Chapter 693: The Last Challenge
The Butcher charged, machetes slashing through the air, aiming to carve
open.
I moved.
Faster than he could see.
I ducked the first swing, sidestepped the second, then closed the distance in a blur. My sword flashed, a silver arc in the dim light, slicing through the air with deadly precision.
The first machete clattered to the ground, severed at the hilt.
The second followed before he could react.
Then—
My sword slashed horizontally, biting into his neck.
Blood fountained, hot and thick, spraying across the sand as his head toppled from his shoulders, rolling like a grueso ball before coming to a stop at my feet.
His body collapsed, blood pumping from the stump of his neck, his fingers twitching as the last of his life drained away.
The crowd scread.
"DEMON!"
"DEATH! DEATH! DEATH!"
I didn’t look at the body.
The announcer’s voice bood through the arena, echoing off the blood-sared walls, "We have our winner, ladies and gentlen—Death!"
But my attention wasn’t on him.
It was on her.
Natalya.
Her eyes were locked on —wide, intense, sothing new flickering in their depths. Interest. Curiosity. A spark of sothing dangerous.
Before the cheers could fade, I saw her move. She stepped toward the announcer, her voice low but commanding, her presence demanding attention.
The announcer nodded, then raised his hands, silencing the crowd.
The announcer raised his hands, silencing the crowd. "Ladies and gentlen!" he shouted, his voice cracking with excitent. "The last round is gonna be special! Five against one!"
A wave of gasps and cheers erupted from the crowd, their energy electric, anticipatory. "Madam Natalya here..." the announcer continued, "Is going to let her own personal bodyguards fight our challenger, Death!"
The crowd exploded, their voices shaking the walls of the arena. "And if Death can survive ten minutes without dying..." the announcer paused, letting the tension build, "he will earn the opportunity to work for Madam Natalya!"
A collective gasp rippled through the arena, followed by deafening cheers. "What could be a greater gift than that?!"
Natalya stepped forward, her smile slow, calculating, her lips curving in a way that sent a jolt of sothing primitive through . She gestured, and her bodyguards—five hulking n, each one a mountain of muscle and scars—stepped into the ring.
She moved closer, her voice low, just for . "I’m optimistic about you."
I t her gaze, unflinching. "I have a request," I said, my voice calm, asured. "I hope Madam won’t bla ... if anyone gets killed."
Natalya chuckled, the sound dark, amused. "I like it," she purred, her eyes gleaming. "Don’t worry. I won’t bla you."
A pause. "It just ans... my people aren’t good enough." She stepped back, her voice cold, final. "Only the strong survive in this world."
I nodded, watching as she retreated to the edges of the arena, leaving her bodyguards to choose their weapons.
One grabbed a serrated knife, another a curved machete, a third a double-edged sword, and the last two chose to fight with nothing but their bare hands, their knuckles cracking as they flexed their fingers.
The announcer’s voice cracked through the arena, "FIGHT—START!
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