Chapter 61 Match Fixing

The starving wolf-man standing before Zhang Ji looked no better than him at the moment, his body covered in tattoos and scars, with a mechanical prosthetic for his right arm.

In this place, such an appearance was not only unrejected but actually welcomed.

"Hungry Wolf... Hungry Wolf..."

Some of the spectators cheered for the name of Zhang Ji's opponent.

Most of them did not genuinely like or admire him.

They simply had bet on him to win.

"I'm going to tear you apart and eat you," the Hungry Wolf said, baring his full mouth of steel teeth in a ferocious sneer as he threatened Zhang Ji.

"I hope you don't break your teeth," Zhang Ji replied.

"The match begins!"

As the host's voice fell, the Hungry Wolf moved, his footsteps stomping heavily enough to make the ring vibrate.

"Whoosh!"

A punch was thrown straight at the center of Zhang Ji's face.

Yet, Zhang Ji merely stepped back slightly, dodging the opponent's attack by a hair's breadth.

Through this single punch, Zhang Ji had already roughly gauged his opponent's strength in his mind.

Limited speed, decent power, barely around professional fourth dan.

Technique?

Are you sure he even has such a thing?

At least from Zhang Ji's perspective, although his punches were standard enough, the opponent possessed nothing that could truly be called technique.

He certainly lacked any refined essence in his training.

"Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh!"

Punch after punch, Zhang Ji sidestepped and ducked, effortlessly evading the opponent's assaults.

"Can you only run, you rat?!" the Hungry Wolf roared angrily.

Feeling that a few exchanges were quite enough, Zhang Ji leaped up and suddenly lashed out with a right kick.

"Swish!"

"Bang!"

Executing a crane-style kick, Zhang Ji's right leg struck the Hungry Wolf's cheek, directly deforming his steel teeth. With his head tilted to the side, the Hungry Wolf collapsed to the ground.

Before he could stand back up, Zhang Ji followed up with another kick, stomping down on his knee.

"Crack!"

The Hungry Wolf's right leg snapped outright.

"Aaaah!"

He crawled on the floor, utterly unable to stand again.

"I yield!"

In the stands, the crowd was filled with voices demanding that Zhang Ji deliver a finishing blow to end his life completely.

Even the referee deliberately dragged his feet, refusing to announce the outcome.

Yet Zhang Ji remained still, quietly watching as the Hungry Wolf crawled toward the entrance, pounding against the glass door.

Zhang Ji did not consider himself a bloodthirsty person. More importantly, whether to kill or spare was his own decision to make; others had no say in the matter!

Finally, the referee announced the winner.

"The winner of this match is [Polar Dragon]!"

Once the result was declared, the door opened, and the Hungry Wolf quickly crawled out.

Zhang Ji looked at the staff member and asked, "Can I keep fighting?"

"Of course you can," the staff member gave Zhang Ji a mocking glance before turning and walking away.

"[Polar Dragon] wants to continue fighting! The Hungry Wolf completely failed to satisfy him!"

The host loudly announced Zhang Ji's intention to fight consecutively.

The atmosphere instantly heated up.

Gauntlet-style matches consumed a tremendous amount of stamina.

Even if the opponents were weaker than you, as long as it wasn't a one-hit KO, coming in waves back-to-back was enough to exhaust most martial artists.

Of course, someone like Zhang Ji was an exception.

If he wanted to, once he activated the Heavenly Snake stance, he could keep fighting opponents like this until tomorrow.

At that moment, Zhang Ji spotted Lobo gesturing to him through the glass from beneath the ring.

Lobo held up a "four."

This was what they had agreed upon before coming.

Win four matches, and lose the fifth.

Zhang Ji glanced at him and then looked away.

Soon, the second opponent was sent out.

He looked similar to the Hungry Wolf, but with more modification scars on his body and a chainsaw attached to his arm.

"This match features the [Bloodthirsty Ghost] Hubert against the [Polar Dragon]!"

Anyone with a moniker like that was clearly a veteran local fighter.

"Bzzzzz!"

The chainsaw was revved up, producing a deafening roar accompanied by the smell of diesel and rising plumes of smoke.

Zhang Ji raised an eyebrow. This actually turned out to be a diesel-powered chainsaw.

Converting it to electric was clearly easy, so this was obviously done on purpose as a means to psychologically pressure opponents, perhaps also to hype up the crowd.

At that moment, the bloodthirsty audience cheered once again.

"Rip him apart, Hubert!"

"Bloodthirsty Ghost, I bet on you to win! Cut him in half!"

"Saw off his hands and feet first! I want to see what he looks like crawling on the ground without limbs!"

