Next to the fighting arena, there is a black sofa chair, and next to it are several guards with loaded guns.

On the sofa chair sat a middle-aged white man, dressed in a crumpled white suit, with long messy hair, and a delicate cane in his hand.

When the victor was out of the ring, he stood up with his cane in his hand and walked to the middle of the ring.

He first looked up to the second floor, where it was also crowded with people, the thin iron railings crumbling, all of them flushed and brandishing bills wildly in their hands.

The white suit slammed his cane and shouted loudly:

"Ladies and gentlemen, it's time for the finale of the evening."

A burly black man walked out of the side, he was wearing only a boxing pants, and his body was covered with scars, and ordinary people were timid when they saw it.

"Tonight's Champion is from... With a wave of his white cane, he pointed at the black man: "Only God knows where he came from." ”

The audience burst into laughter, and at the same time, some people chanted the title of Guardian.

"The heavyweight is." The white suit spread his hands, tilted his head and said, "It seems that no one cares about this." ”

"Hahaha."

The laughter was even more enthusiastic, and the whistle sounded.

"All in all, he's our unbeatable champion."

The white suit stretched out the words and roared loudly:

"Guard: The Slayer."

As soon as the words fell, the atmosphere exploded instantly, and most of the people cheered, their necks were bruised, and they shouted the name of the slaughterer.

The black man spread his hands in satisfaction and held them high, enjoying the moment that belonged to him.

"Next."

The white suit waited until the noise calmed down a little, and stroked his golden messy hair: "Who has the courage to challenge the slaughterer?" ”

Under the expectant gaze, the white suit shouted loudly:

"He's a beast."

"He just made a splash with us a while ago and has won 10 fights so far, and no opponent can survive him."

"He's the horrible Indian."

"Cut. Arrange... ”

The iron door to the small room next to it was opened, and a pigtailed Indian stooped out of the darkness, barefoot and wearing only a pair of denim trousers.

The slaughterer was burly enough, but in front of this Indian, he was forced to make a small circle.

The person who came was Cheton Ritstone, who was rescued by the Red Bones gang during Ethan's escort last time, and he had a few more scars on his body than before.

Cheton's temperament is also more fierce, as the host introduced, he now looks like a beast, thirsting for blood all the time.

When Cheton walked onto the field, he was cheered no less than the Slayer.

During this time, Cheton's bloody tactics have impressed the audience and brought him many fans.

The Slayer looked at Cheton, who was a circle larger than himself, and disdainfully pulled his neck with his thumb in a defiant gesture.

Cheton didn't even roll his eyelids, and moved his body on his own.

"Alright, tonight's finale is the Slayer and Cheton, and then decide how to play."

Bai Xifu took out a large dice from his pocket, which was not dotted and painted with various patterns.

He threw the dice into the sky, and the dice fell to the ground, rolling rapidly.

Everyone held their breath, the dice stopped rolling, and the pattern at the top was two machetes.

The cheers gushed like a volcano, and it was clear that the audience preferred to see the knife and the blood to the flesh than the fist to the flesh.

"The format of the game has been decided, the machete duel, and then the betting time, which starts in two minutes."

The white suit made a lame gentleman's salute and left the playing field with a cane.

Because it was a cold weapon duel, the audience next to the competition venue also took a few steps back, leaving more space than just now.

The competition venue is a concrete floor surrounded by spectators, without any protective facilities, and it is not unheard of before when contestants kill red eyes and slaughter spectators.

Although the contestant was killed on the spot, no one wanted to joke with their lives.

The betting time was quickly over, and Cheton also grabbed the machete handed by the tournament organiser.

The brass bell rang, and he walked towards the black man with steps that he did not recognize.

Unlike the usual cold weapon competitions, Cheton didn't test carefully at all, and directly mustered up all his strength to slash at the slaughterer.

This extraordinary style of play caught the slaughterer by surprise.

In the face of one knife light after another, he was tired of parrying.

The more he slashed, the more urgent he became, and the sword light seemed to be connected.

"Bang."

The slaughterer's machete was chopped out of his hand, and immediately after, a white line slashed through.

The audience was stunned to see a red line diagonally crossed the body of the slaughterer.

Cheton gripped the hilt of his knife and slashed with a flick of his arm.

The slaughterer's head flew up with the light of the knife, blood mist spewed out several meters high, and organs fell from the slashed belly.

Cheton spread his arms, his palms released, and the machete fell.

He closed his eyes and felt the warm mist of blood pour down on him, as if the soul of the other party merged with himself, and listened to the deafening cheers with pleasure.

This is a cheer for the victors, and he can't hear enough of it.

Only in this way can he forget the humiliation of being defeated by that small town policeman.

The contest lasted less than a minute before it ended with one of the beheadings and the winner enjoying a bath of blood like a human demon.

The cold weapon competition is so clean and neat, there are no tens or hundreds of rounds of big battles, and one move is a mistake that starts and falls.

Amid the frenzied cheers of all the spectators, Cheton got his money and walked out unharmed.

After the blood cooled down, it was easy to get sticky, and he was about to go back to the place specially prepared for the contestants to take a shower, but at this time, in the crowd next to him, he saw several familiar faces.

Cheton walked over excitedly, and the crowd on the side avoided him when they saw his ghostly appearance.

Only a few yellow-skinned, black-haired Indians remained untouched.

One of them grinned, ignoring the blood on Cheton's body, and hugged him.

Cheton rubbed the hair of the man in his arms and asked in a deep voice:

"Tommy, what brought you here?"

His voice was so recognizable that it sounded like thunder.

The man who was hugged by Cheton was none other than his younger brother, Tommy Ritstone.

The two brothers were orphans who grew up together, and it was only when they looked at Tommy that Cheton's eyes showed a little warmth.

"Shet, Cheton, you're getting better."

Several people behind Tommy couldn't help but feel a little frightened when they saw Cheton like this, and hurriedly complimented them.

Only Tommy was different, and he pushed Cheton's hand away: "Don't mess with my hair like this, I've grown up." ”

Cheton smiled invisibly and let go of his thick palm:

"Tell me, what's the matter with you coming here?"

"Rancid is dead." Tommy Ritterstone looked at his brother and said with a serious face.

"That Langcid?"

Cheton's face became gloomy, and his whole body exuded an astonishing momentum.

(End of chapter)