The eighty-first match, the eighty-third match, the eighty-fifth match.
When Luo Chen's winning streak climbed from eighty to ninety, the King of Slaughter sent someone to deliver a letter. It was short, only one line: "Your path does not lie in the Hell Slaughter Arena, but on Hell Road. Come see me after your hundredth victory."
Luo Chen burned the letter and tossed the ashes into a corner. The eighty-seventh match, the eighty-ninth match, the ninety-first match, the ninety-third match. He pulled the iron token from his ring and carved stroke after stroke into it.
The number of tally marks on the iron token had grown too large to count.
The ninety-fifth match. Luo Chen stood in the center of the arena, with the Shadow Leopard crouched at his feet, its tail swaying gently. The nine people opposite him stood in a row. No one spoke or moved. They had all heard of Lock, and three times as many spectators as usual had come to watch. The stands were packed, and even the aisles were full.
The bell rang.
No one charged. The nine stood where they were, looking at one another, at Luo Chen, at the Shadow Leopard. They were waiting for someone else to make the first move.
Someone in the stands laughed. Others shouted, "Fight!" or whistled. Luo Chen didn't wait. He reached into the leather pouch at his waist, took out a High-Tier Ball, and tossed it to the ground. The Shadow Leopard sprang out in a flash of white light. All nine men stepped back at once, but the Shadow Leopard didn't pounce. It crouched at Luo Chen's feet, its golden eyes fixed on them, its tail lightly thumping the ground.
Luo Chen watched the nine and waited a while, but none of them moved.