Nine Consecutive Wins!
With this punch, he would smash the little bastard's head like a watermelon, blasting it into a bloody mist that filled the air!
In the VIP room, Brother Bao's pupils suddenly contracted. He leaned forward instinctively, the wineglass in his hand trembling slightly.
That punch could drive straight through an iron plate.
That child... was finished!
Just as the enormous fist, wreathed in the shadow of death, was about to strike his face...
Chen Fan finally moved.
He did not retreat. Instead, he stepped forward.
Lowering his body slightly, he met the devastating fist with effortless ease, thrusting out his fair, tender right fist in an utterly ordinary punch.
One large, one small, the two utterly mismatched fists collided with a thunderous impact as everyone in the arena watched with bated breath!
The expected sight of shattered bones and flying flesh did not appear.
There was no earth-shaking boom.
There was only...
"Crack!"
An extremely faint sound, like a ripe watermelon being gently tapped open with a finger.
Time seemed to freeze at that moment.
The vicious expression on A Nuo's face instantly froze, replaced by utter, incomprehensible shock and pain.
His right arm, filled with all his strength and capable of shattering stone monuments, broke inch by inch, starting at the fist!
Splintered bone and flesh exploded backward in defiance of the laws of physics!
An invisible yet overwhelmingly tyrannical force surged up his arm and into his body, sweeping everything before it like rotten wood.
"Bang!"
His enormous body was blasted backward as though struck head-on by an invisible siege cannonball. Like a torn sack, he slammed heavily into the alloy cage behind him with a deafening crash.
The cage shook violently, groaning under the strain.
Then A Nuo's two-meter-tall body slid down the wire mesh like a lump of mud. His chest had caved deeply inward at a bizarre angle, and his life was extinguished in an instant.
Silence.
The frenzy and clamor of thousands in the underground arena had their throats brutally squeezed shut by an invisible hand at this inconceivable sight.
Deathly silence.
A deathly silence in which a falling needle could be heard.
Everyone seemed to have been petrified by magic, the frenzy, bloodlust, and mockery frozen on their faces as they stared blankly at the nine-year-old child. After that single punch, he slowly withdrew his hand, his breathing not the slightest bit disturbed.
It was as though he had not just killed a long-established underground fighting champion with one punch, but had merely... swatted a fly.
In the VIP room.
"Smash!"
The expensive crystal wineglass slipped soundlessly from Brother Bao's hand and shattered into pieces on the polished floor.
Amber-colored aged liquor splashed everywhere.
His lips trembling, he turned mechanically toward the gray-clad man beside him, who had remained expressionless from beginning to end. His voice was so distorted by sheer horror that the words barely came out.
"Mr... Mr. Gu... this... this... is..."
Gu Ci picked up the untouched glass of amber liquor.
He did not so much as glance at the deathly silent arena below. He merely brought the glass to his lips, letting the rich aroma of the liquor seep into his dry lips.
Then he took a small sip and said slowly:
"This is only the beginning."
The deathly silence that had gripped the underground arena for tens of seconds was abruptly torn apart by a hoarse, heart-rending scream!
"Good kill!"
A red-eyed gambler who had lost every bet leaped from his seat like a madman, tore the last betting ticket in his hand to shreds like a scrap of wastepaper, and roared with all his might!
The scream was a spark thrown into boiling oil, instantly setting off the entire volcano!
"Roar!"
"Kill! Kill! Kill!"
"137! 137! 137!"
Countless spectators who had lost their entire fortunes showed not the slightest anger. Instead, they erupted in cries wilder and more deranged than ever before!
They did not care about victory or defeat, or about money!
They sought only the ultimate thrill and worshipped only absolute violence!
A nine-year-old child had killed a long-established giant with one punch. That set their already twisted nerves ablaze far more than any evenly matched, bloody fight!
On the raised platform, the host's hand shook violently around his microphone, his knuckles white.
He brought the microphone to his mouth and roared the start of the next match, his voice trembling until it was distorted!
"The second match! Let's see who dares challenge our new king!"
As his words fell, a ghostlike black shadow slipped soundlessly into the octagonal cage.
He was a lean man with a sinister gaze, codenamed Ghost, a powerhouse with nine consecutive wins, renowned for his speed and the Uncanny Asynchronous Method.
He looked at the child in the center of the cage, whose breathing was not the slightest bit disturbed, his gaze graver than ever.
In his view, Chen Fan was merely a monster capable of unleashing explosive power in a single blow. As long as he used his speed to wear Chen Fan down, victory would be within easy reach.
"Ding!"
The instant the bronze bell rang, Ghost's figure suddenly blurred into an afterimage barely visible to the naked eye, darting toward Chen Fan's rear flank from an extraordinarily tricky angle!
Yet Chen Fan did not even move his feet.
Just as the afterimage was about to close in, he casually raised his right hand, held his fingers together like a sword, and made a gentle slash through the air at his side.
No target, no technique.
It was like a child's careless scribble.
Yet from that gentle slash, an invisible but infinitely sharp surge of force struck later but arrived first, cutting with perfect precision into Ghost's path as he moved at high speed!
Squelch!
Ghost's body abruptly stiffened halfway there. The momentum of his high-speed movement sent him staggering forward two steps before he finally stopped.
He lowered his head in disbelief and looked at his chest.
A fine line of blood slowly appeared, running from his left shoulder all the way down to his right ribs. Then it suddenly burst open!
Blood gushed out like a fountain.
Another single move!
If the first match had been a crushing display of pure strength, then this one was an absolute superiority in skill and realm!
The cries of the crowd caught abruptly in their throats at this even stranger, more terrifying sight.
The next hour became Chen Fan's personal slaughter show.
The third match.
The fourth match.
The fifth match.
The sixth match.
Until the ninth match.
When the Quasi-Martial Artist, drenched in blood, his eyes wild and the Qi and Blood fluctuations within him as high as ninety-seven calories, charged into the cage, the entire arena had fallen into a fervent silence bordering on religious worship.
Facing this final ordinary opponent, Chen Fan did not immediately strike to kill for the first time.
He strolled through the cage as though in a garden, allowing his opponent to use every trick he had, unfolding one desperate, last-resort killing move after another before him like a scroll.
At last, exhausted and terrified, his opponent exposed an opening for a thousandth of a second.
Chen Fan vanished from where he stood.
The next second, he appeared behind his opponent and brought a cold knife-hand strike gently down on the back of his neck.
Crack.
Clean and decisive.
Nine consecutive wins!
"137! 137! 137!"
After the silence strained to its limit came a frenzy of shouts like collapsing mountains and crashing seas! At that moment, countless spectators roared the codename 137 and worshipped it like a god!