Act.14 Ain't It Fun · Isn't It Fun?

[Part 1: Even Three Lives Aren't Enough to Kill]

After the unarmed combat segment ended, the bloody and brutal melee segment began.

Edward, the old butler, walked up to G117 and whispered some instructions.

"Don't kill anyone."

"Oh ho?" Xue Ming grinned maliciously. "When you threw me onto the stage, making this newbie face thirteen thugs, did you ever consider that someone might die?"

Edward's words were evasive, and he stopped arguing, only pressing for answers, as there were many things he couldn't understand.

Who exactly are you?

Xue Ming: "Guess?"

Edward: "Why is it that Mary, with you as her general, was utterly defeated by the nameless Big Sister?"

Xue Ming, recalling the characteristics of his opponents, recounted them one by one. "That good-for-nothing Leonardo couldn't protect the mistress; he was blown to bits by the enemy in a single encounter. The enemy is elusive, and there's even an ironclad warship creating artificial rain—I never intended to be enemies with the Nameless Ones. When Mary Stuart tried to recruit the station's soldiers and harbored unrealistic fantasies about these mortal enemies, I ran away."

"In short, let's give these VIPs some face. It's best not to cause any deaths." Edward didn't ask any more questions, just offered his earnest advice.

"Time to get to work, arbitrator," Xue Ming urged, wanting the next opponent to hurry up and come up on stage to face their doom.

She had no mercy for these criminals. Martial arts were just a game to improve physical fitness; when it came to weapons, swords and blades were indiscriminate and life and death were unpredictable.

The next opponent has taken the stage.

A row of gleaming knives stood ready, and a weapon rack had been pushed onto the arena, where the two contestants were to choose the appropriate short sword.

Xue Ming chose the simplest fighting short sword.

Her opponent was short, looked to be just over eighteen, and came from the [Iranian Child] camp.

He was a big boy, but only 171 centimeters tall, and seemed to be underdeveloped due to not getting enough sun exposure.

The boy's eyes gleamed with a fierce determination; he was fearless, like a newborn calf unafraid of tigers. He wanted to go head-to-head with G117.

He already has several lives on his hands. Before joining [Iranian Child], he was a professional assassin in prison, specializing in carrying out revenge killings for various gangs.

He chose a grappling hook scimitar, his most suitable weapon.

The two stood still in the ring.

"—Old butler Edward said immediately."

"Start the fight!"

The Iranian Child's assassin offspring immediately rushed forward, knife in hand, and attacked.

His movements were nimble; he aimed to seize the initiative and force G117 towards the southwest corner of the ring.

In the instant their weapons clashed, their blades did not touch.

Xue Ming stared intently at the boy's shoulder and elbow, showing no intention of backing down. Her left-handed stance, holding the knife, meant that most of her close-quarters combat with the enemy's right hand resulted in missed opportunities. They attacked and dodged simultaneously, never attempting to intercept the opponent's knife strikes.

After two rounds of probing, Xue Ming immediately adopted a strange stance, holding the weapon with both hands.

That's the stance where the left arm is facing right with the blade pointed outwards, and the right hand is tightly gripping the wrist of the left arm.

Hasben didn't understand the knife-wielding stance. "What is she going to do?"

A Xing explained, "That's her standard fighting stance. To deal with the hook-claw scimitar, the straight blade isn't strong enough. The hook-claw scimitar can use the ring at the end of the blade to switch between forward and reverse grips, making it very flexible—my eldest sister is going to use brute force to overcome skill."

Before Xingxing could finish speaking...

A sharp, metallic clang erupted from the arena.

What were initially tentative thrusts that avoided direct contact have now turned into fierce, deadly strikes.

The Iranian Child grew increasingly alarmed as the fight progressed, feeling his hands go numb. His opponent seemed like a completely different person after changing his stance; his once light and agile steps became heavy and powerful, and when he stepped forward to deliver a slash, the distance he could cover to dodge was a fraction greater than the distance the Iranian boy could cover.

It was precisely because of that tiny difference that it was impossible to avoid, impossible to launch an attack while dodging.

