The last four fighters didn’t look confident at all when walking onto the field. No shouting, no pumping, just a slow walk with deflated shoulders leading the way. The highest level was 37 from a sword and shield warrior.

  Zalanir’s attention was on the enemies. Two buffed mercenaries in front who looked like MMA fighters taken straight out of the TV. No weapons. A light leather armor that didn’t really fit their big frame. And the unidentifiable status again.

  [? — Level ?]

  [? — Level ?]

  Standing far behind was the last mercenary shrouded in a dark reddish black robe. Zalanir couldn’t see the face, but Identify did return a result.

  [Human — Level 43]

  A 4-on-3 while the enemy held the level advantage and morale? Even the most positive audience wouldn’t bet on the fighters’ side to win.

  The battle finished in under ten minutes. The two frontliners absolutely crushed the four poor guys. That was even with the last one didn’t join in. The disparity in power was just night and day.

  The audience must've felt the same, as the cheering was pretty mild. Only a handful of claps and shouts, maybe from the bettors who made some outrageous gambles and won, or someone who happened to enjoy this kind of domination.

  Zalanir also picked up two interesting comments among the discussions in the crowd, thanks to his useful but torturing Sound Sense.

  “They don’t even need to send in another. Sixty-one fighters, man!”

  “Those two puppets were of really high quality. That mercenary must be someone.”

  Puppets? Is that how it is? Sorry for the intrusion; please don’t press charges.

  Zalanir tried his best to locate the source of the conversation about puppets, but found himself unable to. His mind could filter out irrelevant stuff, but active and targeted eavesdropping seemed to be impossible, at least for now. The seeds were unintended planted already. If he could master this … an indecent and disgusted grin formed unknowingly on his face.

  So they were puppets. That explained why there were three of them, while the announcer previously said that only one Zerkshi mercenary at a time would take on the fighters. A puppet would be no different compared to a weapon or a piece of equipment in this case.

  That solved the kill notification issue then. The first one, or maybe even the one he distracted, was just really well-made. He honestly couldn’t tell. No one could look at them and call out that they weren’t real. How come the movement, attacks and defenses were so good? They put all the robots on Earth to shame with how smooth the motions were. How many of the twenty mercenaries in the first battle were puppets, by the way?

  Thinking about it, who were their masters? The Black Robe earlier had to be the master of the two huge puppets. Was the one they killed during the first battle also a master? If so, wasn’t that unfair? Imagine battling past the puppets only to find their master was even tougher to deal with. How demoralizing would it be? If Zalanir had one, then weren’t all the arena battles kind of a cakewalk?

  “What a domination that was. Just one of them is enough to wipe out most of our battle-hardened fighters. But … but what show is it if we don’t show our very best? We have been keeping you waiting for long. The best, the most primal form of entertainment, for thousands or millions of years, has always been two individuals duking it out. Let’s welcome one of our stars, the man who has stolen the hearts of countless maidens, Dja-Dja-Djaaa-Djaxinzzzzz!”

  Luckily for Zalanir, his spot was reserved for the arena fighters, which naturally consisted of mostly men. Even the woman fighters didn’t show that much affection to the handsome Djaxinz strolling out onto the middle open space. But the same couldn’t be said about the crazy screams from girls in the audience, especially in the northern zone, where all of them were a big gathering for ladies. Zalanir suspected he could pass out on the spot because of Sound Sense if he were in the middle of that area.

  Djaxinz, still with the three-feathers green hat and a relaxed posture, ignored the opponent and graced the crowd instead. However, for some reason, the mercenary didn’t seem to be mad. The guy just stood there and waited. On his right hand was a porcelain saw blade, a rather peculiar choice of weapon.

  The fight began with a fast dash from the mercenary to the side, then ran around in circles to Djaxinz. Zalanir had no idea what that was for until a burst of force propelled the mercenary toward Djaxinz at an incredible speed. Getting caught off guard, Djaxinz could only twitch his body to the right in the nick of time to avoid a blade to the heart. His flank, though, was tearing apart with a wide cut.

  But in that same window, when the mercenary was the closest to him, Djaxinz twirled his body and caught the mercenary’s right wrist, and then he slammed it onto the ground. A knee to the stomach followed shortly after, blowing the man into the air before he came crashing down on the ground several meters away.

  Giving his enemy almost no time to rally, Djaxinz pressed in with continuous and rapid punches and kicks, leaving the opponent with no room besides turtling on the spot. The assault was only broken by some rather desperate swings of the saw blades around by the mercenary, but that still earned him multiple fists on the back.

  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  The fight ended with a jumping sidekick to the right cheek from Djaxinz, knocking the mercenary off balance and making the guy land on his face. No more standing up after that. The guy just lay there with no motion. The saw blades stayed about an arm span away, having been dropped off right after the marvelous kick.

  Total domination was all Zalanir could do to describe the fight. From start to finish, there wasn’t a single moment where the man who scammed three coins off him wasn’t in control. Just how strong was he? Why was he even here? With how calm and easy Djaxinz made his fight look, Zalanir doubted anyone could match him.

  Had he evolved yet? Identify gave only a question mark, but Zalanir remembered he was level 46 at the start of the raid to the anthill. Taking into account a lot of time had passed, and the fact that Djaxinz even killed the queen and her guards, maybe the man had already crossed over to C-grade. That would explain the power he had. Maybe that was the case.

