bookbashuk Chapter 332 Victory
Chapter 332 Victory
"good!"
Zhang Chulan was the first to jump up and clap, the "clap clap clap" sound particularly loud in the quiet hall.
Although Wang Ye pulled him back—afraid he'd get too excited and rush into the arena—he still couldn't help but beam with joy, his smile stretching to his ears.
"Brother Nie is awesome! He took him down with just one finger! What's that move called? Sunflower Acupuncture Technique?"
Nie Lingfeng ignored him.
He simply walked up to Bald Bear and looked down at him.
Bald Bear lay on the ground, and from this angle, only the tips of Nie Lingfeng's shoes could be seen—a pair of ordinary black leather shoes, covered in some dust, but well-maintained.
"Should we admit defeat?"
Nie Lingfeng asked calmly. His voice was soft, as if it were a casual question.
The bald bear's face was pressed against the ground, so humiliated that he almost vomited blood.
He tried with all his might to lift his head, but his neck was as limp as a noodle, and he would fall back down as soon as he managed to lift it a little. His teeth were grinding together, and the muscles in his cheeks bulged like two iron balls.
"I……"
His voice was hoarse, as if it had been dug out from deep in his throat, and carried a bloody smell.
"recognize……"
Finally, a muffled syllable was squeezed out of his throat. The sound was so soft it was almost inaudible, but the hall was so quiet that everyone heard it.
What else could he do but admit it? He'd been knocked down with a single finger strike; to keep arguing would only humiliate him. Bald Bear might have a bad temper, but he wasn't ungrateful. If that finger strike had been just a fraction off, a fraction deeper, he would be dead.
"In the second match, Nie Lingfeng from China won."
The one who announced the results was one of Bald Bear's henchmen who could barely stand. He stood outside the circle, his legs still trembling, his voice hoarse and filled with undisguised fear, as if he were reading his own verdict.
Nie Lingfeng then reached out and gently tapped a spot on the back of Bald Bear's neck.
Bald Bear grunted, feeling the yin force that had severed his qi recede like the tide—not disappearing all at once, but receding layer by layer, like the receding tide.
His strength gradually returned.
He struggled to his feet—first by supporting himself with his hands, then by kneeling, and finally by holding onto his knees to stand up, his movements taking more than ten times longer than usual.
His face flushed red and then turned pale, changing like a revolving lantern.
His eyes were filled with resentment as he looked at Nie Lingfeng—an emotion that naturally arises when a strong person is defeated. His lips twitched, as if he wanted to say something harsh.
But more than anything, there was a deep sense of apprehension.
He knew that if his opponent had wanted to kill him, that single finger strike would have easily pierced his heart. No need for a follow-up attack, no need for a second move; just that one strike would have been enough to end his life.
"Two wins, advance."
Nie Lingfeng didn't look at Bald Bear again.
He turned and walked back to his own people, taking Xiaoyun from Chen Duo's arms. His movements were practiced and natural; he supported Xiaoyun's back with one hand and her little bottom with the other, steadily and smoothly.
Xiao Yun snuggled into his arms, finding a comfortable position. She buried her face in Nie Lingfeng's shoulder and mumbled, "Uncle is so amazing," her voice muffled, as if she were about to fall asleep.
Nie Lingfeng gently patted her back, as if she had just gone for a walk rather than defeated a fierce enemy.
"Brother Nie, you're so handsome!"
Zhang Chulan leaned closer, winking and making faces, his eyes practically popping out of his head.
"Your finger technique is amazing! Can you teach me?"
"Want to learn?" Nie Lingfeng glanced at him.
"Think about it!" Zhang Chulan nodded vigorously, his head bobbing like a chicken pecking at rice.
"Let's practice the basic Cloud Dispelling Palm technique to the seventh level first."
Nie Lingfeng dismissed Zhang Chulan with just one sentence.
Seven levels of the Cloud-Dispelling Palm?
Zhang Chulan's face fell, looking like a wilted eggplant. He was still struggling even at the third level, let alone the seventh? When would that ever happen?
"With two wins, Bald Bear's team is eliminated."
The voice of the suited elite rang out, carrying a businesslike tone, as if he were reading out a routine commercial contract.
But the look in his eyes as he gazed at Nie Lingfeng was noticeably more scrutinizing and serious. His gaze was like that of a shrewd businessman reassessing the stakes of a deal—he had previously calculated Nie Lingfeng's strength, but had clearly underestimated it, by a significant margin.
"According to the agreement, you are required to escort us away, but for now... let's see what happens next."
Bald Bear's face turned ashen, and he snorted.
His breath was laced with anger, but no one was afraid of him anymore. He and his men slunk away to the side, leaning against the wall, their backs bent, looking as if they had aged ten years in an instant.
Although unwilling, he had no choice. The agreement was already signed, and he couldn't afford the consequences of going back on his word. Bald Bear, though arrogant, wasn't stupid; he knew when to admit defeat.
All he wanted now was to end this damn arena as soon as possible, to save his life and the rest of his possessions.
"Next, in Group B, the Sakura Country will face the Eagle Country and the Bear Country combined team."
The suit-wearing elite looked towards Japan and Russia.
"You can begin. Who should we send?"
On the other side of the cherry blossom country, the two old men exchanged a glance.
The old man with the sword nodded slightly—a very subtle gesture, as if only the two of them could understand it. Then, he whispered something in Japanese to a young ninja behind him who had been silent and stood like a shadow in the corner.
The young ninja was the same one who had been following behind the old man in the kimono (his attendant).
He looked unremarkable—wearing a dark gray ninja outfit and a black mask, revealing only a pair of narrow eyes. He was short and thin, and would definitely not stand out in a crowd.
