun into a low sweep. Jason tried to retreat, but it was a feint—the leg stopped halfway before turning into a spinning roundhouse. Jason raised both arms to block, but Mad Bones seized the mont, locking his hands behind Jason’s neck and yanking him down, driving his knees rcilessly into Jason’s abdon.
Jason bent over, trying to protect himself, but the onslaught didn’t stop. Mad Bones shifted, driving a crushing elbow into Jason’s back—the impact as sharp and solid as a hamr blow.
Jason’s back flared with pain. Fueled by adrenaline, he grabbed Mad Bones and shoved him forward with all his strength. The sudden burst of power caught Mad Bones off guard. Losing balance, he was forced backward faster and faster until both of them crashed to the floor, rolling across the mats, locked in a chaotic grapple.
“Pin him! Hit him hard!”
“Yeah! Grab his hair! Scratch—ah, no, he flipped him again!”
The won’s team shouted from the sidelines, stamping their feet in frustration. Catherine was tense too—but she didn’t interfere. In her view, a one-on-one duel between n was sacred. Outsiders never stepped in.
Luckily for Jason, Muay Thai—like boxing—was mainly a stand-up art. Its grappling and submission skills were limited. After wrestling and rolling for what felt like forever, neither man gained the upper hand. Finally, they kicked apart, both gasping for breath as they staggered to their feet.
Jason wiped the sweat from his brow. His muscles burned, lungs heaved.
Mad Bones, panting heavily, stared at him with a mix of irritation and respect. This guy’s tougher than I thought…
If he wanted to win, he’d have to target the legs again. His gaze dropped naturally to Jason’s right leg.
Jason caught it instantly. That swollen leg was his weak point—and his opponent knew it.
Forget defending, he thought. If I’m going to lose, I’ll lose attacking. You sweep ? I’ll sweep you right back.
Jason struck first, alternating low kicks from left to right. But Mad Bones effortlessly lifted his knee, letting each kick glide past.
Jason quickly shifted to a middle kick, but this height was even easier to defend—Mad Bones blocked with his arm or turned sideways, letting the blow land harmlessly on his hip.
Jason blinked. Wait—that’s it? That’s how you counter a low kick?
Coach Kamman had once said it: sotis, your opponent is the best teacher you’ll ever have.
Jason stopped attacking, ready to use the sa trick next ti.
But his opponent wasn’t about to make it that easy. As if reading his thoughts, Mad Bones switched tactics entirely—front kicks, push kicks, whip kicks, everything except low sweeps.
Jason groaned in frustration. “You’ve got to be kidding !”
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