CHAPTER 109: A PROMISE WORTH BREAKING

Chapter 109

Somewhere in the Gold Portal Zone...

Two groups clashed in a brutal, high-stakes battle.

On one side were warriors clad in white and black martial attire—their movements sharp, disciplined, and precise. They were martial artists. On the other side stood members of the infamous Phantom Guild, easily identified by their sleek black-and-white combat uniforms. Despite the Awakeners being known as superior combatants, the odds here weren’t entirely one-sided—ten martial artists against eight guild members.

Still, Awakeners were typically favored in such battles. Their inherent strength, enhanced physicality, and diverse abilities made them apex predators on the battlefield. But this fight was different.

The martial artists were holding their ground—and more. Every strike they delivered carried honed precision, and every evasion was like a dance choreographed through years of relentless training. Watching from the sidelines, even a neutral observer would’ve had to admit: these martial artists weren’t ordinary. They were exceptional.

But one man stood out more than the rest.

Amid the chaos, a figure in his late twenties moved with a tranquil intensity. His movements were minimal, efficient—deadly. While others struggled with single opponents, he took on three Awakeners at once and still looked unshaken. His obsidian hair was slicked back, his expression calm and unreadable.

Dave.

Jay’s right-hand man.

To the untrained eye, Dave looked like an Awakened himself. His speed was blinding. His strength was unnatural. His control was surgical. Every block he made deflected with perfect timing. Every strike he threw landed with purpose. His body swayed with balance, footwork pivoting effortlessly between attack and defense.

It wasn’t luck—he was using special Qi-based enhancements, unique techniques only known to a few elite martial sects. But to the Awakeners he fought, it seemed like sorcery.

With a twist of his torso and a sudden burst of internal Qi, Dave spun and landed a precise strike to the temple of one opponent—knocking them out cold. The other two, seeing their comrade fall, grew desperate. They surged at him with renewed aggression, launching attacks meant to overwhelm. Lightning arcs and wind slashes filled the air—but Dave was already gone, weaving through their blows like smoke.

He parried, countered, and retaliated. Every move was a statement.

He was no ordinary fighter.

---

After minutes of violent exchange, both sides finally backed away, panting heavily.

Dave glanced at his comrades. Sweat dripped from their brows, and fatigue clung to their shoulders. They were spent. Unlike Dave and Jay, whose Qi reserves were deeper and more refined, these martial artists were only beginning to tap into their inner strength—and it was clear they couldn’t sustain this pace.

They won’t last another round, Dave thought grimly. Not like this.

Just as he was contemplating how to end the conflict peacefully, the leader of the Phantom squad stepped forward. He was tall, battle-worn, but wore a smile of genuine respect.

"Let’s end it here," the man said. "If fate allows, we’ll meet again—and next time, we’ll finish this."

Dave gave a silent nod. That was the best outcome he could’ve hoped for.

But peace was never meant to last.

Just as both groups began retreating, a cold, flat voice cut through the air like a blade.

"Well, well, well... more unfortunate insects."

The tone was emotionless—soulless. Both groups turned sharply toward the sound.

Two figures stood at the edge of the field. A short-haired young man. A short-haired young girl. Both dressed in black, both with matching jet-black hair, and both with the same eerie, blank expressions on their faces.

The Smashers.

Dave’s heart sank.

The duo were infamous—the elite enforcers of Buster, known not for saving lives, but for leaving a wake of destruction. They were said to be ’helpful,’ but every mission they took on ended in disaster. Their excuse? "We don’t know when to hold back." But everyone knew better. They just didn’t care.

Dave narrowed his eyes. "Of all people..."

"Kalen," the boy said, his tone still devoid of emotion. "Leave them to me."

"Of course, Argon," the girl replied, stepping back casually as if this wasn’t worth her time.

Dave’s expression hardened. His brows furrowed deeply as he looks at Argon.

Argon crouched slightly, and in a flash—he moved.

Like a bullet leaving the barrel.

"Everyone, be careful!" Dave shouted instinctively—but it was already too late.

Argon appeared beside one of the Phantom Guild’s awakeners. Without hesitation, he drove his fist into the man’s ribs with a sickening crunch, shattering bone on impact. The man let out a bloodcurdling scream—only to be silenced mid-cry as Argon lifted him by the face and slammed him into the ground with thunderous force. Dust exploded outward. The ground cracked like glass beneath the blow.

Gasps echoed from both sides.

Awakeners and martial artists alike snapped into action, rushing forward with desperate synergy. They knew what they faced. Fighting Argon alone meant certain misery. Together—they might stand a chance.

Argon’s expression didn’t change.

No arrogance. No excitement. Just cold indifference.

And then he charged. Right into the heart of their formation.

The battle exploded into motion.

