Starting as dockworkers, they swept through Chongqing.

The storm had ceased sometime earlier, but the ruins of the completely shattered training platform at the Daewoo Dojo were still filled with the pungent smell of blood and the acrid smell of burning electricity.

As the powerful announcement by Deputy Curator Belan resonated throughout the venue, the last breath that Xilun had been holding in his chest finally burst forth like a flood breaking through a dam.

His bloodshot eyes slowly lost focus, and his heavy, leaden body fell straight backward.

The moment he came into contact with the cold, shattered rocks, he had already lost all consciousness.

That was truly the end of his life. Every inch of his skin was covered with deep, bone-revealing lacerations, and every meridian was nearly melted by the backlash from the conflicting circulation. He held on until the very second Ross collapsed, relying on an almost beast-like obsession.

This epic and brutal junior knight fighting tournament has finally come to a close amidst ruins and bloodshed.

In the vast circular stands, tens of thousands of spectators from all walks of life and all factions remained silent for a long time, the huge steel fortress falling into a suffocating stillness.

The shock was immense; everyone's minds were still replaying the desperate battle that had just taken place, a battle that resembled a clash between gods and demons.

The ultimate championship title actually fell on the head of the Iron Cross Fight Club, which had never even made it into the top eight and was considered trash in the downtown area!

The two young men on the stage, their bodies mangled and bloodied, one in his early twenties and the other only nineteen, put on a terrifying fight that defied common sense and challenged the limits of genetics right in front of everyone.

Every spectator immersed in the atmosphere of the competition experiences a mental journey akin to riding a derailed roller coaster, constantly being reversed, frightened, and having their preconceived notions shattered.

Whether it was Ross, a perfect genius whose terrifying strength was enough to easily kill someone at the Extreme Realm and who had almost already secured his title, or Xiren, who smashed Ross's pride and broke all class prejudices with the most savage and violent attitude, the audience was treated to a visual feast and their scalps tingled.

Faced with these two monstrous figures, even Cole, who ultimately secured third place through a referee's decision, paled in comparison to his supposedly formidable heavy armor defense, which seemed utterly lackluster.

No one could have predicted this outcome. Even the most reckless gambler wouldn't dare place their bets on a bottom-ranked extraordinary individual with an initial overall test score of only fifteen.

He fought his way through countless challenges, stepping on Marshall's bones, shattering Xiu Kuo's sword, smashing Li An's knife, and finally achieving a comeback victory against the previous champion, Rose, in a desperate situation.

This is something that only third-rate street tales would dare to fabricate, yet it has now become a bloody reality.

Iron Cross Fight Club, a name associated with ordinary people and the working class, made its first and most powerful mark on the eyes of the wealthy and powerful with an unstoppable ferocity.

In the lingering stillness, the executives of the other top clubs wore expressions of astonishment and uncertainty, with undercurrents surging in their eyes.

Inside the Silver Hand's rest area, Guild Master Li Lei had his eyes tightly shut, his chest heaving violently. His meticulously manicured nails had dug deep into the flesh of his palms, oozing dark red blood beads.

Anger, humiliation, resentment, and a hint of barely suppressed fear.

The Silver Hand's performance has not only declined, but it has also plummeted from its unwavering third place to fourth. This means that next year, maintaining the extraordinary resources, tax-free allowances, and share of the downtown area's assets allocated by the church will face extremely severe reductions.

For an aristocratic power that needs enormous resources to maintain its dignity, this is tantamount to cutting flesh with a dull knife.

What chilled him to the bone was that Xiren, who had mocked him to his face and slapped him in the face without mercy just a few days ago, had actually won the championship!

"How is this possible?" Li Lei roared inwardly.

Even though Xilun defeated Li An at the cost of serious injury, Li Lei only thought that was the limit of a poor boy's desperate efforts.

He never imagined that Xilun could actually cripple Ross, who was at the height of his power and had one foot in the second tier!

Li Lei slowly opened his eyes. Deep within his lowered gaze, an intense dissatisfaction and a chilling killing intent were revealed—the instinctive reaction of a superior who had sensed a deadly threat.

Given the already irreconcilable differences between him and Xilun, if this mad dog-like commoner genius is allowed to continue growing, the Silver Hand will face serious trouble once he advances to the second or even third tier.

This is absolutely not what Li Lei wants to see. This hidden danger must be eliminated as soon as possible!