His aura was so restrained as to be almost nonexistent—not deliberately concealed, but rather practically nonexistent to begin with. If you weren't looking at him, you wouldn't even sense his presence, like a stone, a tree, or a piece of dead wood.
The young ninja remained silent.
He simply bowed slightly—the bending at the waist was not large, about fifteen degrees, neither hurried nor slow—and then stepped into the lime circle.
He wore a standard dark gray ninja outfit, without any fancy decorations. On his feet were traditional split-toe cloth shoes, each step landing silently, like a cat. Several shuriken, made of black iron, were tucked into his belt, without any luster, as if to avoid reflecting light and revealing their location.
Standing there, he seemed to blend into the surrounding shadows. The stark white light of the emergency lights shone on him, but cast no clear shadow at his feet—or rather, his shadow was too faint, so faint that it seemed to melt into the gray of the ground.
If you don't look at it intentionally, you might even overlook its existence.
"Iga-ryu, Hattori Chizo, please join us."
His voice was hoarse and dry, as if he hadn't spoken in a long time, his throat rusted. Each word sounded like it was scraped from the depths of his throat, with an eerie rustling sound.
On the Eagle and Bear sides, the suited elites looked at the scarred, muscular man.
The scarred, muscular man—Andrei Ivanovich—had stopped bleeding after being injured by the troll and given simple bandages. His arms and waist were wrapped in bandages, which were stained with dark red blood.
But his fierceness remained undiminished.
He grinned maliciously and cracked his knuckles. The cracking sounds were particularly clear in the quiet hall, as if warning the other party how hard his fist was.
"I'll do it! I didn't get enough of a fight earlier!"
The man in the suit didn't object, but whispered a warning: "Be careful, the ninjas from Japan are unpredictable. Don't try to outrun him, force him into a direct confrontation."
"knew!"
Andrei strode into the circle.
He stood five meters away from Hattori Senzo.
The two men, one tall and one short, one strong and one thin, were so contrasting they seemed like two different species. Andrei stood there like a wall, while Hattori Chizo stood there like a bamboo pole next to the wall.
"Bear Country, 'Fang of the Snowfield,' Andrei Ivanovich."
The scarred, burly man announced his name in a booming voice, like thunder. His eyes were fixed fiercely on the other man, like a wolf sizing up its prey.
"Kid, I'll crush your bones one by one!"
Hattori Chizo did not respond.
There wasn't even a flicker of emotion in his eyes.
Those eyes were long, narrow, cold, and black, like two bottomless black holes, devoid of any emotion.
He simply lowered his body slightly—his knees bent, his center of gravity lowered, like a bamboo stalk bent under pressure, full of elasticity.
With both hands hanging naturally at his sides, his right hand is about three inches from the short sword at his waist. At this distance, drawing the sword only takes a fraction of a second.
Like a cheetah poised to pounce.
"start!"
No unnecessary words.
Almost the instant the word "open" was uttered, Andrei moved!
He knew full well that he was not as fast as these agile opponents—after fighting Zhang Chulan, he had come to a complete understanding of this fact—so he went all out from the start.
The "Fang of the Snowfield" fighting style is brought to its extreme – berserk, fierce, and offense-based!
He stomped his feet hard on the ground, and "crack!"—the cement floor broke into two pieces!
Its massive body, carrying a terrifying aura, hurtled straight at Hattori Senzo like a cannonball fired from a gun!
During the charge, he clenched his fists, his muscles bulging again—not the lean, solid muscles of Bald Bear, but a more exaggerated, inflated bulge. His skin gleamed with a metallic sheen, a cold white light, clearly indicating the use of some secret technique to enhance defense and strength.
This is not a unique technique of "Snowfield Fang," but a basic enhancement technique that many superhumans in the Bear Kingdom know—it originated from the military, and is simple, brutal, but effective.
Faced with this ferocious and unparalleled charge—
Hattori Chizo finally made a move.
He did not back down.
They didn't try to tough it out.
His body, like a weightless willow catkin—or a feather blown by the wind—slid to the side at an incredible angle and speed just as Andrei was about to collide with him!
The sliding step wasn't very large, about a meter, but it was so fast that it was like a shadow being stretched out and then pulled back.
At the same time, his right hand swept across his waist—
"Clang—"
A flash of cold light.
Like a venomous snake spitting its tongue.
Silently, it slashed towards Andrei's throat!
fast!
too fast!
Moreover, the angle was cunning and ruthless—not a straight thrust, not a horizontal slash, but a diagonal upward slash, aimed precisely at the Adam's apple. If this cut landed squarely, the trachea and carotid artery would be severed together, and even a miracle couldn't save the patient.
Andrei's pupils suddenly contracted!
The momentum of the charge was hard to stop immediately, and his body was still rushing forward—he could feel the other's blade getting closer and closer to his throat, and that cold killing intent was already touching his skin.
He could only turn his head slightly and raise his left arm to block.
"laugh--"
A cold glint flashed.
Andrei's left arm, which was supposed to be bulletproof, was actually slashed open!
Not too deep, not too shallow—about half a centimeter deep, just enough to cut the skin and superficial muscle without damaging the tendons or bones.
Blood gushed out instantly, flowing down his arm and dripping onto the ground.
Although the wound wasn't serious—for someone as battle-hardened as Andrei, such an injury wouldn't even qualify as a minor one—the sharp, chilling aura of the blade sent alarm bells ringing in his mind.
That knife is strange!
An ordinary knife couldn't have broken through his defenses so easily. The knife must have been imbued with some kind of special energy, or the material itself must be extraordinary.
"court death!"
Andrei roared.
With the force of splitting mountains and shattering rocks, his right fist swept towards Hattori Senzo!
"Waaah—"
The force of the punch was so strong that it stung the person's cheek. If that punch had landed, it wouldn't have been enough to knock down half of a wall, let alone a person.