Roaming Dragon Stance, activate.
Jiang Yue did not even make any sweeping move to dodge.
He merely tilted his head. The fist, reeking of sour sweat, brushed past his ear and severed a strand of hair.
The instant his opponent's wild swing left him wide open, Jiang Yue's right hand snapped upward like a whip. His clean, precise knife-hand strike made no sound as it struck the carotid sinus on the side of the man's neck.
The force was perfect. Any more would have broken his neck; any less would not have cut off the blood flow.
"Uh..."
The fourteenth challenger's roar caught in his throat.
That effortless blow stopped his forward momentum dead.
His eyes rolled back in a fraction of a second. Like a machine abruptly unplugged, he lost all strength at once.
His limp body slid down Jiang Yue's trouser leg, then rolled off the three-meter-high Alloy Fighting Platform like a ragged sack.
Thud.
The heavy sound of his body hitting the ground rang out.
Below Arena 34, the open space that had been filled with labored breathing and whispers fell silent as a graveyard.
No one stepped forward again.
Jiang Yue turned slowly and walked to the very edge of the platform, one booted step after another.
From above, he looked down.
He looked at the challengers below. Just two minutes ago, they had been like sharks scenting blood, eager to tear him apart.
Now every one of those Quasi-Martial Artists was pale as paper.
Their mouths hung open, but they held their breath without realizing it, not daring to make a sound.
Many could not even meet Jiang Yue's eyes. Their gazes darted instead to the pools of blood on the ground.
Jiang Yue made no threats from his perch above them, nor did he