...

"Vroom!"

Wielding the chainsaw, the Bloodthirsty Ghost charged directly at Zhang Ji.

His speed was faster than the previous Hungry Wolf, his strength greater, and he had a weapon in hand.

His overall combat power should reach professional sixth dan.

However, his shortcomings were equally obvious, as he severely lacked technique. This was a common affliction among wild-style martial artists; when facing disciples from major martial sects, they were usually destined to be defeated by opponents punching above their weight class.

"Whoosh, swish!"

Two swings missed as Zhang Ji twisted his body to dodge. To make the act convincing, he even deliberately let his clothes graze the blade, getting a slice cut out to make the situation look perilous.

At that moment, Zhang Ji felt a genuine sense of irony.

Back at the Five-Forms Sect, when had he ever needed to worry about money?

Now, he had been reduced to throwing fixed matches here just to make a living.

Zhang Ji retreated step after step. When he reached the edge of the ring, he dropped low as the chainsaw came slicing down from above, stopping a mere inch above his head for a brief second as it was momentarily blocked by the tempered glass.

Taking advantage of that exact split second, Zhang Ji slid away from the side and delivered a powerful kick to the Bloodthirsty Ghost's arm, knocking his chainsaw off course, bending his modified arm directly, while simultaneously smashing a fist into his head.

"Bang!"

The opponent crashed to the ground, and Zhang Ji predictably followed up with a stomp that broke his leg.

Both of the Bloodthirsty Ghost's legs were mechanical prosthetics, so breaking them elicited no cries of pain.

Instead, the spectators began shouting for Zhang Ji to commit murder.

Refusing to grant their wishes, Zhang Ji kicked the Bloodthirsty Ghost—who was trying to crawl up and fight again—toward the exit door, and glanced at the camera.

"Polar Dragon wins!"

Zhang Ji's failure to kill the man left everyone somewhat disappointed.

Soon came the third and fourth matches.

Every time Zhang Ji chose to continue fighting consecutively, the atmosphere grew thirty percent more fervent.

That was because no one had done such a thing in a very long time.

Even if they did, how many could actually secure consecutive victories through so many matches?

Without absolute, overwhelming strength, who would dare?

At this point, the organizers finally realized something was amiss.

Suddenly, a phone call came in.

After answering, Qiao asked respectfully, "Boss, what is it?"

"Send out Old Mad," a voice echoed from the phone.

Though startled by the call, Qiao did not question it and immediately gave the instructions.

Zhang Ji waited a slightly longer time in the ring before finally catching sight of the next figure to arrive.

It was a man covered in bizarre patterns, shackled by fetters on both hands and feet. He stood over two meters tall, with a superhumanly massive build, and his bloodshot eyes were filled with ferocity, resembling a starving beast.

...

In the top-floor office of the skyscraper, in front of a massive projection screen, a middle-aged man with short black hair and a formal suit sat with his legs crossed, watching the events unfold.

The man was Damian Dean, the actual ruler of the city.

He was the leader of the Dean Gang, backed by a high-ranking official from the Roman Empire.

Of course, compared to those titles, he cared more about his other identity.

A transcendent-level martial artist.

Unlike the Eastern Polar Nation, which called C-class martial artists Grandmasters, in nations like the Roman Empire and the Guning Kingdom, those above professional martial artists were known as transcendent-level.

Damian had started watching Zhang Ji's third match.

It had been a long time since he had seen such a ruthless fighter.

He had intended to recruit him if Zhang Ji won three matches.

Instead, he found that things weren't playing out as he imagined.

Zhang Ji didn't seem like an ordinary martial artist.

Damian couldn't quite figure out Zhang Ji's upper limit, but he had a hunch that the man might also be a transcendent-level martial artist.

Therefore, he had ordered one of his trump cards to be brought up to test him.

Facing such an opponent, the man would surely have to reveal some true skills, right?

...

"Thump, thump!"

The opponent's heartbeat emitted a clear, distinct sound.

Zhang Ji could see with his naked eyes that glowing blood was being pumped from the man's heart throughout his entire body, illuminating the tattoo-like patterns on his skin.

An alchemical organ?

As he pondered this, a staff member nervously unlocked the shackles on the man's hands and feet.

The moment they were unlocked, the staff member was sent flying off the stage by a single blow from Old Mad.

Zhang Ji inwardly confirmed the opponent's condition.

He had fused with an alchemical organ, but the alchemist's technique was subpar, causing the user to lose most of his sanity, leaving him behaving like a wild beast now.

Of course, it could also be an issue with the subject himself.

