Chapter 13: Making a Name in One Battle (Part 1)

Once the drawing results were out, the atmosphere in the arena reached a fever pitch; thousands of gamblers swarmed toward the various betting counters, pulling out their money bags, and the gleaming Silver Yuan piled up into a small mountain.

"It really happened."

The moment the results emerged, Lu Yuan cast his gaze toward Baturu, only to find that the other man happened to be looking over from not far away, wearing a contemptuous and cruel smile.

Then, the man walked toward the VIP area at the edge of the stands, bowed slightly to a man and woman dressed in noble attire and surrounded by attendants, and seemed to be saying something.

Both the man and woman wore arrogant expressions; they were noble descendants of the Feng'en General Mansion, and they glanced over here, curling their lips in disdain.

As for the other four semi-finalists, they also cast looks of relief or schadenfreude.

Without a doubt, Baturu was the number one formidable enemy for everyone, and being able to avoid him in the semi-finals was a huge advantage.

For instance, the Money Gang, which had always been at odds with the Qinglong Gang, had a burly man in tight clothing walk over with his participating fighters, laughing with malicious glee:

"He Xiong, what's wrong with your Qinglong Gang? Why is it just a bunch of newcomers? Are you out of talent?"

Protector He Xiong sneered:

"You Money Gangs have talent, but isn't it just the same old thing? I'll see if you have the ability to take the top spot in the low-tier arena."

The other side responded with a snide remark:

"It's mostly because we don't have your luck, managing to stumble into the semi-finals by getting a bye. But if you ask me, you would have been better off just letting him be eliminated earlier. Now it's fine, but when you meet Baturu in a moment, you'll be lucky to walk away without losing a layer of skin."

Xu Dahu glared and shouted angrily: "Bullshit! Who says my junior brother will definitely lose!?"

"Junior brother?"

The other man paused, swept a glance at Lu Yuan, then looked at Li Junxian with wariness, but did not say anything more and left with his men.

"Nothing good ever comes out of a dog's mouth."

Xu Dahu could not stand the behavior of this group and turned his head to say:

"Junior brother, don't worry. When I get on stage later, I'll stand at the edge, and if anything goes wrong, I'll intervene immediately. I will never let him hurt you in the slightest!"

Xu Erhu said helplessly:

"Big brother, why do you talk as if junior brother is bound to lose? This Mongolian just fought a fierce battle with a top expert from the Tieyi Martial Arts Hall; his physical strength and other aspects are quite depleted. Junior brother's own physique and power are not necessarily inferior to his, so there is still a good chance of winning."

Xu Dahu immediately looked embarrassed and waved his hands repeatedly: "Junior brother, I absolutely did not mean to look down on you!"

These two "cheap" senior brothers could not be considered good people in the conventional sense, but they were quite good to their own, and Lu Yuan smiled nonchalantly:

"I know Big Senior Brother is worried; I won't lose face for you all."

Li Junxian was, after all, an old hand, and he spoke with eyes like torches:

"A Yuan, remember, although this person's strength is great, he lacks agility, and his left shoulder has been injured. Whenever he attacks, his left arm is always slightly slower than his right, and his force is sluggish."

"Although your skills are not yet fully refined, they are definitely not bad. As long as you can seize the timing and grasp this flaw, your win rate will be at least sixty or seventy percent!"

Until now, Lu Yuan had not encountered an evenly matched opponent to show his full strength, so he took a deep breath and said:

"This disciple understands."

Afterward.

Amidst the massive roar of noise, after a stick of incense's time for rest, the spectators, increasingly stimulated by the blood and excitement, basically finished placing their bets and returned to their seats.

On the betting board, the odds for the first match between Lu Yuan and Baturu actually reached 3:1. Silver Yuan were piled into small towers on the counters; except for a small number of gamblers hoping to turn their luck around, the vast majority bet on Baturu to win.

After all, Baturu was the top performer from last month's matches, while Lu Yuan was unknown. Although he had won his two matches cleanly, nothing much could be seen.

"Baturu, Baturu, Baturu!"

"Start quickly, I need to win my money back!"

"Don't lose, kid! Take down this Mongolian, and I'll be rich!"

The gamblers in the stands shouted loudly. Following a clear, resonant gong, the referee called out the names, and Lu Yuan and Baturu climbed onto the ring from opposite sides.

After getting on stage, Baturu stood tall with his sturdy physique, his fierce, tattooed face full of malice, and he said in a strange-sounding Han language:

"Kid, your luck is not very good to have met me. With your thin arms and legs, I could snap them with a light squeeze. You still dare to get on stage?"

Lu Yuan narrowed his eyes and took a stance:

"Less talk, bring it on!"

Baturu laughed wildly: "Very good! Next, I will twist off all four of your limbs as a celebration for me taking the top spot!"

Having said that, he took a step, stomped on the ring, and charged forward with a boom, like a crazed bull.

Lu Yuan was no longer the same person he once was; his figure flashed rapidly, and at the same time, he grabbed fiercely toward the back of the opponent's neck.

However, Baturu was also experienced. In an instant, he reached back with his other hand, catching Lu Yuan's wrist, and roared wildly:

"Get up!"

In a split second, violent force erupted. He hunched his back and braced his waist, suddenly exerting power, wanting to slam Lu Yuan to the ground by pulling his arm over his back, while simultaneously snapping the arm he was holding.

Yet, just as the power was unleashed, a massive force—not at all inferior to his own, and perhaps even greater—came from the palm and back, causing his body to stiffen, failing to complete the move.

Then, with a bang!

Lu Yuan flipped his wrist, unleashing force again within a tight space, causing the opponent to stumble from the collision.

At a glance, in this opening exchange, Baturu had actually gained no advantage and had even fallen slightly behind!

"Trash, trash! What is this Mongolian doing!"

"Go on! Throw him to death, throw him to death!"

"Kid, well done! How can a son of the Han people lose to this Mongolian savage!"

Around the stands, the gamblers who had placed different bets were red-faced and shouting at the top of their lungs, wishing they could get on stage themselves.

And off-stage, seeing Lu Yuan respond calmly and even gain an advantage, the Qinglong Gang members cheered loudly and mocked Baturu repeatedly.

"Unreasonable!"

Having suffered a small loss, Baturu had not expected the opponent to have strength not inferior to his own, and he was instantly furious.

So, the very next instant, he let out a roar and lunged forward, his two thick arms reaching out like pythons.

Bang! Bang!

In an instant, the two palms collided, emitting a dull, explosive sound of wind.

Although there was a disparity in their physiques, both men hunched their waists like wild bulls, shifting their feet, attempting to subdue the enemy through pure strength.

Yet everyone could clearly see that even though Baturu had become as frenzied as a mad bull, Lu Zheng on the opposite side still received the impact with steady force, and the two remained in a strange posture of wrestling on the stage, evenly matched!

(End of chapter)