The rule of the Martial Arts Tournament was that there were no rules.
Besides fighting with fists and feet, if needed, the Hidden Killing Society could even provide participants with all manner of weapons.
The only thing the two combatants had to do was decide victory and defeat in the ring-or life and death.
The loudspeakers kept repeating the participating teams' numbers and the various rules, constantly switching languages, running through English, Chinese, Japanese, German, and even Thai, Korean, and the local indigenous languages of Indonesia.
Across the ten rings, people had already died while the participating martial artists were still making their way onto the platforms.
Splat!
Blood sprayed into mist as the force of a punch swept through the air.
Thud!
A headless corpse fell to the floor of the ring.
The utterly bloody sight first silenced the spectators gathered before the ring, then drew waves of cheers.
The powerfully built Black Man wore an indifferent expression. He shook the flesh and blood off his fist, turned, and roared at everyone present. Then he drew his right thumb across his neck in an outrageously arrogant throat-slitting gesture.
"That black fellow has a few tricks!" Feng Xiong smacked his lips, his expression growing more serious.
Zhao Danxia's gaze sharpened slightly as well. "He wins purely through his physical body. Overwhelming strength, overwhelming speed, overwhelming reflexes. Although he hasn't refined his spirit as we have, he's developed his offensive capabilities to an extremely terrifying level."
Lian Youming glanced over. It was the same black man he had seen a few days earlier. The muscles beneath his ribs spread like fleshy wings, his frame was frighteningly tall and powerful, and his neck was as thick as a bucket. He looked bulky, but that punch had been as fast as lightning and