PBSE 63

Chapter – 63

The Grand Competition (Part 2)

Qin Yu naturally ignored Qin Mo, but even the Hammerstone clan members did not expect Qin Mo to feel no shame and instead take pride in it. This immediately caused some dissatisfaction toward him.

However, this small detail was quickly replaced by the upcoming match. The sixteen squad leaders all gave their full effort, and even Qin Mo began to watch seriously.

Half an hour later, the match ended. Qin Yu still emerged as the easiest victor. As he stepped down, he said nothing, only giving Qin Mo a disdainful glance before moving aside to rest.

The injured squad leader was carried to the elders’ hall for treatment, while the remaining eight squad leaders had half an hour to rest and recover.

After recovery came the drawing of lots. Once again, Qin Yu drew first. This time, people were somewhat curious—could the young clan leader continue his streak of good luck?

Yet, among the remaining eight squad leaders, none appeared seriously injured, and they all seemed to be in good condition. If someone still forfeited, it would be hard not to suspect something.

Not only ordinary clan members but even the tribe’s strongest fighters felt the same.

This anticipation, however, ended when Qin Yu finished drawing and revealed a mocking smile.

“Your luck ends here.” Qin Yu slowly handed over the lot, and the name on it was Qin Mo.

No one expected these two rivals to be paired together. The crowd erupted in discussion: Qin Yu was the top of the younger generation, while Qin Mo was deemed a “waste” but had suddenly risen.

The question of who was stronger drew countless eyes.

“Who do you think will win this time?” Su Qin asked with a smile while standing in the square.

“Without question,” Qin Luo said expressionlessly, clearly meaning Qin Yu would win.

“Depends on his luck,” Qing Wei commented.

“What use is luck in the face of true strength?” Qin Luo retorted.

Qing Wei didn’t say more. Many didn’t favor Qin Mo; although his recent performances were surprising, in a one-on-one match on the martial stage, trickery would be impossible.

Even Qing Wei didn’t believe Qin Mo could win—unless his luck was extraordinarily good.

“In my view, neither of them will win,” Su Qin said gently. “They’ve been fighting since childhood. Always trying to determine a victor isn’t healthy.”

Qin Luo’s expression changed, but he quickly calmed. He understood Su Qin’s meaning: both might fight desperately, but in the face of absolute strength, what could desperation do?

Qing Wei remained silent, her gaze fixed on the arena, a flicker of anticipation in her eyes.

Soon, the draw was complete. Almost all squad leaders were satisfied with their opponents. Not drawing Qin Yu—the top of the younger generation—was considered fortunate.

“This match is on the arena, not for life and death. Keep it controlled; stop when necessary,” the supervising division leader ordered coldly. The reminder was meant to prevent the two from losing their temper.

“Understood,” both replied, though whether they actually obeyed was another matter.

The division leader stepped aside, signaling the start. Yet, neither moved immediately, staring at each other. Qin Yu spoke first:

“We’ve fought for so long. Today we finally determine a victor. I’ve been looking forward to this day.”

“Likewise,” Qin Mo smiled.

“Aren’t you afraid?” Qin Yu asked.

“Afraid because you opened twenty-one acupoints and exert 2,500 jin of strength?” Qin Mo countered.

“Shouldn’t that scare you?” Qin Yu asked in surprise.

“Being afraid before a fight is halfway to losing,” Qin Mo replied.

“Fair enough. I forgot you’ve always been good with words,” Qin Yu said coldly. “But words won’t win this for you.”

“You’re wrong. I also know how to fight,” Qin Mo smiled.

While the two maintained composure, other matches were far more intense.

Those with high expectations were disappointed, unable to understand why the two rivals hadn’t started.

“What are they talking about?” Su Qin asked.

“Nonsense,” Qing Wei replied uncharacteristically.

“He’s waiting for the others to finish,” Qin Luo explained.

“So Qin Mo is waiting too?” Su Qin asked.

“No, he’s cautious,” Qin Luo confidently said.

Qing Wei glanced oddly at Qin Luo but said nothing. Within the tribe, perhaps only the excited little chubby fan of Qin Mo still believed in his victory.

“Brother Mo, you have to win!” the little chubby fan shouted excitedly, as if he were on the stage himself. “If you don’t win, I’ll avenge you later—but don’t go overboard!”

“I prefer your first sentence,” Qin Mo said, rolling his eyes at him.

“But his strength is overwhelming—he exceeds you by 500 jin!” the little fan insisted.

“You’re right. Look at the facts: you have white waste blood, I have red bloodline. You have 2,000 jin of strength and can barely open ten acupoints. I have 2,500 jin and opened twenty-one acupoints easily. What can you compete with me?” Qin Yu sneered.

