Chapter 1187

You punch, I punch; you hit my cheek, I hit yours, every blow landing squarely on flesh; you kick me, I kick you back.

Even basic defense is outright abandoned — only absolute offense remains!

Unless it's a vital point, then a brief defense.

The fierce battle had the martial artists below shouting in excitement.

Such frenzied attacks could never last long; once both sides were battered and bruised, gasping for breath, the match was silently nearing its end.

Fierce Tiger had lost the vast majority of his strength, and Iron Fist was nearly exhausted as well.

The distance between the two of them was barely half a meter; each seemed sustained only by a single will to defeat the other, raising the last remnants of their strength to strike each other.

The audience seats were so quiet that even a needle dropping to the ground could be heard clearly; none of them dared make too much noise, afraid of affecting the martial artist they were supporting on the field.

After a few soft, feeble punches traded between them.

In the end, Fierce Tiger was the first unable to hold on and collapsed straight onto the ground.

The referee decisively began the countdown.

"Can Fierce Tiger still stand up? 10, 9, 8…."

Fierce Tiger's consciousness still retained a sliver of clarity, and he kept struggling to get back on his feet.

But his exhausted body and depleted strength had already reached a limit; no matter what, he couldn't crawl back up.

". 'Let us congratulate Iron Fist on being the first to qualify for the top eight!'"

"Ohhh, roar roar roar!"

Below, Iron Fist's companions hugged each other fiercely in celebration, while on the other side Fierce Tiger's companions could only be dejected, embracing each other for comfort — but they knew Fierce Tiger had already given it his all.

This was the best possible outcome.

When the referee announced Iron Fist's victory, Iron Fist could barely hold on either and collapsed straight onto the field.

The referee decisively called for the medical staff to come up and treat both competitors.

The physical injuries were secondary; the main issue was exhaustion and their bodies having nearly reached a limit — a limit that would leave them unable to move at all for the next several hours.

It was very likely to affect the subsequent matches, but being able to fight such an evenly matched opponent to this state meant the spiritual gains far outweighed the material ones.

Iron Fist was very happy; he had been cultivating for years and had almost forgotten this feeling of fierce, exhilarating combat — he couldn't remember when the last time he had fought this joyfully was.

"Next up is our second group's match — please welcome Chariot versus Shadow Strike!"

With the first thrilling match as a warm-up, although the second match was also quite exciting, it looked somewhat dull in the eyes of the crowd.

Chariot's fighting style was as ferocious as ever, his momentum like a bamboo splitting — he beat Shadow Strike, that small-framed fellow, into raising his hands in surrender within moments.