To the crowd, Anmos was King. King of the Stage, he ruled over the entire Battle Arena, a madness that forced all to cower. But for the challengers, he was the Executioner, and the stage was his execution ground. His smile was the smile of death, it twisted their mind and stamped itself within their memories. Inferiority and fear birthed within their heart.

The next opponent, Zika, was a fifteen-year-old specializing in using the force of his legs. A kickboxer, he prefers to use range rather than up-close combat. A different outtake to defeating Anmos.

Stepping onto the stage, he forced himself to pack away his fear and accept reality. The only way to get out of this mess was to defeat Anmos. Forfeiting would anger those below him, as well as tarnish his reputation. His only choice was to fight with all he had to give.

Apola waved his hand. The fight started.

Zika's entire body was tense, his eyes locked onto Anmos every move. He was ready for the initial burst of speed, the fierce attack that started the falling of those before him. However, the attack didn't come.

Instead, Anmos walked indifferently towards Zika, as if the fight hadn't started. The atmosphere was tense, and with every step forward Zika took a step backward. Each step was psychological, forewarning the annihilation to come. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore.

He kicked straight at Anmos' chest, attempting to push him backward. It failed, Anmos weaved to the side like a ghost. His hand grabbed Zika's leg, a steel grip like an eagle's claw, Anmos glared at Zika with his glossy eyes. His tongue flicked out, licking his lips.

He threw Zika's leg to the side, throwing Zika off-balance, before following up with a shoulder-tackle to Zika's chest. The two landed together onto the Arena floor, Anmos grabbing onto Zika's robe. He was sitting on Zika's stomach, looking down at Zika's horrified face. That smile, that flick of the tongue, became a permanent memory. Months later, he even had a nightmare.

One fist fell down, followed by another, and another. It was a barrage, horrifying to watch, as each lone fist landed heavily onto Zika's face. It continued and continued, blood covering both fist and face. Screams and cries of pain rang out throughout the silent Arena, causing some to even leave the Arena.

Another and another, there was no end. Zika's face was no more, instead, a crimson sheet twitching and moving. His nose was long-ago broken, tramped against his face so that even his lips extended farther. At this point, it was only there to pour more blood onto his already gore-covered face. Zika tried to scream 'I forfeit', but never got the opportunity. His teeth were cracked and bleeding, a result of whenever he dared to say 'I' or 'Fo'. He long ago passed out. Anmos got up off his body, wiping his bloodied fist on Zika's stained robes.

"Next." He pointed at the next person in line, and another ruthless beating occurred. This time, it was like a boxing match. One jab, one uppercut, one left hook. Lucky for his opponent, he managed to forfeit in time.

Another challenger stepped up. This one had his arm broken, Anmos bending it in the complete opposite direction - to the horror of everyone in the crowd. But after his final spectacle, Anmos collapsed, breathing heavily. The adrenaline pumping in him began to disperse, his amber eyes looking at the endless azure sky. The switch flicked, the "typical" Anmos coming in.

"Worthless! All of you are worthless! Forget the treasure, it isn't worth the effort! Leave it!" The bushy-eyebrowed disciple exclaimed in anger, storming away. The existence of the treasure hasn't even been proven!

The crowd watched the bushy-eyebrowed disciple leave and then turned to the youth laying on the stage. Deep respect and fear turned over in their heads as they all began to leave.

Soon it was just Anmos and Apola.

Anmos lay there for a long time, his entire body racked with pain. Managing to get up, he took a step toward Elder Apola.

"Rewards?" He was too exhausted to say anything else.

"Due to the bets and multiplier, twenty mid-tier Condensation pills. Or two high-tier Condensation Pills." Elder Apola smiled at Anmos, admiring his courage and ferociousness.

"Two high-tier Condensation Pills?" Anmos' eyes widened. High-tier Condensation Pills are critical resources even Core Disciples value. They could take a fourth-level disciple directly to the fifth level. It's worth can only be imagined!

"Don't worry, the Elder's in the Pill Workshop should already know your face. I'll tell them your reward, don't worry about getting robbed." Who would dare take his Identification Plate? By now his face has spread all over the Inner Court - pretending to be him at the Pill Workshop would be suicide. All it took was Apola, Anmos, or another disciple to disprove the pretender.

Anmos smiled and began to walk home. Many saw him and scurried out of the way. Exhausted, Anmos came onto the "500" row of houses, only to see from a distance that his house seemed..different. His pace picked up, and when he reached the house - he saw the door busted open. The mattress was flipped over, the desk was thrown into a corner, clothes and blankets were thrown everywhere. Anmos frowned deeply, his fists clenched, and his anger began to ignite. He remembered the cause of this entire mess - Radul Novor.

Revenge shall be delivered.