Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

Chapter 170 Slamming Down the Ring, A Surprising Victory

"roar!"

Marshall let out a roar that was not human, a wild aura like that of a bear bursting forth and shaking the surrounding air.

He clenched his fists, which were as big as casserole dishes, and stomped forward with his massive body.

"Thump!"

The hard wooden planks of the arena let out a painful groan, and the entire ground seemed to tremble slightly under the impact of that stomp.

Using the recoil, Marshall transformed into a runaway heavy steam war machine, and with a bang, delivered a powerful straight punch straight at Xiren's face!

The force of the punches was so strong that they stung people's cheeks.

This punch was devoid of any fancy moves; it was purely an overwhelming display of power and speed.

Almost the instant Marshall made his move, a sharp glint flashed in Xiren's eyes, and he immediately focused his mind.

"Listen from afar!"

The invisible field of perception instantly expanded outward by three meters from him.

Within this absolute three-meter zone, every contraction of Marshall's muscles, every surge of blood, and every friction of his bones was clearly transmitted to Xiren's mind.

Immediately afterwards, Xilun took a deep breath, his chest bulging out.

"Take a breath!"

Without hesitation, he sealed off all the acupoints in his body, compressing his pure energy tightly between his chest and abdomen.

In an instant, the blood and qi in Xilun's body exploded like a powder keg that had been lit, and he entered an extremely dangerous state of frenzy!

His blood vessels began to bulge wildly, and bluish veins jutted out on his neck and arms like twisted earthworms.

His face turned ashen white from the immense strain on his internal organs, but the strength of his muscles surged exponentially at that moment!

Time seemed to slow down in Xilun's perception.

The next moment, facing Marshall's deadly punch, Celen did not choose to take it head-on.

His foot slipped unpredictably, and his body tilted sharply to the left at an incredible angle, defying human biomechanics, narrowly avoiding the thunderous attack.

With the aid of "Far-Eye Listening," he was almost like someone with X-ray vision, able to see clearly Marshall's wide-ranging moves and even predict the opponent's shift in center of gravity.

The moment he dodged the straight punch, a murderous glint appeared in Xilun's eyes.

"boom!"

Using the twisting force of his turn, his right hand became a blur, delivering a powerful punch that incorporated the essence of the Dorok Dark Claw technique, slamming into Marshall's thick arm, which he couldn't retract in time.

"Bang!"

A dull thud of flesh colliding echoed throughout the venue.

Marshall frowned slightly; he sensed that Siren's punch was extremely strange.

That fist seemed to conceal sharp, invisible claws, not only possessing extraordinary force but also piercing through his proudly tough skin, tearing a deep, bloody gash on his forearm that revealed the bone.

"How is this possible?!" Marshall was shocked; his skin was so tough that even swords and knives could hardly break through it.

However, Siron gave him no time to think.

Having landed a successful blow, Xilun closed in again.

In his frenzied state, his legs unleashed a terrifying and astonishing force.

He unleashed the "Berello Kick" to its fullest potential, his right leg like a thick steel whip, tearing through the air with a sharp whistling sound, and slamming into Marshall's outside thigh.

"Snapped!"

The crisp striking sound sent chills down the spines of the audience in the front row.

Cold sweat instantly beaded on Marshall's forehead. How could this move be so powerful?!

The extremely penetrating internal force traveled along his thigh muscles straight to his bone marrow. Even with his skin and flesh defenses, which were comparable to those of a mutant, he still felt an unbearable tingling and stinging pain.

In just two exchanges, Marshall was abruptly brought back to reality from his rage.

He finally came to his senses and realized that the Xiren in front of him was not an insect that could be crushed at will.

He roared, steadied himself, and swung his thick arms like two door panels, intending to launch a counterattack with his profound strength.

The moment he looked up, he was horrified to see that the pupils of Xilun, who was so close to him, were filled with a dense array of terrifying blood vessels!

The extreme burst of power from those two short moves caused Xilun to experience excruciating pain due to the strain on his internal organs from "breathing."

But his pale face showed no sign of retreat; instead, it revealed a chilling madness.

Silen silently endured the excruciating pain within his body, advancing instead of retreating!

The next moment, he abandoned all defense, concentrated all his berserk energy in his shoulder, and like a cannonball, he slammed into Marshall's arms.

"Bang!"

A loud bang.

Marshall's eyes widened, his face filled with disbelief.

