The Martial Market, the Underground Life-Death Arena.
It was open twenty-four hours a day and never closed unless something major happened.
Jiang Changkong stood in black clothes and robes, watching three fighters battle on the arenas.
They were all Star Cloud Level warriors, but the black-clad spectators watched with feverish excitement.
Hot blood sprayed everywhere. The stench of blood stirred them—and Jiang Changkong, too.
Screams and roars rang through the entire underground space.
"I want ten consecutive fights!"
Jiang Changkong called out in a rough voice that drowned out the whole crowd.
The screams and roars stopped at once. A deathly silence fell over the underground space.
Then came excited shouts: "Ten fights! Ten fights!"
"Someone completed ten consecutive fights last night, and now someone else wants to do it?"
"Have the Life-Death Arenas gotten that easy?"
"Did this guy watch last night's ten-fight streak and think it'd be a piece of cake?"
The black-clad spectators below buzzed with discussion.
A strange glint flashed in the black-clad host's eyes. "Sure. You get priority for ten fights. Pick an arena."
Jiang Changkong looked toward the gambling house's bookmaker. "Hold on. I'll bet on myself to win first."
The bookmaker hurriedly said, "The rules have changed. You can't bet on your own fight anymore."
Jiang Changkong was a little disappointed, but didn't care much. He picked an arena at random and jumped up onto it. "Mid-Star Sea Level. Who's next?"
The black-clad spectators: "..."
The black-clad host: "..."
Another mid-Star Sea Level?
The host faltered. "You—the one who used a saber yesterday?"
Jiang Changkong wasn't surprised that he'd been recognized. "I can try using a sword."
Both were mid-Star Sea Level, and both wanted ten consecutive fights. With him showing up again right after yesterday, only a fool wouldn't guess.
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