The arena was dead silent.
Everyone was stunned. Shocked. Baffled. They could only think one thing at this moment:
"This guy is truly shameless."
Using that… thing… in a fight? It was outrageous! Insulting! Downright disgusting!
But—annoyingly—they couldn't even complain.
There were no official rules for these kinds of duels. No regulations. No referees. No one said you couldn't use poop.
In the far corner of the arena, Gab, Fiona, and Aira sat together, trying—and failing—to contain their laughter. Though they kept it quiet, the silence in the crowd made their soft chuckles echo like thunder.
"I can't believe he actually threw poop," Fiona whispered between giggles, clutching her stomach.
"I know," Aira said with a grin, her arms crossed as she watched closely. "This guy… he's either a genius or insane."
Gab, however, wasn't laughing. He narrowed his eyes and stayed silent, though the corner of his lips twitched in amusement. The system had already informed him that Marquel was an anomaly—but the speed he threw that poop? Gab couldn't even track it with his enhanced senses.
"That was no ordinary Qi Gathering," he thought. "That throw… it had technique. Precision. Power."
He knew from their academy lectures that cultivators were generally stronger than knights and mages. But even among cultivators, what Marquel had just displayed was no average feat.
Gab's suspicion deepened. He couldn't even see Marquel's stats using his system. It was like trying to scan a shadow. And that only made him more curious.
Meanwhile, the fat noble boy was still trying to clean himself. He used his mana, wiped furiously with cloth, and even tried a weak fire spell to evaporate the filth.
To his horror, every time he cleaned himself—another poop splattered right back.
It was like a curse.
Twice… thrice… SPLAT.
And yet, somehow, the noble still didn't surrender. His pride wouldn't let him. Not yet.
But I—Marquel—wasn't done.
No. I wanted to make a statement. To let everyone know not to mess with me again.
So i used grabbing shallows once again but not to manipulate the poop but his clothes. It was mostly used for using weapons or manipulating weapons, but today? I used it for something far more sinister.
I grabbed the noble's clothes and yanked.
His robes flew off like autumn leaves in the wind, leaving him standing there in nothing but his sad, stained underwear.
And—oh no.
There it was. A tiny, squirming bulge. The size of a worm.
The crowd gasped. Someone dropped their snack. A dog howled in the distance.
The noble froze, his face turning redder than an overripe tomato. He didn't even try to clean his face anymore. He just covered himself and whimpered.
And then…
The arena erupted into laughter.
It was ruthless. Brutal. Glorious.
Even the other students who were lined up for a potential match began to back away, their faces pale. They looked at me like I was some kind of demon.
They were right to be scared.
Because I wasn't finished.
With a flick of my hand, I manipulated the leftover poop in the bucket and launched it, weaving it like a cursed snake. It twirled through the air—an elegant, brown spiral of doom—and struck the noble, coating every inch of his body like a demonic armor.
The stench was so foul, even I almost threw up.
And he did throw up.
Right then and there. Face full of crap. No dignity left. He turned to the teacher and cried out with all the strength his soiled lungs could manage:
"I give up!!"
His voice cracked like a dying goose.
With a sigh, the teacher waved his hand and cleaned the mess with Spell. The noble collapsed in the corner like a wet sack of shame.
I felt a tiny bit bad for him. Just a bit.
Up in the stands, Clara had laughed at least four times already, and now she was holding her sides trying not to burst out again.
"He's absolutely insane," she thought, trying to hide her smile.
But deep down, she was amused. Very amused.
What she liked most about Marquel—about me—wasn't the power or the flair.
It was the pure, unfiltered shamelessness.
I raised the last bucket high, standing proudly in the center of the arena.
There was no mockery in my voice, just cold, genuine confidence.
"So… anyone else want to fight me?"
Silence.
I smirked. Just as I predicted. No one dared step forward.
Little did they know—this last bucket was empty.
It was all an act.
A bluff.
A beautiful, stinky bluff.
Gab narrowed his eyes, using his mana sense. He could tell the bucket was already depleted.
Still, even knowing that, he felt a burning fire rise in his chest.
"This guy… I can't beat him yet. But one day…"
Gab clenched his fists.
He wasn't discouraged. He was motivated. He needed to train. Immediately.
---
Far away, in the darkest corner of the arena, sat a girl with short black hair and piercing blue eyes.
Her beauty was almost equal to Clara's, but a long scar ran across her cheek, giving her a fierce, dangerous charm.
She watched everything silently, then whispered with a strange smile:
"I finally found you… Darling... "
[Short chapter TwT]