The power emanating from the opponent was terrifyingly strong, completely defying the norm for people of that size!

Under this immense force, Marshall's massive body swayed violently, and his center of gravity uncontrollably shifted half a step backward.

This slight concession sealed Marshall's fate, plunging him into an abyss of no return.

Immediately, Xilun unleashed a flurry of rapid-fire martial arts attacks.

From vicious one-inch punches to sharp elbow strikes, and then to tricky low kicks.

With the absolute insight of "Far-Aware Listening," every attack by Xilun precisely hit the awkward point where Marshall's old strength had just faded and new strength had not yet emerged.

He relentlessly pressed down on Marshall's movements, making Marshall feel unprecedentedly frustrated and uncomfortable.

Despite possessing terrifying bear-like strength, he couldn't find any space to attack and could only passively raise his arms to protect his vitals.

Marshall was furious.

Originally, it was just because he was provoked that his first punch was too hasty, and his opponent seized on that tiny opening.

As a result, this Xilun was like a persistent leech, clinging to this weakness and refusing to let go, until it developed to the point where he was completely unable to fight back.

Marshall gritted his teeth, feeling the waves of pain from the punches and kicks coming from his arms and thighs.

"Thank goodness—" Marshall thought to himself with relief.

Although the opponent's punches and kicks were unexpectedly powerful, it was not unbearable for him thanks to his naturally heavy bones.

As long as I can withstand this burst of energy and wait for the opponent to exhaust themselves, I can kill them with one punch!

In the blink of an eye, under Xiren's relentless and frantic suppression, Marshall was forced into a corner at the edge of the ring, with nowhere to retreat.

A sinister gleam of joy flashed in Marshall's eyes.

He sensed that Xilun's offensive was beginning to slow down slightly, so he immediately lowered his stance, constantly gathering the remaining immense strength within his body, preparing to launch a fatal counterattack.

However, just as he was about to explode...

Xilun suddenly let out a hoarse, low shout!

The energy that had surged within him due to the "breathing" completely dissipated at that moment.

But in the last millisecond before it dissipated, Xiren squeezed out the last bit of potential in his body, gathering all his power into his right fist.

The final punch, delivered with unwavering resolve, struck Marshall squarely on his slightly weaker left shoulder.

"Snap!"

A sickening cracking sound rang out.

Marshall's pupils suddenly contracted, and the intense pain made him gasp.

Despite the pain, he roared and unleashed a long-planned counterattack, his eyes bloodshot.

"Go to hell!"

However, Marshall had only thrown half of his punch.

Using the recoil from his previous punch, Celen lowered his body in an uncanny way, and his left leg, like a taut spring, kicked Marshall hard in the abdomen from below.

"Bang!"

This kick became the final straw that broke the camel's back.

Marshall never imagined that one day he would lose to a slum boy who had just been baptized a month ago.

Until his massive body was uncontrollably lifted into the air, tracing a heavy parabola in mid-air, clearing the ring ropes, and crashing heavily onto the floor outside the ring.

"Boom!"

Dust flew everywhere.

Marshall lay on his back, completely bewildered.

His mind went blank. When he staggered to his feet, he suddenly remembered the rules of the Vanguard Cup—knocking someone out of the ring also counts as a victory.

However, this situation has almost never occurred in previous competitions.

His previous nine-fight winning streak consisted of nine clean-fought victories, all of which involved knocking his opponents to the ground and rendering them unconscious.

Therefore, he subconsciously didn't think about it at all, and he didn't guard against Xilun forcing him out of bounds.

Marshall looked up and surveyed the surrounding stadium.

A deathly silence.

The vast venue was completely silent.

Countless eyes were fixed on this scene, the audience's expressions seemed to freeze, their jaws almost hitting the ground, their mouths agape, lost in unbelievable shock.

Marshall stiffly turned his head to look at the high ring.

Xilun was now lying sprawled out on the wooden planks of the arena.

He was panting heavily, his chest heaving violently, and his skin and flesh were sore and numb from the backlash of his violent outburst of energy. He couldn't even lift a finger.

Marshall clenched his fists, his nails digging deep into his flesh.

Because he had been on the defensive, he still retained at least 60% of his formidable strength.

If the fight continues, even for just ten more seconds, he will tear the lying Siren to shreds, and he will undoubtedly win!

But he lost.

