Before the punch could land, the concrete beneath her feet cracked.

Thick, thorn-covered vines erupted upward in a violent curtain—dozens of them, twisting and interlocking in less than half a second to form a dense, living wall three meters high and two meters thick. Green stems pulsed with faint emerald light; every inch bristled with needle-sharp black thorns dripping viscous sap.

“Shit.”

Ethan’s fist slammed into the barrier.

CRUNCH.

The impact echoed like a cannon shot—vines splintering, sap spraying, thorns snapping—but the wall held. His knuckles bled instantly—skin torn open on the razor edges—but he didn’t flinch. Instead he pivoted on his lead foot, body spinning in a tight 180° turn, left elbow whipping around in a vicious back-elbow strike aimed at the same spot.

Another explosion of green.

The vines shifted—parting like water around his elbow, then snapping closed again—trying to trap his arm. Thorns raked across his forearm, drawing long red lines.

Ethan snarled—yanked his arm free with raw strength—and back-flipped away in a single fluid motion. He landed in a crouch seven meters back—blood dripping from both arms now, breath steady, eyes locked on the reforming wall.

Behind it, Flora laughed—bright, musical, cruel.

“So eager~” she sang. “Come closer, pretty boy. Let my roses kiss you.”

She flicked her wrist again.

The whip—still extended—snapped back toward Ethan like a returning boomerang. This time the thorns glowed emerald; the entire length of the vine thickened, new rosebuds blooming along its length as it accelerated.

Ethan rolled left—concrete exploding where the whip struck. He came up running—zig-zagging at blinding speed—closing the gap again.

Flora’s eyes gleamed.

She raised her free hand—palm forward.

The ground beneath Ethan’s feet erupted.

Massive thorned roots burst upward—dozens of them—forming a cage around him mid-stride. Vines snapped shut like jaws; thorns reached for his legs, his arms, his throat.

Ethan vaulted—planting one foot on an incoming root and using it as a springboard. He twisted in mid-air—body parallel to the ground—then drove both heels down onto the central stalk of the cage.

CRACK—BOOM.

The main root shattered under the force—splinters flying. Ethan landed in a crouch inside the broken ring—already moving again.

Flora’s smile never wavered.

She yanked the whip back—vines retracting—and lashed it forward once more—this time low, sweeping, aiming to take his legs out.

Ethan leaped—high—tucking his knees—then snapped his legs out in a mid-air dropkick aimed straight at Flora’s chest.

Flora’s eyes widened for the first time.

She crossed her arms—vines spiraling up to form twin shields in front of her massive breasts.

Ethan’s boots slammed into the barriers.

The impact rang like a gong—vines cracking, sap spraying—but they held.

He bounced off—flipping backward—landing in a crouch again.

Flora lowered her arms—breathing slightly heavier now, cheeks flushed.

“My, my…” she purred, licking a drop of sap from her lower lip. “You hit like a battering ram. I might actually have to try.”

She slammed the butt of her whip into the ground.

The entire arena trembled.

A colossal rose bush erupted behind her—twenty feet tall—petals blood-red, thorns black and gleaming. Vines lashed outward in every direction—seeking, hungry.

Ethan cracked his neck.

Then charged—straight at the heart of the storm.

A collective gasp rolled through the noble section—sharp, disbelieving.

Commoners exploded.

“HOW IS HE DOING THAT?!”

“He’s actually fighting back!”

“A commoner—against Flora Dawnveil?!”

“That punch cracked her shield!”

Elowen Voss—standing rigid at the commentator’s dais—felt her eyes widen behind her lashes.

*What…? How? What is happening today? Too many unreasonable commoners…*

Mira Hale—beside her— hazel eyes sparkled with barely-contained excitement.

*He’s… Strong.*

—

In the infirmary—

Nurse Sera Veyne leaned forward—elbows on her desk, massive breasts pressing against the white uniform fabric until buttons strained.

“Damn…” she breathed, genuinely impressed. “He’s really strong. That’s what they mean by special.”

Mee—half-propped against pillows, Kee’s blazer still draped over her chest like a shield—never took her eyes off the holographic feed. Her voice came out soft, almost reverent.

“There was always something special about him. He was too strong. Stronger than any commoner should be. I don’t know how.”

Sera glanced sideways—golden cat-slit eyes glinting.

“You sound proud.”

Mee’s cheeks warmed. She tugged the blazer higher—shy. “I am.”

—

Back in the highest gallery—

Liana bounced on the balls of her feet—both fists clenched under her chin—eyes shining like twin stars.

“Gooo… brother…!” she shouted down toward the arena, voice cracking with joy. “Kick her ass!”

Then—quieter, almost to herself, hearts practically floating around her head:

“Isn’t he strong…?”

Aiden—arms still draped possessively around Nyxion and Selvara—raised one eyebrow.

Intrigued.

*What is he?*

“How is he moving like that?” Ela gasped—hands clasped under her chin. “How is a commoner so strong?”

Liana turned—grinning darkly, proudly.

“‘Cause he’s the best.”

Nobles in the lower galleries weren’t nearly as impressed.

One noble boy scoffed—loud enough to carry.

“Fluke. He got lucky once.”

A girl beside him sneered. “She’s playing with him. Flora’s just toying.”

Another noble— smug—leaned back.

“It doesn’t matter how strong he is. Nobles will always be stronger than mud-bloods.”

“Exactly,” his friend added. “She hasn’t even used her full arsenal yet.”

Elowen—still gripping the railing—forced a tight smile for the magical broadcast.

“An… unexpected display of tenacity from the commoner side.”

Mira’s voice stayed perfectly neutral—professional—but her eyes betrayed excitement.

“Ethan Leilive showing remarkable physical prowess. Flora Dawnveil will need to escalate soon.”

—

On the central stage—

Ethan thought grimly as another thorned root exploded from the concrete behind him.

*I need to do something about those vines. Annoying little things.*

He twisted mid-stride—dodging left—then right—boots skidding on sap-slick concrete as more vines lashed out like whips.

Flora giggled—high and delighted—pink hairs bouncing.

“Ohhh babe… stop running away from me. Let my roses love you~”

Ethan’s eyes narrowed.

“You seem like you don’t hate commoners,” he called—vaulting over a low vine sweep.

Flora tilted her head—smile turning coy.

“My mama taught me to see everyone equally.”

Ethan landed—spun—and charged straight at her again.

“But—” Flora’s voice dropped—seductive, teasing “—that doesn’t mean I can’t play with my toys.”

A thick vine shot from the ground—wrapping around Ethan’s left ankle mid-jump.

He stumbled—dropped to one knee—grunted as thorns bit skin.

Flora sauntered closer—hips swaying, massive breasts bouncing with each step, rose tattoos glistening with sweat.

Ethan pushed up with both arms—muscles bulging—trying to rip the vine off.

Another thornless vine erupted—snapping around his right wrist—then his left—pinning his arms wide.

He snarled—straining—but the vines tightened.

Flora crouched in front of him—resting one thick thigh on the ground, cheek on her palm—pink eyes gleaming.

“You look so cute resisting.”

—

END OF CHAPTER : 282 : HOW CAN HE FIGHT LIKE THAT?

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep