The hour had passed like a whisper. Jin stretched his arms, rotated his shoulders, and cracked his neck with an exaggerated pop that echoed through the hushed arena. His face held a mischievous smirk, his brows arched like he was about to perform in a street circus rather than a life-or-death trial.
The crowd greeted him with venom.
"Boooo!"
"Send him to the pits!"
"Clown!"
And, scattered like flecks of gold in mud, a few voices roared in support.
"Beat them all, Madman Jin!"
"Make 'em dance!"
Jin raised his hand to his ear, pivoting theatrically in a slow circle as if he were conducting their hatred.
"Louder!" he barked in broken tones, his grin shining. "Jin no hear you!"
The boos roared louder, filling the cavernous hall until the pillars themselves seemed to vibrate. Jin clapped like a delighted child.
Whispering Generals
In the upper seats, war generals and nobles leaned into one another.
"This foreigner, he learns fast… too fast," one murmured.
"He toys with death as though he cannot see it," another said.
"He's reckless," a third scoffed, "but reckless dogs sometimes make good weapons."
Several pairs of eyes gleamed with hunger. A man like Jin was a commodity dangerous, unpredictable, but if controlled? Invaluable.
The Introduction
The translator, doubling as announcer, stepped forward, his voice booming with ceremonial weight this time.
"Next,standing against the outsider" His words carried gravity, rhythm, as if each syllable tightened the air. "The Scion of the Crimson Peak. The Lightning Heir of the Southern Continent. Slayer of the Nine Marauders of Qianzhou. Guardian of the Vermilion Gates. Son of the Unyielding Mountain"
The crowd surged with murmurs, their bodies leaning forward as the list grew.
"the youngest martial prodigy in a hundred years. At seventeen, he bested generals. At twenty, he shattered the record of ascension. At twenty-seven...he became the youngest Master recognized across the Southern Continent. A man prophesied to touch the Final Rank within five short years."
The arena's silence cracked open as gasps poured out.
The announcer raised his arm dramatically.
"Clan Heir… Shenlu Feng!"
The son of the Clan Leader emerged. Tall, broad-shouldered, robed in crimson silk traced with storm-like embroidery. His hair tied high, his steps unhurried but each one exuding a predator's presence. His gaze was calm, neutral like a blade unsheathed but yet to swing.
The nobles straightened. Generals bowed their heads slightly. This was no common fighter. This was their continent's future.
Jin's Curiosity
Jin blinked once.
He leaned sideways to the translator, whispering too loudly, "Announce too long. Man gonna trip on his own titles, ya?"
The crowd hissed. But Jin's eyes, behind the childish grin, narrowed with something sharper curiosity.
A Master at twenty-seven, huh? Jin thought. Then… Zin. He can use it. I can't. This will be fun.
He licked his teeth.
The Stipulation
The announcer raised his arms again.
"This fourth round will be contested under grappling law! Ten strikes only strikes permitted only to the abdominal region. Grappling and submission holds permitted without limit. Victory is achieved by forcing your opponent to submit, throwing them out of the ring, or pinning them on their back. The bout shall last three rounds, five minutes each. If no victor is declared after three, the only way to win ,knock your opponent cold!"
The crowd erupted.
Jin blinked, mouth open.
"… Grap…pling?" He turned to Ruan's direction, scratching his head. "Jin no know… grab fight?"
Ruan tugged at her chains, eyes pleading. She already feared what was coming.
Round One Begins
The gong sounded.
Before Jin could even fix his stance, a blur closed the distance.
WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!
Ten blows. Lightning-fast fists sunk into Jin's abdomen like thunderous drumbeats. Each one controlled, precise, measured to the allowed region.
The crowd gasped.
Jin stumbled back, clutching his stomach with an exaggerated wheeze. His eyes widened then snapped to Ruan.
A guard slashed her back lightly, a shallow but bloody mark to fulfill the rule. She clenched her jaw but made no sound.
Jin's playful grin faltered for the first time. His chest rose and fell sharply. His gaze swung back to Shenlu Feng.
The heir stood motionless, hands at his side. His neutral expression mirrored his father's. Like he hadn't even exerted effort.
"…Like father… like son," Jin muttered under his breath, his broken words more chilling than comedic this time.
Jin's Resolve
He straightened, wiping his mouth as though spitting imaginary blood. Then he smirked again, forced, crooked.
"Ok… play time," Jin said, raising his fists. "You fast. Jin faster."
The crowd roared in anticipation as Shenlu Feng adjusted his stance, calm and poised, like the eye of a storm.
The clash began anew Jin ducking, weaving, mimicking clumsy brawls but watching, studying. His opponent, a master of grappling locks and throws, flowed like water, redirecting every strike with seasoned control.
Jin laughed even as he was flipped, even as his back almost hit the ground.
"Woo! Spin ride!"
But his eyes sharpened.
Behind the laughter, he was learning.
And as the gong ended Round One, the crowd thundered with cheers for Shenlu Feng's dominance but whispers passed too.
The fool wasn't broken yet.
And Ruan… saw that his grin never touched his eyes.