Chapter Sixty-Three: The Drunken Fist Master Xiou Takes the Stage

Hearing Feiyan's words, the commentator Lingling seemed to realize what was happening. She quickly raised her microphone and loudly announced to the audience, "Ah... then there's no need to count down! The winner is—Feiyan!"

"Fantastic!" Seeing Feiyan declared the winner on the giant screen above the arena, Zhang Yang, the mainstay of Qin Xiaochuan's team, jumped up in excitement. "Serves them right! Now it's two to one! Victory in the first match is within reach—ha ha!"

Just as he was still reveling in the thrill of impending victory, Feiyan slowly descended the steps from the dueling platform, heading towards the Qin Xiaochuan team's stands. As Feiyan drew closer, Zhang Yang's face twisted in terror. "You... you..." This guy had just incinerated Yan, and who knew if he still carried that terrifying residual heat. Standing here, was he in danger? Sure, Feiyan was on their side for now, but who could say when he might turn against them? If he really did, Zhang Yang wouldn't even have time to cry for help before being consumed by those merciless flames. That would be the most unjust fate imaginable.

Catching sight of Zhang Yang's terrified gaze, Feiyan seemed to guess what he wanted to say. The corner of his mouth curled up, and he flashed a wicked smile. "Don't worry—until the end of the tournament, I'm still on your side. Besides, my Demonic King Flame Fist is not yet perfected."

Hearing this, Zhang Yang's expression grew even more horrified. Damn, such a powerful Flame Fist, and it's not even in its perfected state? If he ever unleashed the perfected version, how terrifying would that be? Absolutely frightening. Better to stay far away; otherwise, who knew when this guy would turn on them.

"Is just the right hand enough?" Watching Feiyan's right hand tucked into his pocket, Bai Ying grew worried for him. The Demonic King Flame Fist was a forbidden technique from the demon realm, not to be used among mortals. If Feiyan used it before perfecting it, then his right hand...

On the platform, Yan's annihilation left only a smoking shadow on the wall. The remaining two members of the Six Wandering Demons Team wore expressions of terror. They had only come to join the fun, never expecting their opponents to be so ruthless. The strongest among them, Yan, had been burned away completely, not even a corpse left behind. The last thing they wanted was to step onto that stage. Who knew if the next opponent would be even more formidable than Feiyan—perhaps they'd be denied even a chance to surrender. Since they were going to lose anyway, why not escape now? They might survive. With these thoughts, the two remaining members turned to Lingju, who was still sitting on the ground.

"Lingju... even Yan was taken out so easily."

"I can't do this anymore—I'm done..."

"Yeah, Yan was burned until only his shadow remained!"

"This is just too horrifying... No, I'm withdrawing!"

"We... we're out. We're quitting!"

"Exactly. We came here hoping to enjoy the thrill of killing, but this is just too terrifying..."

Hearing the two fools behind him, Lingju showed no reaction. He simply sat on the ground, hands pressed to his stomach, using demonic energy to heal his wound. It seemed that the injury from his match against Zhang Yang was proving quite troublesome.

Seeing their captain unresponsive, the two remaining members of the Six Wandering Demons Team took it as tacit approval. They turned and tried to escape, but after only a few steps, there was a sharp snap, and in an instant, their heads vanished. Blood sprayed from their necks, and their headless bodies, still not realizing what had happened, ran forward a couple of steps before collapsing with a thud, twitching violently on the ground. Somehow, their heads had been sliced off without anyone noticing.

At that moment, a man with a mohawk and drunken eyes staggered over, casually tossing two heads to the ground before dusting off his hands. Clearly, this drunken fellow had just killed the two would-be escapees.

No one had expected him to deal with two members of the Six Wandering Demons Team so easily. His strength was truly enigmatic. Staring at the two lifeless, wide-eyed heads, this man—clutching a toothpick between his lips and swaying from drink—let out a loud belch and said, "A game is only fun when there's danger, but these two idiots spoiled my mood. Hic—damn them!" He belched again. Apparently, he'd had quite a bit to drink backstage.

