The first two fighters dropped into the pit, and judging by their faces, they didn’t look like the best around.
It was as if they’d been forced here in search of food—or maybe they’d simply grown tired of their miserable lives and decided to co die.
Either way, they would at least provide so satisfaction to the others here, who were definitely faring far better.
"It’s starting." Barn comnted.
No announcer. No ceremony. Just two n landing on blood-stained cent and turning to face each other.
Alright. Let’s see what passes for a fight around here.
They closed the distance, and the lean one threw first.
It missed clean.
The wind from it made a howl.
It was obvious these n were far stronger than normal humans, even if their technique was lacking.
The second punch connected on the bald man’s forearm — a block, technically — and I watched both his feet lift off the ground.
The crowd erupted into cheers.
"KILL HIM! KILL HIM! KILL HIM!"
I watched the lean fighter press his advantage — knee to the ribs, then a stomp that landed beside the bald man’s skull and sent a visible tremor through the pit floor.
Honestly? The technique was embarrassing. Wide swings, no footwork, no angles. Pure aggression.
But the power —
The bald man seized the ankle on the follow-through, twisted, and the lean fighter went fully horizontal before gravity rembered its job and introduced his face to the cent.
In the end, the bald man won, exploiting his opponent’s carelessness. He even broke the man’s neck—after all, there was a bonus for killing opponents.
And judging by how cheap this place was, the bonus price was probably a can of sardines.
Two more bouts ran after. Sa story, different faces — enhanced fighters, no real skill to speak of, just bodies loaded with augnted force and pointed at each other until one of them stopped moving.
By the third match, the crowd had stopped reacting to walls crumbling—they just wanted more blood spilled.
Then my na was called.
I stepped toward the pit entrance and got my first look at the man waiting on the other side.
Seven feet of him. Dark skinned, arms that belonged on sothing built rather than born, standing in the center of that blood-stained cent like he’d been installed there specifically to ruin my life.
The crowd murmured. Then laughed.
I could not bla them.
I glanced back once — not for reassurance, just habit — and caught Barn’s expression.
He wasn’t doing his usual stupid grin. He wasn’t doing anything, actually.
Just standing there with the specific face of a man composing a eulogy in real ti, guilt written across every feature like he’d personally signed my death certificate.
He was worrying for nothing.
Although my current strength wasn’t even 1% of my original power, it was still more than enough against ruffians.
I hadn’t made it three steps into the pit before a voice cracked through the entire space like a whip.
"LADIES AND GENTLEN—"
The crowd that had been laughing paused. Great. He got his own introduction.
"YOUR NEXT BOUT—"
He paused for effect. The crowd leaned in collectively, the way crowds do when they already know what’s coming and want to enjoy the anticipation anyway.
"RETURNING TO THIS PIT — UNDEFEATED, UNDISPUTED, AND UNFORTUNATELY FOR HIS OPPONENTS—" another pause, savored, "— STILL VERY HUNGRY TO KILL MORE."
The roar started building before the na even landed.
"YOUR REIGNING CHAMPION FROM THE LAST TOURNANT—"
"—JERO!"
The crowd erupted into cheers.
Even the VIP section stirred. I caught movent up there — the mayor’s granddaughter straightening slightly in her seat, eyes fixed on the pit. The one who rolled her eyes at earlier.
The announcer wasn’t finished.
"TEN CONFIRD KILLS IN THE LAST TOURNANT. THREE IN QUALIFYING ALONE." He gestured broadly at my opponent like a man presenting fine artwork.
"HE HAS NOT BEEN KNOCKED DOWN. HE HAS NOT BLED. WHAT HE HAS DONE — IS MADE ELEVEN N WISH THEY HAD STAYED HO!"
"—AND HIS OPPONENT TODAY—"
Here it ca.
"—LEON!"
Damn, my introduction was so mid they might as well have skipped it entirely.
Both of us stood face to face, and he sneered down at from whatever altitude his genetics had cursed the rest of us with.
"You can punch three tis, little man." He gestured — an open, lazy wave, like he was offering a seat.
The crowd absolutely loved that.
Jero stood there with his arms loose at his sides, completely unbothered.
I looked at him.
Then I looked at the fist he was so generously setting aside for my benefit.
"Thanks for the offer."
I raised my palm and inched it slowly toward his abdon.
"What are doing? Checking my abs?" Jero laughed, and the crowds laughed with him.
"What are you doing? Checking out my abs?" Jero laughed, and the crowd joined in.
"Wow, Jero, maybe he’s falling in love with you."
"Look at him! Pathetic!" another shouted.
"Is he drooling? Hahaha!" ca a chorus of mocking voices.
Jero looked at and gave a look of contempt. Frankly, I didn’t planned to hurt him much—
"Ha."
The sound exited my body the sa ti my fist connected.
Jero left the ground completely, seven feet of reigning champion beco airborne, and crossed the full width of the pit before the crowd had processed what their eyes were reporting.
He hit the wall. Back-first at a velocity that drove him through the first layer of cent.
Then he slid.
All the way down to the floor, where he folded into a position and stopped breathing.
The laughter was gone. Every last trace of it, evaporated.
Shit... I didn’t realize he was that weak. To think he would die from a single one-inch punch charged with Qi.
How did he beco a champion anyway? Don’t tell his opponents were just a bunch of weaklings.
I lowered my hand and turned to the crowd.
Up in the VIP section, the mayor had leaned forward in his seat for the first ti.
The granddaughter who had rolled her eyes at was now looking at with admiration.
’Good.’
If I was able to get the attention of such a young and attractive woman, then killing one guy wasn’t so bad after all.
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