What the hell's 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 stick?
It wasn't like the arena had any restrictions anyway. There were no limits on weapons or terrain. The so-called "arena" wasn't even a real ring, just a verbal agreement. Once the fight began, both sides could go wild however they wanted—find cover, launch terrorist-style ambushes, fight guerilla-style, toss grenades, or even fire off a single-man rocket launcher. Everything went.
The more professional the fighter, the more they valued their life. They weren't idiots rushing in to get KO'd. In an age ruled by hot weapons, what really mattered in a deathmatch wasn't just personal 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.
The Black Market team was stacked: two shield-bearers, one machine gunner, two submachine gunners, and a sniper. With guns legal in America, people relied on firearms even more—and they were indeed stronger.
With a setup like that, they could easily wipe out an entire squad. No wonder they were an A-tier mercenary assault team from the Black Market.
Everyone else, including Jing Shu, had already been sent to the freighter. Bullets didn't care who they hit, and soon the dock itself would turn into a warzone. They could fight on land or sea, and mercenaries were free to use any dirty tricks they wanted. This was a deathmatch arena in every sense of the word.
It was destined to be an earth-shattering battle.
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—a secret weapon, a grenade, maybe even a heavy gun. So when the referee shouted for them to get ready, their fingers already hovered over their triggers, waiting for the signal to turn the lone monk into a sieve.
Honestly, the arena's setup was a bit ridiculous. In real combat, no one shouted "Start!" and no ref declared who won. The last man standing was the winner, simple as that.
The monk took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling faster by the second. 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, rolling across several miles. The sound alone made hearts tremble and guts twist.
The six men nearest him had it the worst. Their hair bristled, ears started bleeding, 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.
When the echo faded, the six enemies hadn't even recovered yet. The monk stepped forward, swung his iron staff, and bonked each of them cleanly on the head. Done. The entire battle lasted barely thirty seconds. Then he hurried off to eat his plain rice.
The crowd went dead silent. Everyone was frozen, completely stunned by the sheer absurdity of what just happened. Especially the Black Market people—it was a total nightmare for them.
Snake Spirit scoffed, muttering under his breath, "Tch, that's just A-tier strength in China. What's everyone freaking out about?"
It was the first time Jing Shu truly realized what "A-tier" meant in China. So this was what counted as "A-tier"? Damn, that was strong.
George's expression darkened. He quickly assembled another team of mercenaries trained by nobles—physically stronger, personally selected from elite bodyguards. His last-minute strategy was to stuff earplugs in every man's ears and give strict orders: no matter what, open fire on sight.
But the second round went down even faster.
Light drizzle started falling from the sky, unnoticed. When the referee gave the signal again, the mercenaries didn't move at all—they just froze like statues. The monk casually walked up, whacked each one dead, and didn't even break a sweat. Clearly, something was off.
George's own men wouldn't risk their lives 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, and George's face was black as coal. 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—way above everyone else's level. Jing Shu's group shifted to another arena. Their opponents were a team from Sacramento. 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, Snake Spirit's mutated Thai banded krait slithered in for stealth attacks, and anyone who dared to poke their head out was instantly sniped by Ling Ling.
It was 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, while Snake Spirit's venom turned into a deadly group attack. One swift assault, and the enemy team was gone.
The enemy tried circling around for a counterattack, and they were good too. But they couldn't escape Ling Ling, who had night vision and could pinpoint them by sound. Her sniping had already reached a godlike level.
George wiped sweat from his face, relieved they'd at least managed to hold one arena. Otherwise, they might not have made it out tonight.
Tank finally caught on. "Wait, so we're guarding one arena, Old Goat's team's guarding another, and each side represents their own faction, right? That way, it's not all one-sided?"
Snake Spirit clapped. "Congrats, you finally figured it out. But yeah, there's more to it. We're meant to weaken each other. They get to kill our mercs openly, we get to wipe theirs clean, and the nobles are left with fewer private troops. Win-win."
Mutual slaughter indeed. Once both sides' top mercs were dead, the nobles would just be a bunch of fat sheep waiting to be sheared.
Everything went according to plan. Yang Yang's group wiped out the entire Black Market team without lifting a finger, while Jing Shu's group finished off their opponents. The small dock was now covered in corpses, blood soaking the ground.
Tank spat on the ground. "We've won three fights already. Why don't we go challenge the other arena? We've got their pattern figured out."
But George stopped him. "My brave warriors, that's enough. Holding one arena's power is already enough. If we lose, we'll 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.
"Damn it," George muttered, rubbing his temples. "I've got to get everyone else on board fast. They've got way too much junk to bring, and time's running out."