It was another dry noon, the blazing sun scorched the earth, the tall classical columns cast long shadows on the sand, and the gentle breeze stirred the grit and dust, blowing the smell of blood into the distance.

It's the day of the finals.

The Blood Arena was bustling with people, with 80,000 spectators paying premium tickets to witness the slaughter, and the tournament organizers made a lot of money.

After the big music and dance show, the audience was basically seated, and the hot dog and tea vendors walked through the stands, and a fierce 20-on-20 team competition kicked off the event.

The gladiator slaves were divided into red and blue teams, each chained together by thick iron chains, and held a variety of cold weapons in their hands.

"Slaves...... Maggots, cheer up! Fight to the last breath! ”

The referee pulled one end of the chain like a shepherd, and with the other hand waved a whip dipped in water to drive the slaves to fight.

Swords and swords, flesh and blood flying.

A quarter of an hour later, the RED team won the team match, but it was only a pyrrhic victory, with only three survivors, all wounded.

The skills of these rookie gladiators were mixed, and the praise received was pitiful and more booed.

The victorious gladiator shouted loudly to congratulate himself on being able to survive for a long time, and was once again shackled and locked in a cage.

The mangled bodies of the vanquished were quickly dragged away, piled up like kitchen waste for disposal, and flies and crows gathered to enjoy their own feast.

Mr. Iron Fist clutched the rusted railing and stood by and stared coldly at the middle of the arena

(People cheered for the killing, mad beasts fought to the death in the sand, and I was the beastmaster.) He thought.

As the final team match ended, the yellow sand field was already splattered with blood, broken limbs, broken bones, and slimy internal organs, and several human heads were rolling back and forth, and the slave in charge of cleaning chased after him with a broom, looking sad and ridiculous.

After the stadium was cleaned up, the clean yellow sand on the new paved shop buried the blood, but it still couldn't hide the smell of blood, it didn't matter, the audience loved to smell this.

The host of the tournament walked up to the wooden platform and announced:

"Compatriots of the Solan Kingdom, the moment of great attention is coming, and this year's individual competition finals are about to begin!"

The audience was boiling, and the shouts of 80,000 rao were shocking, and a few people were so excited that they actually fell off the stands and were killed.

"Oops, it looks like something happened to you, it's okay, the slaves will take care of it."

The host waved his hand at the slaves who were in charge of cleaning the venue, motioned for them to drag the broken corpses away, then coughed a few times, cleared his throat, and said in a loud voice:

"Invite our challengers, indigenous warriors from the tropical archipelago of the South

Black Beast – Uuzullah Achimpen! ”

The hanging door on the south side of the arena rises slowly, and the musicians blow huge bony horns to make a move.

A dark-skinned sturdy man walked out with vigorous steps,

Unlike the native gladiators who wore metal armor, this man wore only simple animal skin armor, his strong, bulging muscles exuded infinite vitality, his long black hair was braided into a large braid and flung at his side, and he held a light animal skin shield in his left hand and a sharp spear in his right hand.

The host opened a booklet and read:

"Let me take a look at the information of this challenger, na, it's amazing, nineteen wins in nineteen battles! Fifteen of those bouts were finishes under a minute, and they were indeed strong contenders for the title.

It is important to note that this Mr. Uuzullah Achimpong is not a slave.

He is a free man, the son of a tribal chieftain, and he has come to the kingdom of Solan for one purpose, and that is to show the audience what the strongest warrior is! ”

"Uuzura! Uuzura! The audience cheered.

The indigenous gladiator shouted in the broken Solan language, "Thank you, I will pierce my opponent's heart with this short spear, and I will cut off his scalp and make a money bag!" ”

In the cage waiting for the game, a short gladiator walked up behind Mr. Tekken and said:

"Big brother, do you hear that, that guy wants to make your scalp into a wallet?"

"Anyone can talk ruthlessly, well, I welcome him to try it."

Mr. Tekken's heart was unwavering, and he unhurriedly put on his gear.

Because of the importance of the arena owner, Lord Batitas,

His equipment was much more luxurious than that of the average gladiator, with shiny brass scales guarding his chest and abdomen, shoulder armor carved with hideous tiger heads, leather battle skirts with studs, knee pads and shin guards with glazed patterns, and even the cage-like bronze helmet adorned with gold and silver gilts.

"Hurry up, stinky slave! The crowd is waiting for you to play! A slave handler threatened with a whip.

Mr. Ironfist looked directly at him with his blood-red eyes, and the slave trainer shrank in the corner in terror, and he slapped himself; "I ...... I was wrong, you don't remember anyone......"

"Hmph, the guy who bullies the soft and is afraid of the hard!" Mr. Iron Fist walked up to the hanging door, stretched out his thick arm, and said, "Please hand me my weapon." ”

A blonde slave girl in a dirty dress dragged a huge two-handed hammer, and she was so malnourished that she could barely walk, only moving slowly a little.

Someone kicked the girl away and scolded, "It's slow! Fuck off, you shit! The man picked up the hammer and brought it over.

Mr. Iron Fist frowned at the sight of the slave girl being kicked in the head and bleeding, and he was about to have a seizure, only to find that the comer was wearing the traditional robe of the Solan people, which was the favorite costume of the slave owners.

It turned out to be the owner of the arena, Lord Batitas, who came in person, followed by a group of armed bodyguards with loaded guns.

(Calm down...... Calm down...... He told himself, (No matter how good I am, I can't beat a pistol, I'm going to be patient, it's going to be fast...... At the end of today's trial, you will be free. ）

He took the hammer:

"Thank you, master."

With a smile on his face, the master of the arena, Batitas, continued to hand over the weapon, and said:

"You must take down that black guy, he's very powerful, what's the matter, my cash cow, do you have confidence?"

Mr. Ironfist took the scimitar and dagger and pinned them to his belt, then took the hammer and said:

"Just wait, I'll smash that black head into a rotten watermelon for you."

"Haha, I have confidence in you, you are a box office guarantee, don't die, go on!"

The hanging door on the north side of the arena slowly rose, and a tall and stout man stepped out, his white skin tanned to wheat, his muscles rough and wild, and his brass helmet and scales reflected the sunlight.

The host's eyebrows fluttered, and each syllable was lengthened in a very exaggerated way:

"Please, the champion of the Blood Arena, the famous serial killer Skullcrusher, the King of the Underground Black Fist, the legend of legends

- Mr. Iron Fist! ”