Novel Full Chapter 1063 - 1063: Confident Fatty Ben
Up in his private chambers, Kent sat calmly, back against a cushioned chair, the soft glow of moonstones illuminating the carved walls. He had already been informed of his next opponent. His eyes, calm as still water, revealed not a trace of worry.
At that moment, Fatty Ben burst into the chamber, his round belly bouncing as he laughed heartily, his hands stuffed with betting slips.
“Hahaha! Master Kent, Hahahaha—you should have seen their faces! They think we’ve already given up. No promotions, no odds, no bait—and the fools are piling their entire treasuries against you!”
He waddled over, slapping a handful of mana slips on the table. “Do you understand? Red Face alone has thrown thirty-three million into the pot! Thirty-three million! He’s cleaning his vaults because he thinks Huang Tian will erase you. Hahaha! And tomorrow… when you stand victorious, that mountain of wealth will belong to us!”
Amelia glared at him, irritated. “You sound too confident, Fatty. You think this fight is so simple?”
Ben’s smug face didn’t waver. He pulled a roasted chicken leg from his sleeve, biting into it noisily before answering. “Sister Amelia, you don’t understand. This is Master Kent we’re talking about. The man who changed the fates of gods. Do you really think he’ll bow to some space-twisting juggler?”
Kent chuckled, raising his cup toward Ben. “Your faith is heavier than all their crystals, Fatty.”
Ben winked. “Faith is free, but their stupidity will pay us in gold.”
–
Across the city, in taverns and private rooms, whispers and arguments raged through the night.
“Space manipulator versus thunder tyrant? Kent will be swallowed whole!”
“Are you blind? Huang Tian doesn’t even need to touch him. He’ll just fold the arena and drop Kent into nothingness.”
“But what if Kent really is hiding something? He hasn’t shown his true hand once.”
“Bah! Then why is the Golden Rat House silent? It means he’s done for!”
The next day’s duel had already become the most anticipated fight of the tournament. Odds soared. Bets doubled, trebled, poured like rivers into the syndicate’s ledgers. And in the gambling halls, Red Face licked his lips, imagining Kent’s humiliation.
But in the quiet chamber above, Kent poured himself another cup of tea, his calm gaze fixed on the moonlight.
“Space manipulator?” he murmured. “Then tomorrow, let space itself learn what thunder truly means.”
–
The city had not known rest since the announcement. Word spread like wildfire through every alley, every gambling den, and every teahouse—Kent was drawn against Huang Tian, the space manipulator.
No duel was more anticipated, no clash carried such weight.
The next morning, before the suns had even risen fully, the Skyfire Arena was already overflowing. People fought for seats, some even paid thrice the normal fee just to stand in the galleries. The sheer buzz of voices was deafening—traders, nobles, cultivators, gamblers, and spies, all gathered to watch what they believed would be Kent’s fall.
Fatty Ben had not taken his usual seat in the luxurious stands. No, this time he stood right at the edge of the arena floor, arms crossed, belly spilling over his belt, but his eyes sharper than knives. His lips curved into a smug smile as he listened to the crowd mock his master.
“Ben, your golden rat has lost his teeth,” one gambling house owner sneered at him.
Ben’s fat jiggled as he chuckled. “Lost teeth? He hasn’t even opened his jaws yet. Keep barking, mutt. Later, I’ll collect your wife’s jewels too when you cry for a loan.”
That confidence alone silenced many. He looked like a pig, but everyone in the city knew better now—behind the grin was a predator fattening himself on their arrogance.
The hour of the duel approached. The twelve arena bells tolled, heavy and metallic, each clang making the crowd’s hearts race faster. Thousands of throats roared, their cheers a storm, their curses woven between breaths. Some shouted Huang Tian’s name, others spat Kent’s, but all eyes were fixed on the center of the colossal arena.
On the elder’s platform, the officiating masters rose. Their voices boomed with mana, echoing across the heavens.
“Attention, disciples and spectators! The next duel is of utmost importance! Combatants—Kent King, bearer of the Heavenly Sword… versus Huang Tian, wielder of Space Manipulation!”
The crowd erupted, some stamping their feet, others howling in excitement.
“No pets allowed!” the elder’s voice cut like thunder. “Only one weapon permitted per disciple! Spells are unrestricted, but the use of multiple external treasures shall result in disqualification! Life and death are left to fate—killing is allowed, if done in fair manner!”
A tense silence followed those last words, then the crowd screamed again, this time bloodthirsty. People loved slaughter more than honor.
From the eastern tunnel, Kent appeared. He walked calmly, dressed in his dark battle robe, the Heavenly Sword slung over his shoulder as though it weighed nothing. His pace was steady, his eyes half-lidded, but the moment his gaze swept the arena, a hush spread through the closest stands. His aura was like a predator stalking its prey—quiet, patient, but promising merciless death.
From the western tunnel, Huang Tian emerged. Clad in silver robes embroidered with celestial patterns, his figure shimmered faintly, as though space itself bent to shield him. Each step he took left afterimages, making it look as if dozens of him were walking beside one another. He raised his hand and instantly appeared twenty feet ahead, showing off his mastery of spatial displacement. The crowd howled his name like madmen.
Kent’s eyes narrowed the moment they met across the arena floor. No words were exchanged, but the air grew heavy. It was predator versus hunter, storm against void.
Fatty Ben leaned forward at the edge of the barrier, his round face split into a grin. He muttered to himself, voice low but filled with conviction:
“Go on then, Huang Tian. Twist your little battlefield. But in front of my brother… even space will break.”
The officiating elder lifted his hand. The mana in the arena rippled, erecting the final barrier around the fighting ground. The crowd surged in anticipation, bodies pressing forward, eyes wide, breath held.
The elder command rose.
Kent strode to the east, placing the Heavenly Sword lazily against his shoulder, head tilted, eyes locked on Huang Tian like a predator savoring the moment before the kill.
Huang Tian smiled mockingly from the west corner, his form flickering into three, then five, then ten silhouettes before collapsing back into one. He raised a single finger at Kent, twisting it as if warping the air.
The elder’s hand dropped.
“Begin!”
The arena erupted. Tens of thousands screamed, stamping, roaring, chanting names. The sound rolled like thunder, the air charged with killing intent, greed, and excitement. This was no longer a tournament—this was war, and every-spectator was hungry for blood.