Then, with a tap of his toes, the drunken man leapt lightly onto the arena platform and staggered toward Miss Lingling, the commentator, who was still waiting for the next round's contestants.

"Jiao!" Seeing the mohawked man on stage, Lingju began to feel excited. Why had he only arrived now? If those two team members had gone up, defeat was certain. But Jiao had killed them—fantastic. Still, who knows what nonsense he'll spout now that he's drunk. Remembering the jokes Jiao had made while drunk before, Lingju covered his face with his hand, unable to bear watching what was about to happen.

Lingling looked at him, a bit startled, as he approached. Jiao stopped in front of her, steadied his swaying body, and shook his head vigorously as if to clear his mind. After a moment, he straightened up, pointed at Lingling, and slurred, "Hey, you... don’t be scared... stop swaying... hic, all this swaying is making me dizzy... Oh, right, if the remaining two contestants die by accident... what happens then?"

"Oh, I see," Lingling, thinking he was about to start a drunken rampage, hurried to explain. Although they were in an arena, who knew what this drunkard might do next? "No matter how many team members die on the stage, the team can only send out one substitute. From then on, only that substitute may continue the matches."

"Ah, I see... hic!" Jiao belched again, blowing a foul cloud of stomach gas toward Lingling, who waved her hand in disgust, covering her nose. Just how much had he drunk? The stench was suffocating.

"Alright... hic... let me take on the remaining two from the other side," he said, and after a particularly large hiccup, seemed to sober up a little. He shook his head, steadied himself, and then, with a waft of booze-laced demonic energy, released his aura toward the opposing team.

Feeling Jiao's demonic aura, Zhang Yang was seized with a sense of impending danger. Strangely, this aura was much weaker than Yan's, yet it made him shudder with fear. His spiritual senses were rarely wrong—could this drunken Jiao really be more terrifying than Yan? If so, that was truly shocking.

As Zhang Yang stared in surprise at the platform, where Jiao was radiating demonic energy, Qin Xiaochuan, who had been napping in the stands, rolled over and sat up. "What a reek of alcohol! Even I was awakened by it." He looked at Jiao on the stage, cleaned his ear with his pinky, and blew on it. "So it's this guy? How surprising!"

Seeing Qin Xiaochuan and the masked, short contestant now awake, Jiao shouted, "Hey, you two—stop wasting time. Come up together! After I beat you, I want to celebrate with a drink—hic—hurry up!" He waved at them impatiently. This man seemed even more arrogant than Yan—or perhaps he was just too drunk to know what he was saying.

"This guy seems even more dangerous than Yan," Feiyan, just off the stage and catching his breath, grew solemn as he watched Jiao beckoning. "When he killed those two teammates, I couldn't sense any killing intent from him at all... What is this man, really?"

"And now, let's welcome the contestants from Qin Xiaochuan's team to the stage to face..." Lingling suddenly realized she hadn't announced the substitute's name. She edged closer to Jiao and asked softly, "May I have your name?"

Seeing Lingling leaning in, Jiao inclined his head as well. On hearing her question, he whispered his answer, "Jiao—hic..." Apparently, he was quite cooperative with the attractive referee, showing he was still lucid enough to answer properly. No matter how much he'd had to drink, he still spoke softly to the pretty referee, as a sign of respect.

Lingling quickly straightened, raised her microphone, and announced loudly to the whole arena, "The final substitute for the Six Wandering Demons Team, Jiao, will compete in this round! Will the contestants from Qin Xiaochuan's team please take the stage!"

"Yeah... hic... get up there—hurry, get up here," Jiao echoed, "or else—hic—I'll come down there and drag you up myself... Hurry!"

"Well then, let me do it," Qin Xiaochuan replied, leaping from his chair at the taunt. When he landed, his movements were light and nimble—apparently, he was at his most energetic after waking up. After a few deep squats and a quick jog back and forth to loosen up, he cracked his knuckles and called up to Jiao, "Heh, my body feels stiff as hell. Time for some warmup exercises after waking up!" With that, he strode toward the arena. It looked like Qin Xiaochuan intended to take the field himself for this match.