  “That is our star. His winning streak continues to a new high. Even the famous warrior from Zerkshi couldn’t stop it. Will there ever be any who could pose a challenge? No, I don’t think so. Because he is the ever gallant man who is building a legend of his own. And the legendddd … will never endddddd!” Amid the crazy cheering of the audience, the announcer still found a way to make it even more nuts.

  To be honest, the speech wasn’t that amazing. It was okay at best. But the tone of voice, the crying, and the occasional pause to build up the hype were so timely done that everyone went along and responded to the call.

  There was a short pause of about twenty minutes before the announcer was up once again.

  “The time for the final show has come. What a treat that we have been having so far. Just one more fight, and the day will be over, so please, give it your all to welcome our participants to the field.” The announcer’s tone changed? Instead of the usual hype, it sounded like he was just talking like a normal person. “When I got the list, I couldn’t even believe my eyes. The name written there felt like a blessing, because we had another chance to see her fight once again.” And another pause, though this time there was a tiny break in the man’s voice. “How long has it been? Have any of you still remembered her explosive attacks? I am actually jealous of those who get to see her in the arena for the first time now. You are in for the greatest performance that you will ever witness. So, for those who may have forgotten, for those who will remember from now on, and for those who have every bit of her performance memorized, let’s give it up for our beautiful chef, Schallinnnnnnnnn!”

  Coming up to the arena was a woman in her 30s. She didn’t have the most attractive face that drew in the eyes, but Zalanir was sucked into the bouncy, wavy purple hair that danced along with each of her steps. The descending sun gave a faint light that shone and cradled the hair like a mother playing with her baby’s skin. The front and top of the hair was kept long while the sides were shorter, with some pointy, curvy pieces of hair dangling on top of the shoulders. Honesty, that hair was enough to elevate her into the position of the dreaming woman for men, even for other women, if Zalanir was being generous.

  The color of the hair combined with the turquoise dress gave her a soft, angelic vibe that screamed protection at all costs. If only she didn’t hold a medium-sized cleaver in the right hand and a static imperial red orb in the other, the picture would be near perfect. Maybe she did a cosplay and would drop them both when the fight started?

  As for the opponent, Zalanir wondered if he had woken up this morning and decided on a whim to just pick up the heaviest equipment that he saw. A heavy cuirass, a pair of spiked boots, and a full-face helmet that curved inside around the neck area. The man — should be a man; if he turned out to be a woman, Zalanir would have to ask her for her training routine — completed the metal look by holding a silver double-headed battle axe in front of his body with both hands. Had the weapon been a guitar, Zalanir would have mistaken him to be the lead instrumentalist of a band.

  This will be a test of the babe’s offensive power. If it’s me, guess I am doomed at the beginning. Zalanir shrugged. He had no idea how to break that defense with his bolts. Even Yar-Pattler, as the man’s style appeared to be precise, sharp flurries of attacks, could find the opponent intimidating. Perhaps Lithma, with his wolf attack, could do some damage and penetrate through the sturdy defense?

  Both of them engaged in a stare-down battle at the start and only broke out of it when the red orb came to life, floating up on top of Schallin’s left shoulder and starting to spin in place.

  As if the preparation had been completed, she rushed in, slamming the cleaver onto the great axe. The mercenary also stepped in, swinging the heavy weapon right to left, downward and then upward, but all the attacks missed the girl, or rather, they were pushed off by the cleaver. She wasn’t even targeting the man but instead tracking down the trajectory of the swing to intercept halfway. Her speed was obviously superior, not anything too surprising considering the man’s equipment.

  The weird chase of weapon for weapon continued until Zalanir noticed that the spinning speed of the orb had become rather fast. The small static matters inside were pushed around erratically. Zalanir didn’t even realize there were something within up until now, when each time after colliding with another matter, each matter of its own got bigger and shone brighter.

  The mercenary seemed to realize it as well. Looked like he wanted to stop whatever was happening by slamming the axe onto the ground, creating visible shockwaves around the spot. But Schallin had already backed off quite a distance by not going for the axe right from the start of the swing. How could she know that? Maybe something the man gave away about the attack that she noticed at close range?

  It became a dance of in and out to avoid the shockwaves from the hottie for a solid ten minutes, all while maintaining the weird parrying style whenever the opponent swung the axe.

  But the end was nigh, or so whatever came next. The matters’ movement within the orb had become almost out of control, with only four of them remaining. Then it became three, two, and after the last bump, one single stone — it looked like a polished stone lying around on the beach — hung in the center of the orb, radiating intense power that cracked the air both inside and outside of its container.

  From nowhere, to everyone’s bewilderment, as there were lots of “Oh” flying around, a pillar of light descended from the sky, crashed onto the buckling-up-already-for-two-minutes-hoping-to-survive-whatever-was-coming mercenary. The slam dunk of fiery light engulfed him, blocking all the eyes from knowing what was happening. Only after the attack ended, and the orb fell onto Schallin’s hand again, that the fate of the mercenary was known.

  He was kneeling on the floor, face looking up, and the right hand reaching forward mid-air. The absolute defense in the form of his heavy armor was sizzling with tattered pieces falling one after another. Some were still hanging, but only because parts of them had already melted into the man’s flesh. A splotch of blood painted the floor under his spot.

  Ignoring the obvious craze and frenzy happening in the grandstands for the performance, two voices cut through the noise.

  “Girl, come over here.”

  “If you could be munificent in granting me a fight …”