“My fists,” Qin Mo said, forming his hand into a fist.

By this moment, other matches were concluding. The audience had grown impatient, urging them to start.

“Will you fight or not?” the supervising division leader pressed. Aside from the strongest squad leader, there were still the strongest division leader and centurion selections.

“Fight,” both answered in unison.

At that instant, they both struck. Qin Yu used the Heavenly Vein Fist, a first-rank martial skill.

Upon release, layers of fist shadows enveloped Qin Mo, leaving him no room to dodge.

Against an unavoidable fist technique, the only option was to resist head-on, which explained Qin Yu’s easy victories in previous matches.

Qin Mo also threw a punch—simple and direct, with no flashy moves, not even a shadow. Yet it struck straight at Qin Yu.

“What a clumsy approach,” Qin Luo muttered, observing. “It won’t be long before a victor emerges.”

“Though the Heavenly Vein Fist is first-rank, it’s top-tier among its kind. This simple straight punch is actually a good counter,” Su Qin said calmly. “If Qin Mo develops further, his straight punch could become extraordinary.”

As Su Qin predicted, Qin Yu’s Heavenly Vein Fist came from Qin Luo, the clan’s strongest first-rank skill.

Each punch created overlapping shadows, crushing opponents with solid energy. Against weaker foes, it was overwhelming; against equals, it was still hard to counter.

Thus, when Qin Yu unleashed his fist, Qin Mo was completely pressured. Every path of retreat blocked.

Yet Qin Mo did not retreat. His straight punch faced the barrage without hesitation, exuding unstoppable dominance.

“Foolish,” Qin Yu mocked. He expected Qin Mo to back off but was shocked to see him advance.

Still, Qin Yu did not hold back. Though he wouldn’t kill Qin Mo, this punch was meant to teach him the difference in their strength.

Suddenly, Qin Yu realized something was wrong. Qin Mo’s punch was unaffected by the layers of fist shadows. They struck him like raindrops—causing nothing more than a slight impact.

Qin Yu’s expression finally changed. He knew the Heavenly Vein Fist’s power; each strike was solid, at least half strength, enough to force even a young primal beast to retreat.

Yet Qin Mo didn’t retreat—he advanced. The punch carried unstoppable force, yet his expression remained calm.

“How is this possible?!” Both Qin Yu and Qin Luo were astonished.

To outsiders, Qin Mo appeared like a humanoid primal beast, striking through countless fists with overwhelming effect.

Several centurions stood, sensing the immense power radiating from him, though they couldn’t feel it in the punch itself.

“Boom!” The punch pierced the fist shadows and struck Qin Yu’s lower abdomen. Shocked, he twisted in pain and was flung off the arena, vomiting blood.

“Three… three thousand… three thousand jin of force!” Qin Yu muttered, trembling, staring at Qin Mo.

Yes, this punch had three thousand jin, equivalent to opening twenty acupoints.

There was no cheering, only stunned silence. The entire Hammerstone Tribe was as still as a needle dropping to the ground.

“Three thousand jin!” Qin Luo stared at Qin Mo, disbelief etched on his face.

“Good heavens, he hid it so deeply,” Su Qin said, shocked as he too sensed the power.

“This… might be a miracle. But…” Qing Wei’s expression remained neutral, yet her gaze on Qin Mo deepened.

No one doubted Qin Mo’s three thousand jin. Otherwise, what could explain a straight punch shattering the Heavenly Vein Fist?

“You’re cheating!” Qin Luo protested, feeling unfairly defeated. Had he known, he would not have underestimated Qin Mo.

“Division Leader, is hiding one’s strength against the rules?” Qin Mo asked.

“No… of course not,” the leader said helplessly.

“Still think I’m cheating?” Qin Mo asked Qin Yu.

“This is a proper match! Hiding your strength is unfair. If I’d known you had three thousand jin, I wouldn’t have lost! My Heavenly Vein Fist is—” Qin Yu protested.

“Heh,” Qin Mo laughed, interrupting. “If this were on a foreign battlefield or against primal beasts, would you really announce your full strength before fighting? Do you think they’d reveal their survival tricks?”

“But this isn’t—this isn’t—” Qin Yu nearly shouted in anger.

“Enough.” Someone appeared in the arena—it was Qin Luo.

“But I’m not willing!” Qin Yu’s face twisted toward Qin Mo.

“He’s right,” Qin Luo said coldly. “Lose, and you lose. No ifs.”

Though unwilling, Qin Luo lowered his head. He had lost. After all his preparation, he lost to Qin Mo—whom he no longer considered a rival.

He had expected to crush Qin Mo today, yet Qin Mo knocked him off the arena with a single punch, preventing even a full Heavenly Vein Fist. That’s why Qin Yu was unwilling to accept it.