Their boots slid at the same time.

Blood had soaked into the sand, turning it slick, treacherous. Ludger felt his footing give for a fraction of a second, just enough. The drunkard felt it too. They both adjusted instinctively, too late to disengage cleanly.

So they committed.

They stepped in and swung together.

Fists met faces with a sound that cracked across the arena, wet and solid, the kind of impact that rattled the skull rather than breaking bone. The force pushed them apart, both stumbling back a step as pain detonated behind their eyes.

Ludger’s vision blurred.

The world smeared at the edges, light stretching, sound dulling. He shook his head hard, once, then again, forcing focus back into place as his breath came out sharp and controlled.

Across from him, the drunkard spat.

Blood hit the sand in a dark splash. Something pale clinked once before settling, teeth, broken or cracked, Ludger couldn’t tell. The man wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, chest heaving now, shoulders rising higher with each breath.

They looked at each other. Really looked.

The joking haze was gone from the drunkard’s eyes. What remained was sharp, lucid, and tired in the way only long fights made you tired. No mockery. No theatrics. Just acknowledgment.

Ludger felt it too. This had gone far enough.

They were both bleeding. Both burning through reserves, mana, stamina, focus. Neither of them had time to waste here, not with everything circling this arena, not with bigger moves already unfolding beyond it.

Ludger set his feet again, stance tightening, intent crystallizing. It was time to end this. Cleanly. Decisively. Before either of them paid a price that mattered more than the fight itself.

The tattoos flared.

Not in pulses this time, not in scattered flickers tied to broken rhythm, but all at once. The markings along the man’s arms burned brighter, lines igniting in deep, molten hues that crawled over his skin like living things. The air around him thickened, pressure rolling outward in a slow, suffocating wave.

His aura changed.

Ludger felt it before he fully saw it, a shift in weight, in intent, like the arena itself had leaned toward the drunkard. Then the mana began to bleed free from the man’s body, not in clean streams, but in heavy surges that clung together instead of dispersing.

Some of the spectators gasped.

To those with enough sensitivity, it almost looked solid.

Mana gathered above and behind the man’s shoulders, coiling and swelling, forming a massive, hunched outline in the air. Broad. Powerful. Arms thicker than Ludger’s torso, head lowered, presence crushing. The shape wasn’t precise, not fully formed, but the suggestion was unmistakable.

A gorilla. Or something close enough that the distinction didn’t matter.

The drunkard rolled his neck once, bones popping audibly as the spectral form behind him mirrored the motion, massive arms flexing in silence. The tattoos along his forearms burned brightest of all, symbols aligning, reinforcing, locking into place.

Ludger frowned.

This wasn’t random. It wasn’t drunken theatrics or some spontaneous outburst of power. The tattoos, the erratic movement, the aura, it all lined up too cleanly now. Like pieces of a system he hadn’t seen until the last one clicked into place.

His instincts screamed. This wasn’t a coincidence. This wasn’t desperation.

This was a technique he’d been building toward from the moment he stepped into the arena.

Ludger tightened his stance, mana shifting instinctively to reinforce bone and muscle, eyes locked on the looming shape behind the man.

So that’s what you are, he thought.

And whatever that gorilla-shaped presence represented, spirit, aspect, or something older, it wasn’t here to play around. The fight had reached its final phase.

Ludger didn’t hesitate.

Whatever the drunkard had said, truth or nonsense, it didn’t matter anymore. He wasn’t about to lower his guard on the word of a man who bled teeth and laughed about it. Not here. Not now.

He reached inward and took everything that was left.

Mana flooded outward, not explosively, but deliberately. Earth-aspected overdrive snapped into place, power threading through muscle, bone, and skin. The faint light around him shifted to a muted brown, then darkened further, density climbing until it looked less like mana and more like forged metal layered beneath his flesh.

His skin hardened. Weight settled into him. The ground answered.

Across from him, the drunkard leaned forward as the spectral gorilla behind him drew in tight, massive arms flexing, aura compressing instead of expanding. The tattoos along his body burned white-hot now, symbols locking into a final configuration.

They moved at the same time. No feints. No angles. No tricks. They charged.

Each step cracked the arena floor, shockwaves rippling through sand and stone as two forces closed the distance in a straight line. Air screamed between them, pressure collapsing inward as momentum stacked beyond what either body should have been able to handle.

They punched. Fist met fist. The impact detonated.

A thunderous boom tore through the arena, the sound slamming into the stands hard enough to rattle teeth. The ground buckled beneath them, stone fracturing outward in a spiderweb pattern as the force drove straight down instead of dispersing.

Neither tried to dodge. Neither tried to redirect. It wasn’t a technique. It was a statement.

Ludger’s reinforced arm screamed as force traveled up through his shoulder and into his spine. The drunkard’s arm bent just a fraction under the strain, tattoos flaring violently as the spectral gorilla behind him slammed its fists forward in perfect synchronization.

They hit again. And again.

Each blow landed heavy and direct, bodies colliding like siege engines. Sand erupted around their feet. The arena shook with every exchange, dust raining from cracked walls as spectators screamed and clutched their seats.

No finesse. No strategy. Just raw power grinding against raw power.

Ludger felt something tear in his muscles and forced mana tighter, teeth clenched as he drove another punch forward. The drunkard roared, not in pain, but exertion, blood spraying as he answered in kind, the gorilla-shaped aura crashing down like an invisible hammer.