We lost because of the rules, and because of the opponent's reckless scheming.

"Sirien—Sirien won!"

Someone broke the silence first, and then the entire venue exploded like a powder keg, erupting in screams that seemed to lift the dome off.

"Sirlen is the champion!"

"My God! Marshall has been knocked off the ring!"

Amidst the deafening roar, Marshall lowered his head, like a defeated lone wolf, and silently turned and walked back to the lounge.

He dared not look at his mentor Rick sitting on the sofa, but stared intently at the ground, his voice hoarse and pained as he whispered, "Mentor—if I don't fall off the ring, if we continue fighting, I will win."

"I—I still have at least 60% of my strength left unused—"

Rick stood up, looking at his disciple whose pride had been completely shattered, a complex emotion flashing in his eyes.

He didn't scold him, but calmly patted Marshall on the shoulder.

"If you lose, you lose. On the battlefield, no one will listen to your 'what ifs'."

Rick said calmly, "Let's go. Remember today's humiliation."

Marshall closed his eyes in agony. He had suffered his first defeat, a defeat more painful than death.

On the ring, Xiren listened to the referee announce his victory, utterly exhausted.

He closed his eyes and rested quietly. He felt the severe injuries to his flesh caused by the violent force after the "breathing" rampage, but a faint smile appeared on the corner of his mouth.

"Thank goodness, we finally won," Xilun thought calmly to himself.

After using "Far-Ahead Listening" to discern the opponent's moves, he used "Breathing" to unleash relentless pressure, seizing weaknesses and striking vital points, finally managing to blast that monster off the stage.

He truly had no strength left to resist.

Below the stage, Reggie, who had once been defeated by Xilun, and the two men in suits who were inspecting the trainees, all stood up straight.

The man in the suit gaped in astonishment, muttering, "They actually—won."

Rejesty looked at Siren lying on the platform with eyes that seemed to be looking at a dreamlike miracle.

A member of the Iron Cross Fighting Club from the slums, who had just been baptized a month ago, actually defeated the arrogant Marshall in this unbelievable way.

When I returned to the lounge, the stuffy air was filled with the pungent smell of sweat and a faint stench of blood.

Xilun casually closed the heavy wooden door, shutting out the still bustling noise in the corridor.

He leaned against the door, exhaled a long breath, and his tense nerves finally found a moment of relief.

He was in an exceptionally good mood, one might even describe it as a kind of ecstatic joy, as if he had survived a catastrophe.

A smile involuntarily crept onto Xilun's lips, and he hummed a tune he himself didn't know he'd dug up from some distant memory.

"Run forward, facing cold stares and ridicule; how can one feel the vastness of life without experiencing hardship? —"

A hoarse voice echoed in the empty lounge, carrying a hint of weariness and relief that was hard to conceal.

He walked to the slightly worn dressing mirror and looked at the disheveled young man in the mirror.

He slowly took off the coat that was already soaked with sweat, covered with dust and dark red bloodstains.

The fabric was stuck to the flesh, and as it was torn apart, Xilun couldn't help but gasp and grimace.

Pain, like a tide, slowly seeped from every pore and deep into every muscle of my body.

The feeling was like countless tiny steel needles running wildly through my meridians.

"Hiss!"

Xilun reached out and pressed his hand against his cramping abdomen, and fine beads of cold sweat appeared on his forehead again.

This extreme method called "breathing" is far too domineering.

Forcibly blocking acupoints and letting energy run rampant in the body is like using one's internal organs as a furnace.

Most of the time, this kind of tactic that kills a thousand enemies but also harms eight hundred of your own is completely unnecessary, because it can easily damage your bones and muscles if you're not careful.

Ironically, in this special unarmed ring match, facing a monster like Marshall whose physical strength was as formidable as a bear, he had no choice but to take an extreme gamble.

Siren stared at the faint black "coiled dragon" patterns on his body reflected in the mirror, muttering to himself, "After all, given our on-paper strength and Marshall's, if we don't give it our all, we're guaranteed to lose. Giving it our all, on the other hand, gives us a chance to win."

As it turned out, he won his gamble.

I finished all five matches in this Vanguard Cup, from Rejesty in the preliminary round, to Chloe in the quarterfinals, to Philip in the semifinals, and finally Marshall in the finals.

Every performance is like dancing on a knife's edge.

The insights and gains I made during the competition far outweighed the sixty pounds of prize money.