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"But kid, don't go copying that guy, Big Qu, always looking to pick a fight with me…"

But Kong Er's tone shifted right away. He shot Qu Yuancheng a fierce glare and let out a dissatisfied grunt. If Beard were still around, he'd surely be blowing his whiskers in irritation at this moment.

"Hmph... It's your poor judgment, alright?"

Qu Yuancheng immediately retorted sarcastically, clearly unhappy that Kong Er was disparaging him in front of his cousin.

"What? My judgment is poor? I..."

As soon as Qu Yuancheng said that, Kong Er became visibly upset, his voice getting louder.

"Stop! Stop! Stop… You two, can we just hold off for a bit? Do me a favor here…"

Seeing the two of them about to argue, Qin Fang quickly stepped in to mediate. The fight hadn't even started, but these two might already take it outside.

Of course, that wasn't going to happen.

Since Qin Fang wasn't particularly close to either of them, he didn't know that this was just their dynamic—every time they met, it was filled with bickering, but afterward, they'd still go out for drinks and have fun!

"Alright, today I'll give Younger Brother Qin face. Won't bother arguing with you…"

"Hmph…"

Qin Fang's words had some weight. The two men both decided to set their argument aside for now, which left Qin Fang slightly surprised at the influence he apparently had.

"Second Brother, what's this business about the African Lion and the Nordic Giant? What has you two so riled up?"

Now that they weren't arguing, Qin Fang couldn't just sit there in silence. He pulled Kong Er down to sit with him and asked about the topic that had caused the tension between the two.

"Oh boy, this is something I need to tell you…"

Kong Er, being naturally sociable and talkative, especially when it concerned something he was deeply interested in, instantly began explaining with great enthusiasm.

For instance, today's boxing match between the two contestants—Kong Er seemed to have all their background details thoroughly researched. Since he figured Qin Fang was here for the first time, he used the time before the match commenced to share the inside scoop.

Apparently, one of today's fighters was a black boxer hailing from Africa, boasting remarkable strength. His record so far included 45 victories, nearly halfway to earning his freedom with 100 wins, making him undoubtedly a formidable contender.

The other was a white fighter from Northern Europe who was no weakling either. While his win record wasn't as impressive as that of the African Lion, his 24 battles had seen him effortlessly dispatch all his opponents to advance.

Even before the fight began, the arena had conducted some hype around it. To boost their profiles, they'd branded the two fighters as the "African Lion" and the "Nordic Giant," representing two powerful forces…

Of course, whether the African Lion devoured the Nordic Giant or the Nordic Giant tore apart the African Lion would depend solely on their individual strength and performance during the match.

Past records were merely acknowledgments of their previous victories; they were no guarantee of their present capabilities… At the Black Fist Arena, it wasn't unusual for seasoned fighters with 99 wins to lose—and die—in their final match!

Indeed, such instances weren't rare; rather, they happened with surprising frequency...

The fights were far more than just simple life-or-death combat. The arena also needed to generate profit, so like horse races, they organized a betting pool.

You could choose to bet on either fighter you favored. If your chosen fighter emerged victorious, you'd earn a tidy sum.

Of course, if your pick lost, then the money you wagered would be wasted entirely.

The fighters themselves weren't without profit incentives either. The winning fighter would receive 10% of the total bet pool as their prize. As for the loser… well, they wouldn't even have their life, let alone any money. The arena would simply dispose of their remains, no strings attached.

Don't underestimate that 10% cut of the betting pool—it often amounted to a hefty figure. Winning a fight here was enough to make someone a millionaire.

If a fighter could rack up 100 victories and leave the arena alive, their worth would easily surpass several tens of millions.

Of course, the prerequisite was avoiding any fatal injuries. Otherwise, the medical bills alone might bankrupt the lucky victor.

"They're entering the ring, they're entering the ring…"

Just as Kong Er finished his brief introduction, the fighters began their entrance, and soon enough, the seats around the arena were filled with spectators.

Many of them were local tycoons and magnates from Hong Kong Island as well as guests from Macau, neighboring islands, Thailand, Myanmar, and other locations.

Typically, no ordinary person would show up at a venue like this, as entry to these matches required more stringent procedures...

