Arena Contest

Seeing this, how could He Lingchuan fail to understand? This fellow Skinny was actually taking bets in the South Courtyard! "You can do that here?" "Why wouldn't you?" A'luo gave a rare smile. "Betting pools bring the crowds." He Lingchuan thought that made sense; watching a ball game without putting money on it had no soul. "See that biggest drill ground over there?" A'luo pointed southward. "It has a fence but no walls, meaning it's open to the public. Matches held there are truly grand. The spectators below are always bursting with passion, and at least seven to eight hundred people place bets each time." Panlong City valued martial prowess, among soldiers and civilians alike. Once Skinny finished distributing the payout, the crowd around him dispersed. Spotting He Lingchuan and A'luo, he hurriedly straightened his tunic, which had been yanked askew in the commotion, and walked over with a grin. "Yo, the greenhorn's here?" A'luo chimed in appropriately, "You two have fun; I'm going to take my shift." With that, he walked toward the Du Building. The man who had just been knocked down in the ring had a dislocated jaw and needed his care. Skinny grabbed He Lingchuan's arm. "Want to make some quick cash?" "How?" "You're a newcomer, so nobody knows what you're capable of. I'll find you a few opponents—guaranteed to be worse than you—and when you win, we split the purse fifty-fifty?" He Lingchuan smiled. "Sounds tempting, but I only want reliable sparring partners. Not too weak, and not so strong they'll flatten me into the dirt." He didn't want to waste time. Unwilling to give up, Skinny asked again, "Really don't want to make some money?" He Lingchuan gave him a look. "Fine, fine, I get it. Willow said you've been learning the grappling cord lately. How's practice coming along?" "Just getting the hang of it, not very proficient," He Lingchuan answered honestly. "Still need some time. Why do you have your fingers in every pie?" "Got to supplement the family income, haven't I?" Skinny laughed. "How could a bachelor like you—where feeding yourself means the whole family is fed—ever understand the toil of a family man? Every day the moment I open my eyes, all those mouths are crying out to be fed. Hold on, I'll find you an opponent." Evidently well-acquainted with the Martial Review Hall's South Courtyard, he whistled and shouted, "Gouzi, someone's challenging you!" The man who had successfully defended the ring just half a quarter-hour ago turned around. "Who?" Skinny clapped He Lingchuan on the shoulder. "I found you a fine lad. This is none other than the man making all the waves recently, He—" He Lingchuan took a step forward, cutting off Skinny's introduction. "Greetings. I'm Broken Saber." Throughout Panlong City, tales were told of his heroic feat in the Ghost Needle Stone Forest—saving an entire force single-handedly—and that wave of fame had yet to subside. The public knew him by his name, "He Lingchuan," but few knew his patrol codename was "Broken Saber." Thus, the arena defender, Gouzi, simply hooked a finger at him. "Come on, pick a weapon." At the edge of the drill ground stood weapon racks filled with all manner of arms, conventional and exotic alike. He Lingchuan even spotted an enormous spiked club, standing upright nearly level with his chest, though the blunted iron casing was replaced by wood. Skinny seized the moment to brief He Lingchuan on the rules: "In the Martial Review Hall's bouts, you can only use weapons provided here. No bringing or using personal gear, and no using origin power. Once your opponent loses the ability to attack or yields, the fight must stop. Aside from that, anything goes—and there's no rule saying people can't die. Oh, right, Gouzi is best with tiger-claw hook swords, but there aren't any on the rack..." Before he finished speaking, Gouzi picked up a wooden axe and a large shield from the ground—the very weapons he had used to defeat his previous opponent. Because it was a defensive piece, the shield wasn't wooden, but an ordinary square iron shield, though fitted with neither spikes nor striking edges. After a brief thought, He Lingchuan selected a wooden saber. It was the most conventional and effective weapon on the battlefield, and also the one he was currently most proficient with. Gouzi walked back to the center of the ring and slammed his axe against his shield. "Come at me!" He Lingchuan vaulted into the arena. The two bowed to each other, and the match began. The surrounding crowd gathered at once, and Skinny resumed hawking: "'Broken Saber' versus 'Gouzi'! A newcomer's debut, great odds! Come on, place your bets!" *This guy truly has money on the brain,* He Lingchuan shook his head. A figure blurred before his eyes, and Gouzi was already right in front of him. *So fast!* Wielding both axe and shield, bare-chested with muscles rippling all over, he looked at first glance like a pure brawn fighter, but his footwork was remarkably nimble. His left-hand shield surged upward from below, smashing toward He Lingchuan's jaw. If it landed, an opponent would likely be launched through the air with a mouthful of shattered teeth—a move commonly known as the "Skyward Cannon." That was precisely how the unlucky fellow earlier had gotten his jaw dislocated. If He Lingchuan dodged, his upper body would inevitably lean back, leaving him open for the right-hand axe swinging straight for his knee. In real combat, a single strike like that could cripple an enemy's lower body. Yet both his shield and his axe met empty air. As Gouzi slammed the shield upward, He Lingchuan laid a hand on the rim, gave a light push with his toes, and rode the momentum right over Gouzi's head! It truly looked as though Gouzi had launched him skyward. A frame of over one hundred and forty jin floated as light as willow catkins in the wind—the sweet reward of his painstaking practice of the Returning Swallow movement technique. Below the ring, Skinny and the onlookers couldn't help cheering. While Gouzi raised his large shield to cover his head, He Lingchuan somersaulted backward, his saber sweeping naturally across the nape of Gouzi's neck. Just as Gouzi swung his axe forward, a