It's all because of the change in the body's midline.

--It's all simply because of the smooth, pendulum-like shift in the center of gravity when holding the knife with both hands.

He had to abandon the advantage of wielding one weapon and, like his opponent, switch to a two-handed grip to adapt to this attack rhythm!

From the moment she switched stances, Xue Ming did only a simple thing: her stepping attacks were powerful and rhythmic, and her desperate thrusts were more and more ruthless and heavy with each strike.

In these offensive exchanges where the player has an advantage in both wingspan and height, it always seems to be her turn.

The moment the opponent showed signs of weakness, one could tell from the sudden cold sweat on their face and the unfocused look in their eyes.

The enemy could no longer locate the weapon in her hand.

The sword stance was so upright that, in the Iranian Child's eyes, it was as if a six-foot-long dagger was hidden in front of his chest, transforming into a strange, gleaming, toothpick-sized metal wire!

He had difficulty judging the distance between the weapon and his face; he could only judge the signs of an impending attack by the explosive sound of his opponent's sudden movement.

This was repeated four times, taking almost only five seconds.

The grappling hook was snatched away by Xue Ming before Edward could even call for a stop.

The opponent's fighting spirit hadn't completely collapsed. In the instant the Iranian Child felt pain in his wrist, he saw G117 lift his wrist and grip the hilt of the knife, and immediately launched a counterattack. His Thumb was still inside the claw's ring; there was still a chance to win!

He suddenly exerted force, trying to break free of the grip, dragging the knife and twisting his wrist to regain control of the weapon.

But a deadly flash of silver light appeared, and brilliant sprays of blood erupted from the brat's upper arm and trapezius muscle.

Having suffered two severe blows, he was breathing heavily and could not see his opponent's movements clearly; he only knew how to fight back.

Then came three more vicious slashes. Following the direction from which the weak, limp grappling hook blade attacked, Xue Ming cut open the brat's wrists and elbows, and pierced his armpit.

Blood gushed from the Iranian Child's body like a rapidly spinning faucet.

He was practically stabbed into a rag doll, but none of the wounds on his body were fatal; almost every cut avoided vital organs.

He stared in astonishment at his armpit, the stabbing motion like a nail being hammered into his body and then violently twisted out—the rotten flesh and blood that came out looked horrific, but it hadn't damaged his lungs.

His right arm had completely lost its fighting ability, and he felt a strong sense of humiliation, roaring at G117.

"You look down on me? You look down on me?! Come at my vitals! Kill me!"

Edward was about to call a halt and announce the result of the duel.

The Iranian Child braced himself with his right arm, switched the weapon to his left hand, and let out a terrifying roar at the referee.

"I haven't given up yet! I haven't given up yet!"

Before he could finish speaking, he felt a strong gust of wind rush towards him!

--That woman lunged forward, sword in hand, ready to claim my life!

He drew his knife to meet the attack, but a powerful punch to the arm cracked his wrist bone. Just as the claw knife flew away, G117 grabbed it tightly!

The audience stared wide-eyed, then quickly covered their eyes, unable to bear watching the gruesome scene.

This is the time of execution, the time of dismemberment of the body.

All that could be heard was the terrifying sound of flesh being torn apart, but there was no whistling sound of steel rubbing against bone.

These dozens of stabs were all aimed at avoiding vital points. By the time Butler Edward called for a halt, the Iranian Child was like a target, trembling with fear. He had been stabbed about twenty times while standing, and then six more times while kneeling, until he finally collapsed to the ground, the soft flesh on his back gradually separating.

He had six holes in his neck, but none of them damaged his carotid artery or trachea.

His torso had thirty-three holes, his internal organs were intact, and his muscles and tendons were all broken.

His legs were almost shaped like a honeycomb, and he looked like a blood-soaked man.

The Big Sister was covered in blood, her face was covered in blood, and her hair was stained even redder by the blood.

She dropped the knife and spoke to Edward.

"Next."

[Part ②: Battle Master]

The Iranian Child who was assassinated has recovered completely after emergency treatment.