They stood at the center of the destruction, trading blows that should have ended either of them already. And neither backed down. This wasn’t a duel anymore. It was a brawl to decide who stayed standing… and who didn’t get to walk away from the capital at all.

The arena couldn’t take it.

Every collision sent a tremor ripping outward from the center, not fading with distance but amplifying as it traveled through stone, sand, and metal. The ground lurched beneath everyone’s feet, seats rattling, railings shaking hard enough to draw startled cries. Dust sifted down from the upper arches like dirty snow.

It didn’t feel like watching a fight anymore.

It felt like being in it.

Each impact hit the stands a heartbeat after it landed, pressure slamming into chests, air punching lungs empty, teeth clicking as shockwaves rolled through the crowd. People stumbled in their seats, grabbing anything they could, instinctively bracing as if a blow were coming for them next.

Down below, Ludger and the drunkard traded punches again.

The arena floor cracked wider, fractures racing outward with every hit, stone slabs lifting and slamming back down as if the ground itself were trying to recoil. The barrier flared repeatedly, struggling to contain force that was never meant to exist inside walls.

The narrator had lost all restraint.

“THEY’RE NOT DODGING!” he shouted, voice cracking, breath coming fast as if he were the one throwing punches. “THEY’RE NOT HOLDING BACK… THIS IS A STRAIGHT BRAWL!”

Another thunderous impact shook the arena, and the narrator nearly yelled himself hoarse.

“DO YOU FEEL THAT?!” he screamed. “I CAN FEEL THAT! EVERY HIT, EVERY BLOW, IT’S LIKE THEY’RE FIGHTING THE ENTIRE ARENA AT ONCE!”

The crowd roared back, part fear, part exhilaration, part pure disbelief.

Stone shattered. Sand geysered skyward. The sound of fists colliding rolled outward like continuous thunder, echoing through the massive structure and spilling beyond it. Windows rattled across the capital. Birds fled rooftops in panicked flocks. People blocks away turned their heads toward the arena as the noise reached them, dull booms stacking into an unbroken roar.

The capital heard it.

Felt it.

Inside the arena, chaos reigned. Nobles clutched their seats, guards braced with shields raised instinctively, and healers stared in horror at the center of the field, knowing they wouldn’t be able to step in even if someone fell.

Another impact. Another quake.

The narrator laughed, half-mad, half-ecstatic, voice tearing as he shouted, “THIS ISN’T A MATCH ANYMORE! THIS IS A COLLISION OF MONSTERS!”

At the heart of it all, Ludger stood locked against his opponent, metal-hard skin meeting glowing tattoos, earth and something older crashing together again and again.

And as the arena shook like it might tear itself apart, one thing became undeniable… This wasn’t just being watched anymore. The entire capital was listening.

They traded three more blows like that—heavy, direct, punishing—and then Ludger tasted iron.

It crept up the back of his throat, sharp and unmistakable.

His breath hitched for just a fraction of a second.

That was all it took.

The drunkard’s fist came in crooked and fast, not from the front but from the side, sliding through the chaos of movement and smashing straight into Ludger’s temple. The impact detonated inside his skull. Light exploded behind his eyes as his vision washed white, balance vanishing in an instant.

His body staggered.

The drunkard didn’t hesitate.

He surged forward, aura flaring violently as the gorilla-shaped presence behind him reared back and committed. The punch that followed wasn’t erratic or playful, it was everything he had left, aimed to end the fight right there.

Ludger reacted on instinct alone. His right arm came up. The blow landed. There was a sound, sharp, wet, final.

Crack.

Pain ripped through him as bone failed under impossible force. His forearm folded at the wrong angle, shock screaming up his nerves as the break stole his breath. Earth overdrive held his flesh together just long enough to keep the arm attached, but the structure underneath was gone.

Still… The punch didn’t take him down.

Before the drunkard could capitalize, before he could follow through and finish it, Ludger twisted. Not back. Not away.

Sideways.

He let the momentum pass through him, hips rotating, shoulders snapping around as his left side took over. Mana surged, dense and brutal, driving through his core and into a single, perfect strike.

His left fist buried itself into the right side of the drunkard’s torso. The sound that followed wasn’t a boom.

It was a scream… a high-pitched, tearing whistle as air was violently displaced, pressure collapsing inward and then exploding outward all at once. The drunkard’s body bent around the blow, ribs caving as the gorilla-shaped aura behind him shattered like glass struck by a hammer.

He was launched.

Not knocked back… thrown.

The man flew across the arena in a straight, devastating line, crossing the corridor that led to the waiting chamber without slowing, stone and wood exploding outward as he tore straight through it. The force carried him past the broken gate, through the exit passage, and out of the arena entirely.

His body hit the ground beyond with a thunderous crash.

Then rolled. Once. Twice. Again.

He tumbled for dozens of meters, carving a trail through sand and stone, limbs slack as momentum finally bled away. Dust rose in a long, drifting cloud behind him.

At last, he came to a stop. Silence slammed down.

In the arena, Ludger stood hunched slightly, broken arm hanging useless at his side, blood running from the corner of his mouth. His vision swam, but he forced it back into focus, breathing slow and deliberate.

He was still standing. And far beyond the shattered corridor, the drunkard wasn’t moving.

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep