On a cruise ship in the vast ocean, a group of men and women were frantically shouting around a ring inside a cabin.
Two muscular men, bare-chested, were wildly swinging their fists at each other in the ring.
Both had fierce expressions on their faces; their punches landed with a thud against flesh, leaving the other’s face bloodied.
Blood was splattered all over the ring, yet neither of the men showed any sign of stopping.
This was a black-market cruise, with a casino on the upper deck and an underground boxing ring below, where illegal fights took place.
After a match, it was often the case that the fighters were either dead or severely injured.
If someone died, the fighter would be tied to a stone and thrown into the sea, and that was that.
The surrounding spectators were all in search of a thrill. This update ıs available on 𝙣𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙡•𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢•𝕟𝕖𝕥
They placed bets on these fighters, and they could also sign up to fight themselves.
Just one victory in the ring could earn a prize of a hundred thousand dollars.
The night’s champion, if they could withstand more than ten challenges, would receive an additional bonus of a million dollars.
Usually, a person’s strength has its limits; one fight would leave them battered and bruised, hardly able to persist through ten.
So far, only a handful had ever claimed the million-dollar prize.
Two young men were seated on a soft couch, one with two beauties in his arms, laughing as he guzzled beer.
One young man had a Western face, a towering figure at one meter ninety, his body covered in bulging muscles.
He was staring at the ring, the corner of his mouth twitching.
"Lin, I want to try my hand in that ring!"
The Westerner’s mouth twitched, his face full of eager anticipation.
The young Eastern man beside him laughed, "Okay, I’ll get you signed up!"
He waved his hand to signal to a black-clothed bodyguard nearby, then his phone in his arms suddenly rang.
He answered it, and a chirpy voice came through, "Cousin, where are you?"
"I’m out having fun, who’s this?"
The young man called out.
From the other end came the reply, "It’s me, Lili, your cousin. You heartless guy, a few years apart and you’ve already forgotten me."
The young man laughed, "Lili, I thought who it was! Where are you? How did you get my number?"
The voice on the line replied, "I’m at your house, your aunt gave me your number. I need your help with something, when will you have time?"
The young man smiled, "How about tomorrow? I’ll treat you to a meal, and we can chat when we meet up!"
"Great, see you tomorrow then!"
The person on the other side cheered up, and they both hung up.
The young man glanced at his phone, and added a new contact: Cousin.
He was none other than Zheng Fang’s son, Lin Jiahui.
This time, he had returned from America and brought along a friend, the Westerner by his side, Markus.
The two had met on a social networking site.
Once they met, they hit it off immediately and stuck together since.
Markus had served in the United States Marine Corps in his early years and later worked abroad as a mercenary for several years.
His masculine aura had deeply fascinated Lin Jiahui.
After a match concluded in the ring, and amid the host’s shouting, Markus rolled his arms, warming up as he entered the arena.
His opponent was the reigning champion of the ring, a Muay Thai expert who had already defended his title for five matches.
After both competitors were in position on the ring, the referee briefly explained the rules.
The only rule here was that there were no rules; however, once an opponent conceded, you had to stop immediately.
Markus loosened his wrists and provocatively wiggled his index finger at his opponent.
This was a serious sign of disrespect. The reigning champion’s eyes bulged, this short, dark figure radiating murderous intent as he bared his teeth and roared at Markus.
The crowd swiftly placed their bets, and Lin Jiahui, of course, bet on Markus to win, staking a million dollars.
Markus’s odds were two to one.
The defending champion’s odds were even.
Despite this, many people present still chose to bet on the defending champion to win.
After all, his Muay Thai skills were sharp—he had won five consecutive matches, usually knocking out his opponents within three moves.
After the betting ended, the referee waved his hand to announce the start.
The champion leaped forward, swinging his fist towards Markus.
Markus, with a cold smile, stood tall and unyielding. When they were about a meter apart, his right leg suddenly stepped out at a tricky angle, and with a fierce whirl, he threw his right fist towards the champion’s throat.
There was a loud thud, a no-frills move.
The champion’s Adam’s apple clicked, collapsing inward from Markus’s punch, and he fell backward, tumbling to the ground with a thud.
There was a moment of silence in the arena, which soon erupted into shocked cries.
Having watched so many matches, they knew death was possible, but they had never actually witnessed it.
This time, seeing it with their own eyes was utterly shocking.
Markus shook his head, his face bearing a disdainful light chuckle.
The referee reached out to check the champion’s breath, then with furrowed brows, signaled for him to be immediately carried away.
These fighters, in fact, were all arranged by backers behind the scenes. Whoever the backers wanted to win would win.
Markus’s arrival disrupted the rhythm in the ring.
The backers quickly arranged for another fighter to go up, a boxer who could give Markus a run for his money, with muscles bulging dark and knotted across his body, looking very fierce.
The presenter began introducing him on the big screen, "Next up is our ring’s 32nd champion, Lei Zhen. Having practiced Baji Fist from a young age, he has developed bones as strong as steel, known as the ’Iron Fist God of Thunder.’ Let’s wait and see what intense clash there will be between him and the new champion..."
Markus looked at Lei Zhen, shook his head, and continued to extend his index finger, shaking it in mockery.
Lei Zhen frowned, and once the referee called start, he stomped his foot, launching a Baji crash fist straight at Markus.
A muffled bang could be heard across the ring, the sound of Inner Strength exploding from practicing Baji Fist to a certain extent.
Markus waved his hand to grab above Lei Zhen’s fist.
Lei Zhen’s brow furrowed as his fist was grabbed by Markus, who neutralized the force, leaving him unable to withdraw.
"How is that possible!"
He exclaimed in surprise, his punch power vanishing in Markus’s grip.
"Huaxia people, you are too weak!"
Markus sneered coldly, twisting with his right hand while simultaneously smashing down with his left fist.
There was a snap, and Lei Zhen’s arm broke like a twig, splintered into two by the force of the punch.
Lei Zhen let out a scream of agony, his arm dangling, gritted his teeth, and kicked out at him.
With one move, he raised his hand and, swirling his right fist, smashed it down on Lei Zhen’s leg.
Another loud bang, and Lei Zhen’s right leg was also crippled on the spot.
The onlookers felt a cringe at heart, watching as Lei Zhen collapsed to the ground and passed out.
Markus lifted his foot, ready to deliver a killing blow.
The referee quickly intervened, allowing Lei Zhen to be carried off.
Winning two in a row, the surrounding audience couldn’t help but burst into avid cheers and applause.
The backers watched from behind, frowning deeply, not expecting an unexpected challenger to spring up and catch them off guard.
He instructed a bespectacled old man wearing a Tang suit beside him, who then with hands behind his back emerged from behind, signaling the referee to arrange other fights first and calling Markus backstage.
In places , if someone was fighting in the ring, someone had to manage the scene.
The old man was the one in charge, a top-notch expert who rarely acted.
Seeing them enter a room, Lin Jiahui stood up anxiously, concerned about what they might do to Ma Kui, and followed along with his bodyguards.