He almost died, just a hair's breadth away. His brain stopped functioning due to excessive blood loss. The medical staff first poured White Lady's products on him. When the nurse peeled off the boy's clothes, she almost fainted from fright—the knife wounds on his body had almost grown into the cotton fibers under this barbaric and primitive first aid method.

The density and depth of the wounds far exceeded the medical team's expectations, yet no vital organs were damaged.

Xue Ming urged on, repeating like a broken record, "Next, next, next."

Edward was trying to persuade him, he was trying very hard.

"Wait, wait, wait. The Tanaka Group is selecting samurai—don't rush me, I know you're in a hurry, but don't rush me."

Looking at the blood-soaked warrior, the old butler suddenly felt a sense of unreality.

She's not here to find a backer in prison; she's here to take over Hedland!

From the start of the match to the defeat of the Iranian Child, only ten minutes had passed; the actual combat time should have been no more than one hundred seconds.

G117 was steaming hot, his face and body covered in blood, but he didn't bother to wipe it off, just kept shouting "Next!"

The Tanaka Group is a very traditional Japanese fighting gang. After watching the first few matches, the samurai all looked fearful. It was a death sentence, a heroic act of sacrificing oneself for righteousness.

A few breaths later, a man in a tight-fitting uniform stepped out from the orderly ranks.

He spoke his hometown's Japanese with his colleagues.

"Lord Tanaka, to all those who have fought in Hedland, I, Hanagata Ken, will defeat this demon in this battle!"

Tanaka Ichiro, the leader of the Tanaka Group, was deeply moved. He held the hand of the assassin, his old body trembling uncontrollably, and he was almost in tears.

"Mr. Hanagata, please! The pride of the Blackland Thirteen will not be allowed to be tarnished by anyone!"

"Jian! Keep it up!"

"Hanagata-nii! Go for it! Go for it!"

"Mr. Amuro!" Hanagata Ken was quite surprised and felt flattered, as his friend handed him a family heirloom sword. "Such a precious treasure, I cannot accept it."

Mr. Amuro, a cabinet member of the Tanaka Group, solemnly knelt down and begged the samurai, holding up the precious sword with both hands.

"If it can't be used now, I'll regret it for the rest of my life! Mr. Hanagata!"

"Yes, Brother Hanagata!" A Xing had somehow managed to sneak into the Japanese camp, speaking in a perfect colonel's accent, "Maybe only you can stop her!"

No one cared where this girl came from, and the atmosphere in the Tanaka Group suddenly became heavy.

A Xing, always eager for a good show, kept cheering on the enemy.

"A combat expert! A blade that slays demons and gods! The hopes of the entire village rest on your shoulders! Hanagata Ken! You can do it! This is the bond between you and Mr. Amuro, and the entire Tanaka Group! Bonds and friendship can conquer all!"

The A Xing waved his hands to boost morale and release all his enthusiasm.

"Did you see that bloodthirsty, warlike demon king? The hero draws his sword against the strong! Mr. Hanagata!"

"The brave draw their swords against the strong?" Hanagata Ken pondered the meaning of this sentence. Almost half of the literary workers in the East Asian cultural sphere were fans of Lu Xun. How could he, a Japanese, not have heard of this sentence?

"You're right! Little girl! You're absolutely right!"

The swordsman took Mr. Amuro's sword and slowly walked towards the stage.

"My dearest friends, my fellow countrymen! Don't worry! I'll be right back!"

He stopped, drew his sword, and assumed a fighting stance.

Their appearance on stage immediately attracted a lot of attention.

The samurai tossed aside his sword and spoke to G117.

"Wuxiang Tianliu-- Hanagata Ken ginseng."

A burst of enthusiastic cheers erupted from below the ring. Even Mr. Hasben felt inexplicably proud of the warrior's courage and couldn't help but applaud, hoping that he could live a little longer, at least not be beaten into a pig's head like Teacher Bei Chen, or turned into a molten cake full of holes like Iranian Child.

Xue Ming tilted his head, looked over his opponent's body, and gazed at the A Xing in the Tanaka Group team.

"Are you serious?"