The murderous intent flashed by, quickly concealed by his shrewd and experienced nature.

On the other side, in the Platinum Club area, President Ildis's face was as black as the bottom of a pot, so gloomy it seemed as if water could drip from it.

He had thought the championship title was a sure thing, but it was cruelly overturned by a dark horse that appeared out of nowhere. This caught him off guard and even made him feel absurdly dizzy.

After a moment of deathly silence, Ildis gritted his teeth and forced out a cold voice:

"Go, bring Ross down immediately and use the highest level of healing potion!"

At that very moment, almost simultaneously with Beren announcing the match result, a black figure, as swift as a whirlwind, suddenly sprang up from the Iron Cross rest area at the edge of the ring.

Lund leaped onto the ravaged training platform, disregarding the dignity of a high-level expert. With his hands firmly in his arms, he caught the limp, doll-like Xilen and returned to the club lounge below the platform in a few flashes.

As soon as Lund laid Xilun flat on the bench, he placed his large hand on Xilun's bloodied chest without hesitation. The powerful energy of the third-order mutant flowed through Xilun's acupoints like a searchlight, beginning to examine the shocking injuries.

"How is Xilun?"

A clear, slightly tearful voice, filled with tension, suddenly rang out from the side.

Lund frowned and turned his head slightly, only then noticing that Daisy, the noblewoman in an exquisite long dress, had somehow appeared there.

Instead of staying in her designated spot to watch the game with her haughty mother, she stayed by Xiren's side like a frightened rabbit.

Lund didn't know why this young girl cared so much about her disciple, but seeing her genuine anxiety, he still answered in a deep voice:

"The main injuries are deep flesh wounds, coupled with the backlash caused by the rapid depletion of strength in a short period of time. Fortunately, the internal organs seem to have a strange resilience, and the fundamental extraordinary foundation has not been damaged. Resting for half a month should be fine."

Upon hearing this, Daisy's shoulders, which had been taut at the limit, suddenly relaxed.

She looked down at Xilun's battered body, so badly injured that there was hardly a patch of undamaged flesh, and her pale hands trembled as she reached out to wipe the blood from his face.

But then she abruptly stopped in mid-air, as if afraid that even the slightest touch would hurt the boy who had just experienced a hellish battle.

Her pretty face was a mixture of worry, tension, and an indescribable heartache.

Lund withdrew his hand, secretly relieved, and thought to himself:

This kid's life is tougher than the weeds in the lower city. Although his injuries were extremely serious, he managed to survive.

If I take proper care of myself, it shouldn't affect my extremely important snow mountain adventure three months from now.

At this moment, the audience, still reeling from the shock, began to leave the stands like a receding tide.

From the podium, Risa, dressed in a magnificent viscountess outfit, looked down at the rest area.

She watched as Siron's gruesome body was carried away, especially when her radar-like gaze caught sight of her own daughter, who, disregarding aristocratic decorum, stared intently at the lowly commoner, her face filled with undisguised concern and anxiety.

Risa's delicate eyebrows furrowed deeply, and a hint of disgust and wariness flashed in her eyes.

But a moment later, she relaxed her tense body, pursed her red lips slightly, said nothing, and simply turned around haughtily, leaving gracefully surrounded by a group of servants.

Not far away, the leader of the Daewoo Dojo, Fowles, was staring intently at Risa's departing, graceful figure with an extremely complex, even somewhat suppressed and fiery gaze.

That gaze held decades of obsession and regret.

But soon, he forcefully suppressed this passion with the terrifying willpower of a fourth-tier demon hunter, and once again composed himself, reverting to his unfathomable demeanor.

As the ultimate victor, Xiren should have stood at the highest point of the ring, receiving cheers and praise from the audience as if they were worshipping a god, before leaving the ring with his head held high.

But because of the severity of his injuries, he could only be hastily carried away like a dying wounded soldier.

However, the spectators in the stands did not complain about missing the winner's farewell.

On the contrary, the noise and enthusiasm in the entire venue reached their peak at this moment, with countless people waving their ticket stubs and roaring the name of Xilun with flushed faces.

The excitement was like a powder keg going off, completely igniting the night sky over the downtown area.

In some second-rate clubs deep inside the stadium, many players who used to be very proud of themselves were pale-faced, reliving the match in disbelief, feeling an unprecedented sense of defeat.

