The Dragon's Den was not a place for the civilized. Located three stories beneath the neon-lit streets of Zenith City, it was a coliseum of concrete and steel where the rich came to watch the poor bleed.
The air smelled of ozone, cheap beer, and fresh copper.
"Next match! The Crippled Dragon versus... The Iron Butcher!"
The announcer's voice boomed over the speakers, sending the crowd into a frenzy.
In the center of the cage, Lin Feng stood panting. His right arm was heavily bandaged, strapped to his chest. His right leg dragged slightly. He looked like a wreck. But his eyes? They burned with a terrifying, feverish light.
Opposite him stood a giant of a man, clad in spiked armor, wielding a sledgehammer.
"Die, cripple!" The Iron Butcher roared, swinging the hammer.
Lin Feng didn't retreat. He couldn't. He needed that Millennium Ginseng. It was the only thing that could fix his meridians and restore his cultivation base.
'I cannot lose. I am the Dragon King!'
Lin Feng gritted his teeth. Just as the hammer was about to crush his skull, he moved. It was the movement technique the mysterious woman in the red coat had taught him just hours ago—The Phantom Blood Step.
He burned his own life essence to boost his speed.
Whoosh.
He slipped under the hammer. His good left hand formed a claw, striking the Butcher's throat.
Crack.
The giant collapsed, gasping for air, clutching his crushed windpipe.
"Winner! The Crippled Dragon!"
The crowd roared, throwing money and trash into the ring. Lin Feng stood over his opponent, chest heaving. He spat a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the floor.
"Is that all?" Lin Feng shouted at the VIP boxes, his voice hoarse. "Who is next? Bring out the champion! I want my prize!"
He felt unstoppable. The adrenaline was masking his pain. He felt like the protagonist of the world again.
High above the ring, behind the tinted glass of the Vane Family's private box, Blake Vane swirled a glass of vintage red wine.
He watched Lin Feng's "heroic" victory with the expression of a man watching a bug struggle in a spiderweb.
"He's using the Phantom Blood Step," Blake observed calmly. "Burning his lifespan for temporary speed. Desperate."
[Ding!][System Analysis: Protagonist Lin Feng has consumed 2 years of lifespan to win the last 3 matches.][Current State: Adrenaline High. Internal Injuries: Critical.]
"Young Master," the arena manager, a fat man sweating profusely, bowed nervously next to Blake. "That kid... he's tearing through the lower ranks. The crowd loves the underdog story. Should we put the reigning champion, Tiger Claw, against him?"
Blake took a sip of wine. "No."
"Sir?"
"Tiger Claw will lose," Blake said simply. "Lin Feng has plot ar—I mean, he has a hidden trump card. If Tiger Claw fights him, Lin Feng will break through in the middle of the fight and win. It's a standard cliché."
The manager blinked, confused. "Then... who should we send? We can't let him take the Millennium Ginseng. That herb is worth fifty million!"
Blake stood up. He buttoned his suit jacket. He wasn't wearing fighting gear. He was wearing a bespoke Italian suit that cost more than the arena manager made in a decade.
"I'll go."
The manager's jaw dropped. "Young Master Blake! You? But... it's dangerous! Blood spills down there!"
Blake glanced at him, his gray eyes flashing with a cold, metallic light.
"Danger is for people who don't know the outcome."
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Down in the ring, Lin Feng was growing impatient.
"Where is the champion?" he bellowed. "Are you afraid? Give me the Ginseng!"
The lights in the arena suddenly cut out. Pitch blackness engulfed the stadium.
A single spotlight snapped on, illuminating the entrance tunnel.
Music didn't play. Instead, the rhythmic tapping of dress shoes on concrete echoed through the silent arena. Click. Click. Click.
A figure walked out. Hands in pockets. Relaxed. Elegant.
When the light hit his face, Lin Feng's blood ran cold. The adrenaline vanished, replaced by a phantom ache in his shattered arm and leg.
"You..." Lin Feng whispered, taking a stumbling step back.
Blake Vane stepped into the cage. The referee looked terrified but didn't dare stop him.
Blake smiled. It wasn't a nice smile.
"I heard there was a wild dog barking for medicine," Blake said, his voice amplified by the microphone he casually held. "I came to put it down."
The crowd went silent. They recognized the Vane scion. Why was a billionaire heir in a death match?
"Blake!" Lin Feng roared, his fear turning into hysterical rage. "You ruined my engagement! You broke my limbs! And now you want to block my path to recovery? You truly want to die!"
"Recovery?" Blake chuckled. He activated the [Qi Siphon] skill he had purchased. An invisible vortex of energy began to swirl around his palms.
"Lin Feng, look at you," Blake mocked, spreading his arms. "You're burning your blood just to stand up. You think this is a trial? A hero's journey?"
Blake vanished.
[Void Step Activated.]
He reappeared directly in front of Lin Feng. No dramatic windup. No shouting attack names.
He simply placed his hand on Lin Feng's chest.
[Skill Active: Qi Siphon.]
"Argh!" Lin Feng gasped. He tried to punch Blake, but his strength... it was draining away. It felt like a hole had been punched in the bottom of his soul. His internal energy, the Qi he had gathered so painstakingly, was rushing out of his body and into Blake's palm, dissipating into the air.
"My Qi!" Lin Feng screamed. "What are you doing?!"
"Taking back the interest," Blake whispered.
He slapped Lin Feng.
Smack.
It wasn't a martial arts strike. It was a humiliating, disrespectful backhand slap across the face.
Lin Feng spun and hit the floor hard.
"Get up," Blake ordered, looking down at him. "The show isn't over. I haven't even broken your other leg yet."