I’m the Boss
“Uh…” Those representing the Balerno martial arts alliance stood dumbfounded as Fatty splashed into the lake.
While a display of skill might have been tolerable, plunging into the water was an entirely different matter. This was a tournament, not a sideshow!
For the Balerno martial arts alliance, this incident was mortifying.
“That disgraceful imbecile!” Jared seethed, red-faced due to his earlier commendation of Fatty’s abilities.
“Ha! What a sorry excuse for a display. How can someone so weak make a spectacle of themselves?”
“Step aside if you’re just a loser. Quit making a mockery of yourself!”
“Do all Balerno martial artists lack substance? Is this what they call a competition?”
Glenstead martial artists burst into raucous laughter, mocking their counterparts.
“He got too full of himself,” even Ronald found it hard to watch.
After all, hastily recruited martial artists were hardly the best candidates.
“The first round will be tough to win,” Paul shook his head.
Why had Fatty squandered his true energy on an unnecessary display? He’d not only embarrassed himself but also depleted most of his energy reserves. How would he fare in the upcoming fight?
Finally, bubbles surfaced, and Fatty’s round face emerged. Driven by embarrassment, he propelled himself towards the platform, clambering up while drenched in lake water.
“Dammit! I should have taken the boat!” he muttered to himself.
Having successfully crossed rivers with the same technique before, he had reckoned he could repeat the feat across the lake. However, he hadn’t anticipated running out of energy midway due to the lake’s vastness.
“Show-offs should know their limits. How pathetic,” a red-clad figure commented as he approached the platform by boat, a spear in hand.
“Laugh all you want, but I’m going to make you regret it!” Fatty bellowed.
“Like you could ever achieve that,” the red-clad man leaped onto the platform.
“I’ll ensure you rue the day you underestimated me!” Fatty gritted his teeth.
The red-clad man dismissed Fatty’s threat with a disdainful snort, his demeanor revealing that he considered showboats like Fatty unworthy of the arena.
He’d be sorely disappointed if all Balerno martial artists were of the same ilk.
Just then, a bell chimed from a distance, signaling the match’s commencement. As per the rules, the duel would begin at the third bell toll, and from that point on, their lives hinged on their skill and prowess.
Before long, the bell rang out twice more.
“You’re a dead man!” Fatty roared as the third chime resonated. Wasting no time, he surged into action. With a sweeping motion of his arm, a barrage of darts was hurled towards the red-clad opponent.