On the arena platform.
The burly woman and the gaunt old man faced each other from a distance.
At Ran Da's shout of "Begin!", both sprang into motion, lunging fiercely at each other.
The woman's fists whipped up howling winds, like a fierce tiger charging down a mountain.
The old man's withered hands curled into claws, every strike vicious and lethal.
As they clashed at close quarters, scraps of flesh flew and blood spattered.
Every exchange left horrifying wounds on their bodies.
Yet the young masters and ladies watching below the platform looked exhilarated, their eyes wild with frenzy.
To them, this bloody, brutal battle was the finest entertainment.
Hui Zhen also watched the platform intently, his hands unconsciously clenching into fists.
Although he was the son of Du'e, the monastery superintendent, his cultivation was only at the Foundation Establishment Realm. Both the Withered Zen Temple and his father Du'e provided him with only limited spirit stones and resources each month.
To him, a thousand superior spirit stones were no small sum.
If he lost, he truly would not be able to repay them.
Of course, he had never intended to repay them anyway.
Losing the spirit stones was not his real concern. What worried him most was losing to his bitter rival Gao Cang before everyone's eyes and disgracing himself.
The corner of Hui Zhen's eye suddenly twitched, and anger flashed in his gaze.
On the arena platform.
The gaunt old man's sharp claws raked across the burly woman's abdomen.
A broad swath of flesh tore open, and blood and entrails gushed out together.
The burly woman staggered, her eyes filled with pain and defiance.
Her injuries were grievous, but she did not concede. Still fearless of death, she lunged at the gaunt old man.
Even at her best,