In the face of such a true monster of genius, no amount of fancy adjectives seems to come across as pale and powerless, leaving one utterly ashamed.

Only one person's expression looked extremely strange, and that was Marshall of the Platinum Club.

For some reason, the moment Marshall heard the referee's hoarse voice announcing Xiren's victory, a strange sense of relief welled up inside him. The humiliation and anger of being instantly defeated by Xiren seemed to vanish at that moment.

He huddled in the corner and couldn't help but hum a couple of lines of an unknown tune.

A familiar face from another club happened to pass by and casually asked, "Marshall, you're also one of Platinum's elite players, how did you do in this tournament?"

Marshall immediately stopped humming, straightened his back, adopted a composed and profound demeanor, and said calmly, "Don't even mention it, we lost the first game."

After saying that, he deliberately let out a long sigh, his tone full of frustration and helplessness:

"It's just bad luck. This damn draw made me run into Silen in the very first match."

I fought him fiercely in the ring for dozens of moves, but unfortunately lost by one move in the end. Otherwise, with my strength, making it into the top eight would have been no problem at all.

The excitement of the competition didn't fade away as it drew to a close; instead, it burned even brighter.

The crowded streets after the downpour were filled with heated discussions about the match that could be described as a miracle.

Without a doubt, the battle between Sirens and Ross is destined to be recorded in the history of the Lower City.

This sparked a considerable public outcry throughout the vast area of ​​the lower city of Saint Laurent.

Meanwhile, at the Iron Cross Fighting Club headquarters, located on the outskirts of the lower city.

Because the construction site is right next to a chaotic and dilapidated slum with outdated communication equipment, the transmission of competition information here is somewhat restricted.

At the dilapidated front desk, several receptionists were leaning forward, anxiously peering towards the end of the street.

In the training hall, many of the lower-level trainees who usually sweat profusely had completely lost their motivation to train, leaving the sandbags and wooden dummies lying forlornly to one side.

They were all intently watching a piece of news that could determine their fate—what would happen to their senior brother, Siron, who was the only representative of the Iron Cross Club, in the final match?

To be honest, even the lowest-level ordinary student, as long as they have a basic understanding of the Saint Laurent City Junior Knight Fighting Tournament, should clearly know how terrifyingly prestigious it is to be able to reach the finals!

This is almost unprecedented and groundbreaking in the history of the Iron Cross.

It's worth noting that the best result Iron Cross Fighting Club achieved since its founding dates back twelve years, when it only managed a lucky top-four finish.

West Ham's achievement of reaching the final has almost completely rewritten the history of Iron Cross, pulling it from the garbage dump to the top of the pyramid!

Especially the senior teachers who had reached the second-tier extraordinary level and were sitting in the rest room were sweating and pacing nervously back and forth in the room.

They knew perfectly well that if Xiren could miraculously win the championship, it would bring immeasurable publicity to the crumbling Iron Cross Club.

What will follow is a massive influx of funds from conglomerates and the support of high-quality students. More importantly, the enormous knowledge tax paid to the church will be significantly reduced.

Correspondingly, the salaries of these hardworking teachers will inevitably rise, increasing by several levels.

Moreover, having produced a champion disciple would make them incredibly proud to walk the streets of the lower city, so they were naturally extremely nervous.

"Judging by the time, the final match should have started a full two hours ago, and the results over there should have been out long ago..."

A bald teacher lowered his voice, his Adam's apple bobbing, "I just don't know if what comes back is good news or bad news."

To be honest, none of these second-tier teachers, who are considered big names in the lower city, dared to hope that Xilun could win the championship.

Despite Celen's numerous miraculous feats in previous matches, who was his opponent? It was Rose!

It's the perfect weapon for the Platinum Club! The huge gap in hard power is there, like an insurmountable chasm.

Even so, deep in their eyes, they still clung to that tiny sliver of hope.

What if?

What if Rose accidentally gets something stuck in his teeth while drinking cold water on the morning of the game?

What if Rose suddenly slips and breaks his leg while walking on the ring?

What if, during the most intense half of the game, a bolt of lightning as thick as a bucket suddenly strikes down from the sky without warning, leaving Rose half-dead?

What if Xilun suddenly unleashes a burst of power and defeats Ross like a god of war?

In this world filled with bizarre and extraordinary elements, it's not entirely impossible!