"Good. At least you're not like those cowards who didn't dare step onto the stage."
"Since you've shown some courage, I've decided to give you three moves."
Su Cheng held up three fingers, his face full of arrogance.
At those words, Zheng Shu's expression changed instantly.
Who did he think he was? What standing did he think he had?
Zheng Shu had already given this ant plenty of face just by standing here.
And what was this ant saying? He was going to give Zheng Shu three moves?
He was courting death.
"You're courting death."
With a flick of his wrist, Zheng Shu snapped his fan shut. His entire body blurred into an afterimage as he charged at Su Cheng.
The instant he drew close, the fan opened again.
Su Cheng's vision blurred, and then pain shot through his chest.
"It's over."
The corners of Zheng Shu's mouth lifted.
He gave a light push with his palm.
Countless invisible forces burrowed into Su Cheng's skin.
Very few people could survive a direct strike from his palm.
In Zheng Shu's eyes, Su Cheng was already a dead man.
He hadn't dodged or defended himself. He hadn't taken Zheng Shu seriously at all. With arrogance like that, did he really think he was somebody?
"One move."
Su Cheng's expression did not change.
He clenched his right hand, and an immensely powerful recoil erupted from his body.
The force sent Zheng Shu flying.
But he did not fly off the Arena. He landed at its edge and stopped.
"What's going on?"
Zheng Shu's face turned grave.
There was no trace left of his earlier contempt.
The man before him was no simple opponent.
"Heh. That feeble little slap—were you trying to tickle me?"
"You have two moves left."
"Make the most of them,