The moment the ref yelled "Begin!", Qiao Dong exploded forward, lunging at Xiao Ke like a hawk diving for its prey.
Xiao Ke met him head-on, stepping into a charging punch without a flicker of hesitation.
They were like two rival predators, colliding in a storm of furious blows. Both were decurions from the Orca Camp, both had awakened their Martial Veins, and both were drilled in the same brutal arts of grappling and combat. As they clashed, their styles were so similar they were almost mirror images, sometimes even using the same moves.
But there was a difference. Qiao Dong was a Level 3 War Soldier. He lit up three nodes in his Martial Vein, and they pumped Origin Power through him like steam engines. Every punch and kick he threw crackled with energy, whistling through the air with a vicious hum. His assault was relentless.
Xiao Ke, on the other hand, was all raw power. His strikes were heavy and landed with the force of a battering ram, but they lacked the flashy energy of his opponent. His style was simple, direct, and brutally efficient.
By all accounts, he should have been overwhelmed.
And yet, to the shock of the watching crowd, Xiao Ke held his own. From the very first exchange, they were dead even.
At first, both fighters were just feeling each other out. Qiao Dong had come in arrogant, thinking he could crush Xiao Ke easily—maybe even fake a slip-up and land a killing blow. But after the first few clashes, a cold dread crept in. The force behind Xiao Ke's simple fists and feet was immense, easily matching the Origin Power he was so proud of.
Doubt turned to fury. Qiao Dong dropped the pretense and went all in. He pushed his Martial Vein to its absolute limit, the three nodes blazing as they flooded his body with power. His true assault, ferocious and wild, had begun.
Xiao Ke didn't dare let his guard down. He unleashed his full strength, his movements becoming even more refined and economical. Every motion was designed for maximum impact, every blow aimed at a vital point. He perfectly merged his terrifying physical power with the army's famously aggressive fighting style, aiming to shatter his opponent with a thunderous, lightning-fast attack.
The hundreds of soldiers watching let out gasps of awe. Even the hardened veterans of the White Shark Camp were muttering their respect. This wasn't just a brawl; it was a masterclass in combat. But the question on everyone's mind was the same: How was a Level 1 soldier going toe-to-toe with a Level 3 and not giving an inch?
From the stands, Qin Bing watched with a calm, unreadable expression. Beside her, Qiao Mingxuan was scowling, silently cursing. Useless bastard, he thought. I poured a fortune in potions into you to get you to Level 3, and you can't even put this nobody down? What a waste.
Here was the truth of it: Qiao Dong's raw physical strength was barely above average. It was his 300 Cahe of Origin Power that made him dangerous. Xiao Ke, while only having about 100 Cahe of Origin Power, possessed a staggering 400 jin of pure punching force. On top of that, his nightly training sessions under Qin Bing's personal instruction had honed his combat instincts to a razor's edge. In reality, Xiao Ke was the stronger fighter.
And now, with both men holding nothing back, that reality was starting to show.
They traded blows, often using the same techniques—fists, kicks, elbows, shoulders—and crashing against each other with brutal force. But Qiao Dong, the one who looked more impressive, wasn't gaining any ground. In fact, a sheen of sweat had broken out on his forehead. A storm was raging in his mind. He couldn't understand how a Level 1 fighter could hit this hard. Every one of Xiao Ke's punches felt like a sledgehammer; every kick felt like being slammed with an iron pipe. It was agony.
Worse, Qiao Dong's promotion to Level 3 had been rushed, a shortcut achieved through unnatural means. His foundation was unstable. As the fight dragged on, the three bright nodes of his Martial Vein began to flicker and dim, like a dying lightbulb. His power was fading.
The battle reached its breaking point. Xiao Ke sensed it instantly—the slight falter in Qiao Dong's power, the subtle shift in his stance. He smelled blood in the water.
He pressed forward, unleashing a furious barrage of punches. Bang! Bang! Bang! Each blow was stronger than the last.
Qiao Dong desperately blocked, stumbling back seven steps under the onslaught. With the final punch, his defense shattered, leaving him completely exposed.
Xiao Ke didn't waste the opening. He pivoted, launching a lightning-fast high kick.
CRACK!
The kick landed perfectly on Qiao Dong's head. The last of his protective Origin Power dissipated as he flew backward like a broken doll, hitting the ground hard.
Medics swarmed him. "He's unconscious, with severe injuries," one of them announced. "The Origin Power he had left absorbed some of the impact. If it hadn't, that kick would have split his skull open."
A stunned silence fell over the arena. Everyone stared at Xiao Ke, the Level 1 soldier who had just decisively, almost arrogantly, defeated a Level 3.
The referee rushed to his side, grabbed his fist, and thrust it into the air. "Xiao Ke is the winner!"
The announcement broke the spell, and the crowd erupted in cheers. The members of his squad were the loudest, swarming him in a frenzy. "Captain, you did it! You're going to be a Centurion!"
In the stands, a rare, faint smile touched Qin Bing's lips. "Have him come here," she told an aide.
Qiao Mingxuan's face was stone. He shot Xiao Ke a look of pure venom.
A few moments later, the soldiers were back in formation. Xiao Ke strode before the officers and snapped a crisp salute. "Ma'am. Sir."
"You didn't disappoint me, Xiao Ke," Qin Bing said with a smile. "As of this moment, you are officially appointed Centurion of the Orca Camp, in command of two hundred soldiers. Your appointment letter and new uniform will be delivered by the quartermaster."
"Yes, ma'am!" Xiao Ke replied, his back ramrod straight.
Qin Bing turned to Qiao Mingxuan, a playful glint in her eye. "Centurion Qiao. A bet is a bet, is it not?"
He knew what she wanted. Without trying to squirm out of it, he unhooked his black saber, the "Fierce General," and presented it to her. "Of course," he said, forcing a smile. "The Fierce General is yours, my lady."
Qin Bing took the blade and drew it from its sheath. It was pitch black, the only light coming from the razor-sharp, gleaming edge. She traced a finger lightly along the blade, and a perfect, crimson line appeared on her skin. A single drop of blood welled up, slid down the length of the saber, and dripped from the tip onto the ground, blooming like a tiny flower.
The blade itself remained perfectly clean. Not a single trace of blood stained it.
"A fine blade," Qin Bing breathed, impressed.
Qiao Mingxuan puffed up, about to offer some flattering line about a great weapon belonging to a great warrior. He'd barely gotten to hold the blade himself, but perhaps he could salvage the situation by winning her favor.
Before he could get a word out, Qin Bing sheathed the saber and, without a second thought, tossed it to Xiao Ke.
"Catch."
Xiao Ke caught it on instinct, his face a mask of confusion.
"It's yours now," Qin Bing said, her voice clear and strong. "Don't let me down. Live up to its name. Become a fierce general for the Empire—become its sharpest blade."
Xiao Ke's eyes widened, his hands tightening around the hilt, a powerful emotion surging through him. "Yes, ma'am!" he vowed.
Beside them, Qiao Mingxuan's face twisted into a grotesque mask of humiliation and hatred. He'd just gotten that blade. He hadn't even used it once. And now, it belonged to the man he despised most in the world.