"Hiss... such power? Who is that woman? Investigate her immediately. I want every detail about her," the Emperor commanded, his gaze fixed on Selene's departing figure as she stepped down from the stage.
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
Meanwhile, chaos had erupted across the stands. Selene's instantaneous victory left the crowd stunned and furious. Shouts of disbelief and outrage filled the air, and the uproar was so intense that the tournament was forced to pause for several minutes.
Only after the referee explained the extent of Huan-dong's injuries did the spectators finally calm down.
...
The next match began.
Both new contestants were around thirty years old, their physiques massive and muscles bulging like coiled steel. One glance was enough to tell—they were walking explosions of raw power.
Despite their size, neither fighter was slow or clumsy. They didn't bother with elaborate technique. Their fighting style was simple and brutal—iron fists crashing head-on, each blow answered by another, their rhythm growing faster and faster.
Gradually, Selene began to feel a strange sense of déjà vu...
Ora ora ora ora!!!
Muda muda muda!!!
The two men roared, faces flushed red as they grappled, straining to throw each other down.
Compared to Selene's effortless, one-hit victories, this kind of match—pure muscle against muscle, fists hammering flesh—was far more entertaining for the audience. Cheers and laughter filled the arena, wave after wave.
...
The next day, the Imperial Fist Martial Tournament continued as usual. The colossal Imperial Coliseum had been divided into several sections, though today there were fewer participants and smaller arenas. In contrast, the number of spectators had reached yet another record high.
As time went on, the weaker contestants had all been eliminated. The ones who remained were the true elites of the Empire, each match now a dazzling spectacle that thrilled the audience far more than the early rounds.
But, as always, there were exceptions.
On one of the main stages of the tournament that day—
"Ahhhh!!!"
A deafening roar echoed through the arena. The man, a proud disciple of the Imperial Fist, refused to surrender. His pride as a martial artist would not allow it. Veins bulged across his face, blood filled his eyes, and he charged forward with every ounce of strength he had left.
But it was useless.
The monster before him—her slender frame hiding impossible power—was beyond comprehension. Her strength defied reason. He never even had a chance to strike back.
With a single blow, he was sent flying from the stage.
A thunderous impact followed, louder than the crowd's cheers. The audience gasped as the massive fighter's body, weighing nearly three hundred pounds, was launched through the air like a cannonball, crashing through the railing and slamming into the coliseum's marble wall.
Boom!
The solid stone cracked under the force, splintering into fragments. The man's body hung there for a few seconds before slowly sliding down, leaving streaks of dust and debris behind.
His eyes were unfocused, his mouth gaping open like a fish out of water as he struggled to breathe.
Moments later, he tried to move, to stand—but the pain tearing through his body made it impossible. Every nerve screamed. He couldn't even lift his head.
Looking up at the serene figure on the platform—Selene, lowering her hand with effortless grace—the warrior could only laugh bitterly.
This battle was over. There had never been any suspense.
He had been crushed—completely, absolutely. Not even one move could he withstand.
Damn it... why did I have to fight her? How is she this strong?! The man's heart sank. He had hoped to reach the top ten, but instead, fate had matched him against this terrifying noblewoman. His dreams shattered instantly.
This must be some kind of military conspiracy! That power... she's at least general-class! And that battle attire... don't tell me it's a Teigu?!
"Fight? Fight you, my ass! I'm reporting this! She's cheating!!"
With that furious thought, the man glared at Selene's beautiful battlesuit one last time before his eyes rolled back, and he collapsed unconscious.
Gradually, as the audience watched yet another overwhelming victory, they no longer seemed surprised. Such one-sided matches had become... routine.
"Sigh... as expected. It's been half a day already—how many times has this happened now? Another one-hit victory. Look at her, not even a speck of dust on her..."
Normally, according to the tournament's schedule, reaching the stage with fewer than a hundred contestants would take at least four or five days. But no one had expected such a monster to appear. While other matches dragged on for ten, even thirty minutes, Selene's bouts ended in a single second—one punch, one slap, and done. No tension, no suspense, no entertainment. The audience was beginning to feel cheated.
"Ahahahahaha... damn it! Lost again!!!"
In the stands, a middle-aged man who had been laughing just moments earlier suddenly turned pale, then red, then black as rage overtook him. With a furious growl, he tore his betting slip into shreds and slammed the pieces to the ground.
He glared at the fallen Imperial Fist fighter, who was being treated by medics near the arena wall, and shouted angrily, "Tch! Those Imperial Fist braggarts! Before the tournament, they couldn't stop boasting—'once-in-a-decade prodigy,' 'a genius born once in a century'—and now look at them! Can't even take one punch from a girl! What a damn joke!"
Because the Martial Tournament allowed gambling, many wealthy farmers, merchants, and nobles had joined in the fun, placing large bets in hopes of making a fortune. As for the poor? Please—entry tickets to the Imperial Coliseum weren't cheap. Only those with decent wealth could afford to attend.
Ever since the previous day's matches, Selene's overwhelming performances had become legendary. Naturally, her betting odds appeared in the underground casinos.
But so far, not a single person had lasted more than one strike against her.
From the preliminaries to now, it was the same every time. Each instant victory made gamblers cough blood from frustration. Few people had managed to profit from her matches.
At this point, Selene was widely regarded as the tournament's absolute favorite to win. Her victory was so certain that the bets had shifted—not on whether she would win, but on how many moves her opponents could survive!
Many now wagered on Selene herself, but there were still the stubborn few—the gamblers who couldn't resist the temptation of massive payouts—who continued to bet on her opponents, dreaming of sudden riches.
And of course... those dreams always ended in ruin.
The furious man in the audience was one such fool. Seeing Selene's odds so low, he figured betting on her offered no profit. Surely, he thought, someone will beat her eventually.
Then came the inevitable.
The referee's voice boomed across the coliseum: "Contestant 648—victory! Congratulations on advancing once again!"
The crowd erupted into applause and cheers. Though Selene had cost many of them money—and had ruined the odds for the underground casinos—there was no denying her strength. Out of respect for power, the audience couldn't help but admire her.
As for the underground bookmakers? No one cared. In this world of survival of the fittest, they'd likely be the first to offer Selene money later, seeking her favor and protection.
Amid the thunderous applause, Selene descended the arena steps, vanishing from sight.
"There should be fewer than a hundred left now... Phew, not many matches left. Finally almost done," she murmured. In truth, her exhaustion was more mental than physical. Holding back her strength each time had become tedious. None of this was satisfying.
Their "game experience" was awful—but so was hers. Restraining herself constantly to avoid killing them was beyond frustrating.
Passing through the long entry corridor, Selene returned to her private lounge, guided by courteous staff. Waiting inside, dressed immaculately in black butler attire, was Sebas.
The old butler's usually stern expression softened the moment Selene entered.
"Milady... your meal is ready," he said warmly, producing a large, ornate lunchbox as if by magic and placing it on the table.
Judging by the exquisite presentation and the array of exotic meats, Selene instantly knew—Sebas must have hunted several Danger Beasts to prepare this meal.
"Thank you, Sebas..." she said softly.