It was precisely because of the influential and super-rich audience—willing to spend lavishly—that the revenue for the fighters and the arena was guaranteed.

If the crowd consisted solely of penny-pinchers or misers reluctant to bet much, the fighters' and arena's income would dwindle, and organizing fights like this would become unviable.

After all, these two fighters were literally risking their lives, and one of them was destined to die in the end. If luck took a cruel turn, both fighters might even perish together...

Training a boxer wasn't easy—especially someone with such extraordinary prowess. Cultivating talent of this caliber wasn't something that could be achieved in a day or two.

It was much like training in martial arts; progressing from groundwork to mastery could often take 10–20 years. Ultimately, it all came to an abrupt and deadly end in a matter of minutes during these fights, wasting years of painstaking effort!

"Let's watch the match, let's watch the match…"

With the fighters stepping into the ring, whether Qu Yuancheng and Kong Er had personal grievances didn't matter anymore—they put that aside and focused entirely on the spectacle ahead.

The African Lion was an exceptionally burly black man, covered head-to-toe in rippling muscles that looked solid as a rock. His every move exuded raw power, making it clear he wasn't someone to be trifled with, radiating an intimidating aura.

His notably powerful arms seemed ready to unleash a terrifying surge of strength at any moment. The force he could deliver was undoubtedly devastating.

Qin Fang had seen some American boxing matches and observed the strength of renowned champions before, but after glancing at the African Lion, he concluded that those champions probably wouldn't last a single punch from this beast.

In contrast to the African Lion's imposing stature and brutal energy, the Nordic Giant appeared much less conspicuous—fair-skinned and seemingly delicate.

True to his "Giant" moniker, his towering height exceeded two meters, and his long, robust arms had their own advantages. Though he didn't possess the same overt strength as the African Lion, he was not someone to underestimate.

The Giant's legs were also impressively thick and lengthy, presenting other significant assets.

Underground black boxing was nothing like traditional boxing matches; here, there weren't even referees—that meant no rules whatsoever.

The sole "rule" was to kill your opponent and walk out of the ring alive… as simple as that.

How you killed your opponent depended entirely on your own skills—whether using fists, feet, teeth… anything within reach could be weaponized.

There was even talk of certain matches where weapons were permitted. Those fights were far more intense and bloody, often ending within mere seconds.

Such matches were thrilling but didn't give audiences enough time to soak in the tension, so they were rarely organized.

As the fighters entered the ring, the small doors on either side were immediately locked. Without the special keys, no one inside could leave.

From the moment these two fighters stepped into this steel cage, only one of them could walk out alive...

"The match officially begins!"

With the announcement, all the spectators took their seats, their eyes glued to the two fighters locked inside the cage as the match commenced.

"Roar~~"

The African Lion let out a thunderous roar, his dark, solid form charging forward like a ferocious bull toward the pale Giant on the opposite side.

"Aha~~"

The Giant was no pushover; he didn't dodge or retreat, boldly choosing to confront the charging Lion head-on. It was hard to tell whether this confidence stemmed from superior skill or sheer disregard for the Lion's potential threat.

"Ahhhh~~~"

As the two clashed inside the cage, the audience outside erupted into cheers, many screaming without reservation as they supported their chosen fighter.

A few women among the audience added salacious screams, as if these two fighters weren't engaged in mortal combat but instead battling them under the sheets...

Bang~~

The first collision between the two fighters happened just like that.

Black and white bodies crashed into each other with a resounding thud, both recoiling rapidly back.

Evenly matched…

Both the African Lion and the Nordic Giant staggered backward more than ten steps before regaining their footing.

Clearly, their initial contact was merely a probing move, carrying little intrinsic meaning. What mattered lay ahead.

A fighter facing an unfamiliar opponent wouldn't recklessly go all-in at the outset—that wouldn't be a wise decision.

If a knockout blow landed, that would be ideal. But if it missed, it could spell serious trouble…

It was always the case—every underground boxing fight pitted unknown opponents against each other. That's because in the Black Fist Arena, losing didn't exist as a concept… Losses equated to death, and dead men couldn't fight again!

(To Be Continued. If you like this work, feel free to visit Qidian (qidian.com) to vote for recommendations and monthly tickets. Your support is my greatest motivation.)

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