After all, without a sufficiently strong mental willpower, the inherent consciousness of the alchemical organ itself would erode the host's will and take over as the dominant force.

"Roar!"

With an angry roar, saliva flew in all directions.

"The battle begins! It seems I don't even need to say 'start,' as Old Mad couldn't wait any longer. Will he tear apart the Polar Dragon, who has won four consecutive matches?"

Before the host's voice trailed off, Zhang Ji dodged Old Mad's first strike while looking down at the ring. Lobo subtly covered his ear with his hand and bent his pinky finger.

Had he already bet on him to lose?

Then he just needed to act a little and admit defeat.

"Swish!"

Vicious claws swept past, missing Zhang Ji's chest by a hair's breadth and completely shredding the new clothes Lobo had given him.

It looked like a perilous escape by the skin of his teeth.

Yet Zhang Ji remained utterly calm.

Pure beastly instinct with zero technique. His strength met the baseline, but any grandmaster could beat him to a pulp.

Evaluating him overall, he could perhaps fight someone at the professional ninth dan, but he had no business trying to spar with a grandmaster.

As for someone like Zhang Ji, who could kill peak grandmasters in seconds, it went without saying.

Even though he was currently missing a leg, dropping his overall combat power by forty or fifty percent, he could still crush this thing with a single finger.

Of course, he couldn't do that right now; after all, he needed to make money.

"Bang! Clang! Clash, clash, clash!"

Every time Old Mad slammed a blow into the ground, the alloy-paved floor dented, leaving a fresh fistprint.

Meanwhile, Zhang Ji dodged with apparent difficulty, his breathing growing noticeably irregular. He even wiped non-existent sweat from his forehead, projecting the appearance of someone reaching his absolute limit.

"Aargh-roar!"

Old Mad let out an angry roar, his deafening voice drowning out the cheers of everyone in the arena.

"Swish! Screech!"

Old Mad lashed out with a claw, leaving several deep gouges in the glass that could withstand sniper rounds.

Feeling that it was about time, Zhang Ji circulated his breathing technique and feigned failing to dodge the opponent's attack. Taking a direct strike from the claw, he used the momentum to hurl himself backward and crash heavily against the glass.

"Crack, crack, crack!"

A vast web of cracks appeared right where Zhang Ji impacted.

He collapsed to the ground, struggling hard to stand back up, but failing multiple times.

"Swish!"

With a roll, Zhang Ji once again narrowly evaded an incoming attack.

The referee still hadn't announced the winner.

Just like when Zhang Ji fought the others earlier.

Frowning slightly, Zhang Ji decided to change tactics.

Rolling away and using the momentum to stand, he clutched his battered left arm and threw a powerful punch straight at the oncoming assailant.

Old Mad similarly threw a punch toward Zhang Ji.

Before undergoing alchemical modification, he must have learned relevant combat techniques, which seemed to have been reduced to mere instinct.

"Boom! Crack! Thud!"

Zhang Ji flew backward through the air, crashing into the glass and shattering it completely. He landed heavily on the ground outside the ring, not moving anymore. At this point, he was less than a meter away from the spectator seats, and the nearby audience members wore expressions of utter shock, completely unprepared for such an event.

In truth, had it not been for Zhang Ji, such a thing certainly wouldn't have happened.

While the glass looked fragile—capable of cracking under the strikes of professional martial artists—it actually consisted of multiple layers. The inner two layers were indeed of ordinary hardness, but the outer layers grew progressively tougher; even if that Old Mad hammered away at it with full force for half a day, he might not have broken through.

The reason it shattered was because Zhang Ji had actively exerted force to smash it himself.

Even if it was an underground fight match, being knocked out of the ring meant a winner had to be declared, right?

As Zhang Ji thought this, Old Mad on the ring directly charged through the hole Zhang Ji had smashed, rushing toward him once more.

The spectators scattered in panic, creating a wonderfully chaotic scene.

Seeing this, Zhang Ji narrowed his eyes, gritted his teeth, and with a do-or-die attitude, lashed out with a kick.

"Bang!"

Old Mad was kicked right back into the ring by Zhang Ji, sliding a distance across the floor before slamming against the opposite glass wall.

His chest was deeply caved in, barely rising and falling anymore.

"Who is supposed to have won this?"

The audience was dumbfounded.

"The Polar Dragon was knocked out of the ring by Old Mad, and Old Mad's pursuit forced out the Polar Dragon's hidden potential... What a pity, if only that burst had happened inside the ring... This match is a hard-fought victory for Old Mad!"

The host announced the result.

The organizers had wanted Zhang Ji to lose anyway, so they were more than happy to see this outcome.