A Xing shouted loudly in Japanese, "You woman! What nonsense are you spouting! I'm on the same side as the Tanaka Group brothers now!"

To be honest, if it weren't for Meteor's two shouts, the Tanaka Group probably wouldn't have found a suitable opponent.

Fighting spirit is crucial in knightly duels. The Big Sister's performance in the previous matches was terrifying. What if no opponent is willing to step onto the stage?

Xue Ming walked straight to the weapon rack and took a four-foot-long steel mace.

"Damn it! Don't underestimate me, you wretched woman!" Hanagata Ken shouted fiercely, holding his sword in both hands. "Do you think you can defeat me with that blunt object? Do you think that rough iron bar can withstand the sword in my hand?"

"I see you don't understand at all." Xue Ming was unusually talkative. She weighed the mace in her hand and pointed at Edward, the arbitrator beside her. "If the old butler hadn't asked me to spare your life, do you think I would have chosen this thing?"

"Mr. Edward! Old Mr. Edward!" Hanagata Ken said solemnly, "Please let my opponent bring her famous sword to fight me!"

Edward mimicked Xue Ming's tone. "I advise you to be kind."

Hanagata Ken started sulking like a child. "No! You can't! This is fucking unacceptable!"

Then she spoke to Edward in a very soft, almost whispered voice.

"If I'm defeated by this iron rod, I'll have no face to go back!"

While the argument raged on stage, the Iranian Child assassin had already woken up.

He didn't even know how he survived. Hearing the arguing on stage and glancing at the knife in Mr. Hanagata's hand, he suddenly burst out laughing for no reason.

"Ha, it's all so real."

In the end, Xue Ming switched to a two-handed sword.

The size was chosen based on the reforged Magic Wand, her most proficient weapon.

She held her sword upright with both hands in a standard, neutral grip, her center of gravity slightly leaning forward, exuding a strong sense of aggression, as if she were ready to thrust her sword straight at the throat at any moment.

Mr. Hanagata held his knife low, constantly changing positions, trying to find a breakthrough from his opponent's changing footwork.

If hand-to-hand combat is a competitive game where you exchange blows and use the relatively gentle force of punches and kicks to determine the winner.

The fight between short swords is all about hand-eye coordination, footwork, and reaction speed in a fierce and entangled combat.

When it comes to the final round of standard weapons, just like the combat process in traditional warfare, if the difference in strength is too great, the whole process will be very fast, and the winner can be determined in just one round.

The flower-shaped swordsman moves to the right, using his right hand as the center of gravity to initiate the attack. His sword strike involves a three-step thrust with tremendous power.

--The proactive offensive was very effective, at least before contact with the enemy, it was excellent, almost exceeding expectations.

The slashing motion from the upper right to the lower left is neat, natural, and executed in one smooth motion. The blade and its posture are straight, and trying to defend against this strike would most likely cause the user to lose their balance.

With that thought in mind, he continued to press forward with even greater force, a desperate, all-or-nothing attack.

G117 turned around, sword in hand, and used her entire back to withstand the fierce slash. The sharp blade struck the sloping edge of the greatsword, and her dancing, spinning and stepping motion deflected all the incoming force.

A Xing: "It's over."

In an instant, the tide turned. G117 was in the kill position.

That was the instant Mr. Hanagata staggered forward, bending down to grab the out-of-control weapon.

That was the instant G117 parried and deflected the attack with his sword, raising his greatsword high above his head with both hands, about to bring it down to strike.

To onlookers, it was like a pathetic stray dog collapsing to the ground, only to turn around and see the hunter already raising his knife.

This time, Edward butler still didn't have time to call a stop.

The greatsword changed its attack route; the head-slashing strike that was originally aimed at the neck ended up cutting through half of Hanagata Ken's torso!

Blood splattered out like a fountain!

The Big Sister kicked Mr. Hanagata in the chest, finally pulling out the greatsword.

"Hurry! Hurry! Hurry!"

She urged him on! But this time, she wasn't urging the next enemy.

"He's leaking! His spleen is about to spill out! Quick!"