Flashes of energy erupted. Fists flew. Swords slashed. Qi burst like rippling shockwaves. But Argon was a monster. His body moved with brutal precision, shrugging off attacks like an unstoppable juggernaut. Every time a fist neared him, he repelled it with a subtle motion or let it crash harmlessly against his unnaturally hardened skin. Blades skidded off him. Energy blasts dispersed like mist upon contact.

He didn’t just fight—he dominated.

Martial artists had their joints dislocated mid-combat. A leg twisted in the wrong direction. An arm snapped in two. Bones cracked audibly as Argon’s strikes landed, one after another. The Awakeners fared no better. Their energy reserves, already waning from the prior battle, left them vulnerable.

They were exhausted. Both sides had been fighting for nearly an hour.

The martial artists, running on the last traces of Qi, could barely keep up. And without Qi, they were barely stronger than civilians.

The awakeners felt it too—the fading warmth in their energy cores, their power slipping away.

Still, they fought.

And in that sea of chaos, two men stood defiant.

Dave, blood dripping from a cut over his brow, body steady like a coiled blade.

And beside him, the Phantom hero leader, equally battered but eyes still sharp.

Together, they moved.

Dave launched forward, spinning with a series of complex martial arts maneuvers. His arms glowed faintly as he infused the last of his Qi into a devastating sequence. One palm strike, two elbow jabs, a rising knee—

CRACK!

Argon stumbled slightly as Dave’s final hit landed cleanly in his gut, forcing him to slide back a step. For the first time—he looked... mildly surprised.

That split-second was all the hero leader needed.

He appeared behind Argon, unleashing a devastating energy punch that caught Argon in the jaw, snapping his head sideways. Blood sprayed from his mouth.

The battlefield froze for a second.

They hurt him.

But instead of retreating, Argon’s body tensed. His muscles bulged grotesquely beneath his skin. His veins darkened like coiling serpents. And with a roarless, expressionless explosion of speed, he surged forward, fists flying in a whirlwind of destruction.

The two warriors fought back with all they had—but it wasn’t enough.

The hero leader was the first to fall. Argon lifted him effortlessly by the chest and hurled him through a half-demolished structure. Bricks collapsed, and blood splattered across the rubble as his body hit the wall like a wrecking ball. He didn’t get back up.

Dave remained—barely.

Breathing heavily. Knees shaking. His body was wrecked. One eye swollen shut. His shoulder dislocated. Bone protruding from his forearm. Blood stained every inch of his clothing.

He was on his knees.

Defeated.

But even now, he stared at Argon with defiance in his eyes.

They had surrendered long ago—not with words, but with their bodies.

Crushed. Broken. Defeated.

Their Shards had been tossed aside like shattered glass, a symbol of their total submission.

Yet the monster showed no mercy.

Argon stood amidst the wreckage of men, unmoved and unfazed. His expression remained as blank as ever, like a machine built solely for destruction. Slowly, methodically, he began gathering energy into his fist—an eerie hum filling the air as sparks crackled and swirled around him. His lifeless gaze locked onto one final target:

Dave.

Dave stared up at him, battered and bloodied, barely able to breathe. He knew—if that punch landed, he would die.

No strength left. No miracle coming. This is the end, he thought grimly.

He lowered his head.

"I’m sorry, Jay... looks like I’ll be going first," he whispered, closing his eyes.

And then—

BOOM.

A thunderclap tore through the battlefield.

A shockwave rippled outward, throwing debris in all directions.

Dave’s eyes shot open.

He was... alive?

Confused, trembling, he slowly looked up—and his vision blurred with tears.

Standing in front of him, one hand extended, holding back Argon’s fist effortlessly with an open palm—

—was Jay.

His long black hair danced in the wind, his back straight, calm fury radiating off him like heat from a dying star.

Jay didn’t speak for a moment. He simply tilted his head, eyes narrowed. And then—without a sound—he moved.

WHAM.

His fist shot forward and crashed into Argon’s jaw with brutal precision.

The sound of impact was like a thunderbolt. Argon’s massive frame was lifted clean off the ground and sent flying backward, his feet tearing into the earth as he soared several meters through the air before slamming into the dirt beside Kalen.

Kalen’s eyes widened.

To see Argon—the Argon—thrown like a ragdoll?

That was no ordinary punch.

That... was power.

"Are you okay?" Jay asked, turning around slowly until his eyes finally landed on Dave.

And he froze.

He hadn’t seen it before—not really. In the chaos of interception, he had only noticed Dave on his knees. But now—

Now he saw it all.

The blood. The broken bones. The bruises. The pain etched into every face of the fallen disciples.

And Dave, his best friend... still smiling through the agony.

Jay’s fingers twitched.

Then curled into trembling fists.

A cold fury began to seep into his expression. Not wild, not screaming—calm. Controlled. Dangerous.

He turned back toward Argon, his voice low, but every word carrying the weight of mountains.

"I promised..." Jay said, his tone almost gentle. "I promised I wouldn’t kill anyone during this tournament."

His eyes locked on Argon with silent fury.

"But it seems I’ll have to break that promise."

To be continued...

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