What the hell was going on here? Three people were supposed to be in the fight, but it turned into a one-on-six with that bald monk swinging a heavy iron stick.
It wasn't like the arena had any restrictions anyway. There weren't any limits on weapons or terrain in this improvised slaughterhouse. The so-called "arena" wasn't even a real ring; it's just a verbal agreement between desperate factions. Once the fight began, both sides could go wild however they wanted. They could find cover behind rusted shipping containers, launch terrorist-style ambushes, fight guerilla-style, toss grenades, or even fire off a single-man rocket launcher. Everything went in this lawless stretch of concrete.
The more professional the fighter, the more they valued their own life. They weren't idiots rushing in to get knocked out cold for the crowd. In an age ruled by hot weapons, what really mattered in a deathmatch wasn't just personal martial skill, but team configuration and firepower suppression. Snipers would pick off key targets from the rear, while submachine gunners and machine gunners swept through the frontlines in a wall of lead.
The Black Market team was stacked for exactly this kind of fight. They had two shield-bearers in heavy armor, one machine gunner with a belt of ammo, two submachine gunners, and a sniper perched on a crane. With guns legal in America, people relied on firearms even more—and they're indeed stronger than traditional methods.
Everyone else, including Jing Shu, had already been sent toward the massive freighter. Bullets didn't care who they hit, and soon the dock itself would turn into a warzone of ricochets. They could fight on the blood-slicked land or the churning sea. Mercenaries were free to use any dirty tricks they wanted. This wasn't a deathmatch arena in every sense of the word.
It was destined to be an earth-shattering battle of modern ballistics.
But then the other side had only one person step forward. The Black Market squad instantly sensed the provocation. There had to be a catch. There had to be a secret weapon, a hidden grenade, or maybe even a heavy gun stashed in his robes. So when the referee shouted for them to get ready, their fingers already hovered over their metal triggers. They're waiting for the signal to turn the lone monk into a bloody sieve.
Honestly, the arena's setup was a bit ridiculous. In real combat, no one shouted "Start!" and no referee declared who won. The last man standing was the winner; it's as simple as that.
The monk took a deep breath. His chest rose and fell faster by the second as he centered his focus. The instant the referee called "Begin," he released his internal energy, and a terrifying power erupted from his core. The roar that followed was like thunder splitting the sky. It rolled across the water for several miles. The sound alone made hearts tremble and guts twist with a sudden, violent nausea.
The six men nearest him had it the worst. Their hair bristled on their necks, their ears started bleeding from the pressure, and even those inside the freighter, including Jing Shu, instinctively covered their ears as the world spun around them.
"Shaolin Temple's secret technique, one of their rarest arts—Lion's Roar," Tank said, his voice muffled by his own hands.
When the echo finally faded into the sea breeze, the six enemies hadn't even recovered yet. They stood dazed, their weapons drooping. The monk stepped forward with deceptive speed. He swung his iron staff and bonked each of them cleanly on the head with a sickening crack. Done. The entire battle lasted barely thirty seconds. Then he hurried off toward the crates to finish his plain rice.
The crowd went dead silent. Everyone was frozen and completely stunned by the sheer absurdity of what just happened. Especially the Black Market people; it's a total nightmare for their reputation.
Snake Spirit scoffed. He muttered under his breath, "Tch, that's just A-tier strength in China. What is everyone freaking out about?"
It was the first time Jing Shu truly realized what "A-tier" meant in the context of China. So this was what counted as "A-tier"? Damn, that's strong.
George's expression darkened. He quickly assembled another team of mercenaries trained by the nobles. These were physically stronger men, personally selected from the elite bodyguards of the wealthy. His last-minute strategy was to stuff heavy earplugs in every man's ears. He gave strict orders: no matter what, open fire on sight.
But the second round went down even faster than the first.
A light drizzle started falling from the dark sky, unnoticed by the tense crowd. When the referee gave the signal again, the mercenaries didn't move at all. They just froze like statues in the rain. The monk casually walked up and whacked each one dead with the same clinical precision. He didn't even break a sweat. Clearly, something was off.
George's own men wouldn't risk their lives by standing still like that. Which meant the problem was on the other side.
The Black Market had now lost two full A-tier teams in a row. George's face was black as coal in the floodlights. Sure, the rules allowed dirty tricks, but he couldn't fight the man who made those rules.
Snake Spirit patted George's shoulder and said, "Let's move to another arena."
This time, China had sent in true elites who were way above everyone else's level. Jing Shu's group shifted their focus to the other arena. Their opponents were a team from Sacramento's city forces. The battle wasn't as over-the-top as the monk's one-on-six, but it was still a massacre.
Tank raised his massive shield in front, taking the brunt of the incoming fire. Snake Spirit's mutated Thai banded krait slithered through the shadows of the shipping containers for stealth attacks. Its scales were a dull, oily black in the rain. Anyone who dared to poke their head out to take a shot was instantly sniped by Ling Ling.
It's a total wipeout. Jing Shu and Xiao Hei didn't even get a chance to fight. Ling Ling's sniper rifle made sure "show your face and you die" wasn't just a saying. Meanwhile, Snake Spirit's venom turned into a deadly group attack. One swift assault, and the enemy team was gone.
The enemy tried circling around the containers for a counterattack, and they're good too. But they couldn't escape Ling Ling. She had high-end night vision and could pinpoint them by the sound of their boots on the wet concrete. Her sniping had already reached a godlike level of efficiency.
George wiped the cold sweat from his face. He was relieved they had at least managed to hold one arena for the Black Market. Otherwise, they might not have made it out of Sacramento tonight.
Tank finally caught on to the logic. "Wait, so we're guarding one arena, Old Goat's team is guarding another, and each side represents their own faction, right? That way, it's not all one-sided?"
Snake Spirit clapped his hands together. "Congrats, you have finally figured it out. But yeah, there's more to it than that. We're meant to weaken each other. They get to kill our mercenaries openly, we get to wipe theirs clean, and the nobles are left with fewer private troops to protect them later. Win-win."
Mutual slaughter indeed. Once both sides' top mercenaries were dead, the nobles would just be a bunch of fat sheep waiting to be sheared of their wealth.
Everything went according to the plan. Yang Yang's group wiped out the entire Black Market team without him ever lifting a finger. Meanwhile, Jing Shu's group finished off their opponents. The small dock was now covered in corpses, and blood was soaking into the ground in the rain.
Tank spat on the wet ground. "We have won three fights already. Why don't we go challenge the other arena? We have got their pattern figured out."
But George stopped him immediately. "My brave warriors, that's enough. Holding one arena's power is already enough for our purposes. If we lose now, we will lose everything." He didn't dare risk it. In the end, both sides agreed to end the matches there.
Jing Shu's team was escorted back to the cruise ship to rest and dry off.
"Damn it," George muttered. He rubbed his temples as he watched the loading. "I have got to get everyone else on board fast. They have got way too much junk to bring, and time is running out."