"It's my honor to fight you. I am—"
The young man spoke with forced confidence, clearly trying to calm his nerves.
His voice wavered ever so slightly, betraying the anxiety that gnawed at him.
Unfortunately for him, in the world of cultivators, hesitation was often more dangerous than any sword.
Bang!
Before he could even finish his sentence, Nero struck.
Fast. Precise. Merciless.
His punch tore through the air and connected squarely with the young man's chest, sending him flying off the stage like a ragdoll caught in a hurricane.
The opponent crashed to the ground outside the ring with a heavy thud, completely unconscious before he even hit the dirt.
Gasps echoed from the crowd, followed by silence—then an uproar.
"Winner—Adrian Sinclair!" boomed the voice of an old cultivator standing at the edge of the arena.
His tone was official, but even he couldn't hide the surprise in his voice.
Applause and cheers erupted from the spectators.