sharp smack sounded, and pain shot through the back of his neck. The wooden saber had already left a red welt across his skin. He Lingchuan landed, standing four feet away. "Decapitation!" Skinny yelled. "The victor is decided!" In actual combat, that stroke from He Lingchuan would have lopped off the opponent's head. Thunderous applause erupted below. Gouzi shook his head and turned to look at He Lingchuan. "How did you..." He Lingchuan smiled. "That's how you won earlier." He had clearly observed from below the ring how Gouzi defeated his previous opponent and had already worked out a countermeasure. The fellow had insisted on using the exact same trick twice in a row; overconfidence had been his undoing. Besides, He Lingchuan had suffered at the hands of the "Skyward Cannon" before; there was no reason to get drenched in the same river twice. Gouzi realized what had happened and grew vexed. "Again!" "Could you two hold on a second?" Skinny complained as well. "I haven't even got the bets rolling yet!" The exchange had lasted merely a single pass; the audience hadn't even had time to place their wagers. What a loss! Broken Saber's debut could have fetched a handsome profit—this was a huge loss! "Hold it!" A deep, booming voice rang out from below, followed by a man pushing his way through the crowd. He was a bald, brawny man, built like a bear in height and frame, thick hair covering his hands and face like an actual black bear spirit. His eyes were small, but gleamed with a vicious glint that chilled anyone he glared at. The bystanders instinctively parted to make way for him. He Lingchuan couldn't help drawing in a sharp breath. He actually recognized this man too. His very first time at the Martial Review Hall, and why was he running into familiar faces left and right? This fellow was Meng Shan. The second time He Lingchuan had entered the Panlong dreamscape in his life, he had fought side by side with the Gale Army in the river valley interception, covering the retreat of the fleeing civilians from Weicheng. And this Meng Shan had been a centurion among the Baling pursuit forces, unstoppable the moment he took the field! Back then, in a single clash, Meng Shan had snapped He Lingchuan's arm. His move had been identical to Gouzi's just now: the "Skyward Cannon." Only when Meng Shan used it, the power was far more than doubled. Now Meng Shan grinned at He Lingchuan, baring a mouthful of menacing white teeth. "Kid, I remember you." He Lingchuan furrowed his brow. "Your leg injury healed?" Back then, Meng Shan had been caught by the giant bear trap He Lingchuan and his comrades buried in the ground, snapping his leg. Only then had his rampaging glory been cut short, leading to his unfortunate capture. Meng Shan certainly remembered. At those words, he chuckled darkly a few times, the fierce glint in his eyes flaring even brighter. A'luo popped up from somewhere and stood by the ring's edge. "After Meng Shan was captured, General Red personally persuaded him to surrender, and he has sworn allegiance to Panlong City." He paused. "Now, he is our comrade-in-arms." To have General Red personally convince him to surrender—this fellow certainly had some prestige! Meng Shan pointed north, smiling with smug satisfaction. "I joined the Gale Army today and was promoted straight to squad leader. I'm just about to head into the North Courtyard." Envious murmurs instantly swept through the Martial Review Hall's South Courtyard, accompanied by muttered curses from quite a few people: "A surrendered general gets into the North Courtyard before us?!" "What's so great about that? He's just relying on his sheer size!" Complaints aside, no one actually contested it; after all, Meng Shan's strength was directly proportional to his size. He was someone General Red had personally persuaded to yield and personally instructed, possessing skill a cut above ordinary Gale Army soldiers. Furthermore, he had been a centurion in Baling's elite forces, leading from the front in battle—a mini-boss caliber figure. It was hardly surprising he was promoted directly to squad leader upon joining the Gale Army. When employing talent, one never adhered to rigid conventions anyway. "You little punks can eat your grandpa's dust!" Meng Shan said carelessly, making an obscene gesture at the crowd before turning to He Lingchuan. "Fancy a spar?" Seeing the ferocious glare radiating from his eyes, nobody would mistake his "goodwill." He was still brooding over his defeat back then and wanted to recoup a little dignity from He Lingchuan, one of the culprits. Just as He Lingchuan was about to speak, Skinny grabbed his arm and quickly warned him under his breath, "You don't have to take the challenge—he's not in the South Courtyard anymore! This bear used to run roughshod over the South Courtyard and hits brutally hard. A'luo alone treated seven or eight casualties defeated by him while on duty, and the lightest injured couldn't get out of bed for more than ten days!" The unspoken message was clear: he could easily pound you into the floor. He Lingchuan felt a small surge of warmth; Skinny was the type who'd sell the pants off his backside for coin, but he treated comrades reasonably well. Then came Skinny's next line: "You're bound to lose. There's no point even setting odds for this match!" "..." He Lingchuan shook off his grip, stepped forward, and said to Meng Shan, "Pick your weapon." *Oho! Another one who doesn't fear death!* The martial artists on the sidelines whistled wildly. Spectators from the neighboring drill grounds gathered at the commotion, packing the area tight. Grinning and pointing, everyone looked as cheerful as if celebrating a festival. Meng Shan roared with laughter. "Good lad! Today your grandpa will teach you how to behave!" With that, he strode over to the weapon racks and drew out the largest, thickest, and heaviest spiked club! It was carved almost entirely from a single log, studded with countless wooden pegs serving as the "wolf teeth." While less lethal than iron spikes, in Meng Shan's hands, smashing a skull with it would be no different from cracking open a coconut—done in a single strike without needing a second effort.