The Red Face who studied the losses they face because of Fatty Ben, directly smashed the table in anger.
He thought for a long ti before coming to a conclusion.
"Gentlen," Red Face began, his voice low, "the fourth round will decide everything. We’ve already lost millions in wagers against Kent, but if he wins... even by chance... we’ll be gutted like fish."
A lean man in a black robe, head of the Silver Fang Betting Hall, tapped his fingers against the jade table. "The boy’s luck carried him through the treasure round. But this is Ling Long we’re talking about. She’s a Long family prodigy. It’s already over."
"Not enough," Red Face cut him off. "I don’t want ’likely.’ I want guaranteed. The odds they set were too high—if Kent sohow loses, we will get everything. No risks.
For that we will ensure the match ends in less than ten breaths."
The room went silent. Everyone understood the unspoken plan.
An hour later, in the secluded Long family pavilion, Ling Long sat cross-legged in the courtyard. Moonlight glinted off her bronze-hued skin and the faint, earthen aura that seed to seep from her body like a mountain breathing. Her training robe was torn in places from that day’s sparring, but her eyes were sharp, predatory.
The heavy gates creaked open, and ten shadows slipped inside. Red Face stepped forward, holding a small storage pouch in one hand and a jade slip in the other.
"Miss Ling Long," he greeted, bowing low, his tone dripping with politeness. "We co with a... proposal."
Ling Long opened one eye, unimpressed. "I don’t recall doing business with rats."
Several of the n stiffened, but Red Face only chuckled. "True. But this particular rat knows where the cheese is. Three million mana crystals—delivered the mont you defeat Kent King within ten breaths. And..." He placed a small, ornate box on the ground, sliding it toward her with his foot. "...a Saint-tier ’Earthheart Pill’ to further strengthen your earth elent before the duel."
Her brow arched slightly. "Three million... and an Earthheart Pill? For a match I’ll win anyway?"
The lean man from Silver Fang gambling house stepped forward, his voice low. "We just want it swift. The crowd will go mad, wagers will pour in for the finals, and no one will suspect collusion. Ten breaths—no more."
Ling Long chuckled—low, mocking, dangerous. "Ten breaths? That’s insulting. I’ll bury him in three moves."
"You’re certain?" Red Face pressed.
She rose to her feet, her shadow stretching like a pillar under the moon. "Earth is not slow when wielded by the right hands. I’ve crushed speed-fighters faster than that fox-masked insect. Kent King will be nothing but dust on the wind."
A thin smile spread across Red Face’s face. "Then we have a deal."
The jade slip was handed over, recording the pact in coded script that would vanish after the duel. Ling Long tucked it away without a second glance.
-
By morning, whispers had slithered through every market stall, tea house, and gambling den in Phoenix Range.
"Did you hear? Ling Long says three moves are enough."
"Three? Hah! That’s generous. I’ve seen her pulverize boulders bigger than a house."
"They say the gambling houses are preparing special celebration banquets. They already think Kent’s done for."
"Better sell your belongings and bet against him before the odds drop."
The rumors spread like wildfire, fanned by carefully placed tongues and paid gossipers. Even the street beggars were reciting exaggerated versions—Kent begging for rcy, Ling Long stamping him into the ground before the first breath ended.
At the Golden Rat Gambling House, the crowd swelled like a living beast. The betting counters never stopped ringing with mana stone weights, clerks scribbling frantically to record stakes. Fatty Lambu, now dressed in an embroidered crimson robe, walked the floor like a king surveying his treasury.
"Step right up! The odds are still fifty to one against Kent! Bet before they drop—by the heavens, don’t miss your chance!"
Groups of cultivators, rchants, and even sect disciples poured in, so laughing, others grim with intent. The very idea of Kent surviving had beco a joke in the city.
Outside the gambling house, the streets buzzed with duel fever. rchants sold miniature clay figurines of Ling Long crushing a masked man into the ground. So even sold talismans marked "Three Moves" for good luck.
-
Next Day... Near the Fighting Arena...
People gathered like a storm and sat all around the arena in circles one above the others.
In the upper tiers of the Phoenix Range arena, the elders discussed the match in hushed voices.
"Ling Long is a sure win," muttered Elder Zhao, stroking his beard. "Her defense alone makes her untouchable. And against Kent’s... unconventional thods? She’ll snap him like a twig."
Elder i, however, glanced toward the duel platform with narrowed eyes. "Don’t be so certain. That boy hides more than he shows. Did you not see how calm he was after the treasure round?"
"Calm? Or resigned to his fate?" Zhao smirked.
In the crowd below, Ling Long arrived early, dressed in battle armor of dark gold, every piece radiating an earthen steadiness that weighed on the hearts of those who saw her. She didn’t look at the crowd—she didn’t need to. Her presence alone was enough to silence the noise wherever she walked.
anwhile, Kent was nowhere to be seen. This only fueled the whispers.
"He’s not coming."
"Maybe he fled the city."
"Coward. Can’t bla him—better to run than face the mountain head-on."
The crowd roared when the announcer’s voice bood over the arena:
"Prepare yourselves! Fourth round, first duel—Kent King versus Ling Long! This is the first call."
The platform trembled under the surge of cheers. Wagers were finalized, mana stones locked in. Fatty Lambu leaned against the balcony rail of his private viewing box, eyes glittering like a miser staring at his vault.
Ten breaths. That’s all it would take.
Or so they believed.
-
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