"The match up you have all been waiting for! Iron Claw, Peak Silver Rank."
A towering man stepped onto the stage, his muscular frame covered in old battle scars, the most prominent one slashing diagonally across his bare chest. With a confident smirk, he raised a hand, acknowledging the roaring crowd as he nodded along to their cheers.
The referee then turned, unveiling his opponent.
"And his opponent, Range Rower, a Major Silver Rank."
A lean, wiry man walked in, his movements light but unassuming. Unlike the cheers that greeted Iron Claw, the crowd erupted into boos and jeers.
Iron Claw was no ordinary contestant. He had fought in last year’s tournament, making it to the final where he fought for the Crimson Flame dragon title only to suffer a brutal defeat—the very battle that left him with that scar.
The crimson Flame dragon title was a representation of power, passion and an unyielding spirit.
This time, he had advanced a minor realm and was at peak rank. He wasn’t just another competitor. He was the favorite to win the title this year.
Iron Claw cracked his knuckles, the sound echoing ominously across the arena. He grinned, his scarred chest rising and falling with steady breaths as he took his stance.
Across from him, Range Rower adjusted his gloves, his movements precise, controlled. His thin frame contrasted sharply with Iron Claw’s overwhelming physique, making the crowd’s disdain even louder.
"Boring!"
"Just surrender!"
"This won’t even last a minute!"
Iron Claw smirked, raising a hand to silence the jeers. "Relax, everyone. I’ll make this quick."
The referee glanced at both fighters. "Do any of you two want to quit?"
Both men shook their heads.
FWEEEET!
Boom!
Iron Claw charged, the ground cracking beneath his feet as he lunged forward, his iron-coated fists swinging down like boulders.
Whoosh!
But Range Rower was gone.
A flicker—nothing more than a blur of movement—before he reappeared at Iron Claw’s side.
Bang!
A palm strike to the ribs.
Iron Claw grunted but barely budged. He swung his massive arm, but Range Rower had already vanished again, reappearing at his other side.
Bang!
Another strike—this time to the shoulder.
The crowd’s jeers faltered.
Iron Claw snarled. "You—!"
Boom!
He stomped down, cracking the stage, sending dust and debris into the air. His aura surged, locking down the battlefield, forcing Range Rower into his range.
"Caught you."
Whoosh!
A metallic fist shot forward—faster than before.
But it still missed.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Range Rower’s attacks became faster, relentless. His thin build didn’t matter—his strikes were precise, exploiting every opening.
Iron Claw’s frustration grew. His fists were powerful but slow, like trying to catch the wind.
Then—
Shhk!
Range Rower’s fingers brushed against Iron Claw’s old scar.
Which made Iron claw twitch a little which didn’t escaped Range Rower’s eye.
A weakness!
Range Rower’s eyes sharpened. There it is.
He changed his rhythm, no longer aiming for just any strike—now, he focused on that spot.
"Stop running, I said!" Iron Claw’s roar echoed across the arena as he suddenly skidded to a halt.
He closed his eyes. The jeers and cheers of the crowd faded into the background as his ears twitched, honing in on the faintest shift in the air.
A smirk curled at his lips.
With a sudden burst of movement, he lashed out—a sharp kick to his right, followed by a devastating punch straight into the ground.
Thud!
This 𝓬ontent is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.
Range Rower, who had been weaving through the battlefield like a ghost, was mid-step, his blade aimed for Iron Claw’s throat—only to stagger as the ground cracked beneath him.
That moment of imbalance was all Iron Claw needed.
His namesake weapon, a brutal iron claw strapped to his forearm, gleamed in the sunlight as it arced forward in a ruthless slash.
Shhk!
A clean cut through the throat.
Range Rower’s eyes widened in silent horror as his body went limp, collapsing to the ground in a lifeless heap.
For a moment, silence.
Then—
The arena erupted!
"Yes! Don’t you dare lose—I bet my life savings on you!"
"That’s how you do it, Iron Claw!"
Wild cheers and frantic shouts filled the air as the crowd roared its approval, the blood-soaked battlefield igniting their excitement.
"Next up, we have Liu Mei, the dark horse whose true strength remains a mystery!"
The announcer’s voice rang through the arena calming down the crowd.
"And on the other side, we have last year’s runner-up for the Shadow Fang Dragon title, Spee Ding from the Flying Sword Sect!"
A wave of excitement swept through the crowd as Spee Ding stepped onto the stage.
The Shadow Fang Dragon title was given to those who were swift, cunning and their strikes were like that of a phantom.
As the runners up last year, Spee Ding was also one of the fan favourites.
Liu Mei, in contrast, strolled onto the platform at an unhurried pace, her small frame making the vast stage seem even larger.
"I heard you defeated a disciple from White Snow Sect during the selection period."
Spee Ding’s voice carried across the stage, his tone casual but laced with challenge.
Liu Mei simply chuckled, offering no reply.
The referee stepped forward. "Fighters, if either of you wishes to surrender, raise your hand now."
Neither showed any sign of raising their hands.. Then the referee blew the whistle.
(Let’s skip with the FWEEEET, alright.)
—Fight!
Spee Ding instantly vanished from his spot.
While the stage was soon filled with his afterimages, flickering like ghosts. Wherever he went, a lingering shadow remained for a full second, creating a dizzying illusion of multiple figures moving at once.
One would have been overwhelmed by the display.
But Liu Mei giggled softly, completely unfazed.
Instead of attacking, she twirled, jumped, twisted her body at odd angles, or even abruptly sat down.
The onlookers were confused.
Was she toying with him?
Spee Ding, however, felt the pressure mounting.
While his afterimages masked his real attacks, allowing him to strike from blind spots, Liu Mei evaded every single one with pinpoint accuracy.
To the spectators, it looked as if she was always getting hit. They only saw the delayed phantom of Spee Ding which to the untrained eye felt like it was the real deal.
A delay existed between what they saw and what was happening in real time.
After Liu Mei take a leap—Spee Ding’s blade strike where she landed.
After she makes a twist—his attack sliced through her body.
To the untrained eye, Liu Mei was getting struck over and over again.
But in reality, she was dodging everything perfectly, her movements synchronized with Spee Ding’s attacks at a level that seemed almost unnatural.
Spee Ding gritted his teeth. His fastest attacks were missing. His most unpredictable strikes were being dodged as if she already knew where they would land.
"How is she still standing despite getting hit over and over again?"
Murmurs rippled through the crowd, each spectator echoing the same confusion.
To their eyes, Spee Ding’s blade landed every strike with deadly precision—yet Liu Mei remained untouched, not a single drop of blood spilled.
Gasps and puzzled whispers filled the arena.
Finally, in the commentator’s seat, an old man slowly opened his eyes, his cloudy gaze shimmering with rare intrigue.
"That girl is a jewel," he murmured.
The younger commentator beside him turned in surprise. "What do you mean, Old Master Blind?"
The elder took a slow, measured breath before answering with a faint smile.
"The girl moves so fast… she has reverted to normal speed in the eyes of mortals."
The younger commentator’s eyes widened in realization.
"Her speed is beyond human perception," Old Master Blind continued. "To the crowd, it appears as though she’s being hit—when in truth, she is evading each strike flawlessly, just seconds ahead of the attack."
He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.
"The boy’s speed is impressive, nearly perfect. If it were any other year, he would have already earned the title of Shadow Fang Dragon with his speed… but today, he has met a mountain."
