THE LAST WARRIOR REVENGE

Not a Worthy Opponent

Kirana Dewi raised her voice, her tone echoing powerfully across the arena.

“The warrior who will step forward to face the Red Warrior is none other than Cong Wei of the Water Dragon Sect!” she announced firmly, her words ringing with authority.

The dreadlocked fighter standing nearby smirked, a trace of mockery on his lips.

“Destiny has chosen you, Cong Wei. You were fated to meet him in combat,” he said, directing his words toward the thin, wiry man who bore the name Cong Wei, a disciple of the Water Dragon Sect.

“I fear nothing!” Cong Wei shouted confidently. “You will see soon enough who will be forced to kneel in defeat!”

“Good. At least you’re not trembling in fear already. That way you won’t bring shame upon your grand sect,” the dreadlocked man sneered.

Cong Wei ignored his words. His pride was burning too strongly for him to bother with ridicule. He leapt gracefully onto the stage, his steps light but his gaze sharp.

Across from him, Arga watched in silence. His expression betrayed no emotion; not even the shadow of a smile touched his lips. In contrast, Cong Wei allowed himself a crooked grin, his confidence bordering on arrogance.

“You strut around like a rooster after defeating a few weaklings,” Cong Wei taunted. “But I’ll make you beg for mercy before this crowd!” He then assumed his fighting stance, eyes fixed sharply on Arga.

Arga only cast a brief glance at the stance, unimpressed.

The ringing of the bell signaled the start of the match.

Cong Wei launched forward like a striking viper, his sword flashing from its sheath, its tip aimed directly at Arga’s chest.

Yet Arga stood unmoving, calm as a mountain in the path of the storm. At the very last possible moment—when Cong Wei was certain his blade would pierce its target—Arga shifted. His body slid gracefully to the left, an effortless motion born of instinct and mastery.

Cong Wei’s eyes widened in shock, but he was already too late.

Arga’s right palm struck upward with precision, smashing into Cong Wei’s chin. The thin warrior’s body jolted violently, lifted from the ground, before being slammed mercilessly onto the stage floor.

BAM!

A scream tore from Cong Wei’s throat. Pain seared across his spine, as though his bones had shattered. Even worse, several of his teeth had been knocked loose by that single palm strike.

For several heartbeats, he lay sprawled motionless on the stage, blood pouring freely from his broken mouth.

Arga stepped back, standing tall and composed, while the crowd erupted in cheers, chanting his name.

The dreadlocked warrior curled his lip in disdain at Cong Wei’s earlier bravado.

“What a disgrace. One single slap, and he’s finished.”

Groaning, Cong Wei forced his eyes open. With trembling effort, he retrieved his sword lying nearby. Blood still dripped from his lips as he spat out his fury.

“Damn it… trickery! You deceived my eyes! Curse you!” he shouted, his voice filled with anger and humiliation.

Arga said nothing. He had no interest in trading words with someone he already considered beneath him.

“I’ll kill you!” Cong Wei roared and charged once more. This time he moved cautiously, realizing that Arga could easily read his earlier movements. Summoning his pride, he unleashed his most prized technique, a sword art passed down within the Water Dragon Sect.

But it was useless.

Arga recognized it immediately. Long ago, back in his days training under the Golden Step, he had crossed blades with elite warriors from the same sect. Compared to them, Cong Wei’s display was child’s play—mere flourishes that meant nothing.

Cong Wei’s sword spun with deceptive speed, a pattern meant to confuse an opponent’s eyes. Yet to Arga, it was as transparent as water in sunlight. He responded instinctively.

CRACK!

Arga’s palm slammed once more into Cong Wei’s face, this time harder than before. Blood sprayed as Cong Wei’s nose collapsed under the force.

Gasps filled the audience. Even the elders of the Red Toad Sect seated in the high pavilion leaned forward, astonished.

“What terrifying talent,” murmured one elder. “I know the sword techniques of the Water Dragon Sect—complex, fluid, and nearly impossible to break. Yet this young man dismantled it with a single glance, delivering his strike with ruthless precision. Such a monstrous prodigy…”

In another corner, Marga clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“It seems no one can stop him. These worthless warriors are nothing but flies in his eyes. Damn it!” His hatred blazed hotter with every passing second.

Cong Wei lay crumpled on the floor, his injuries far worse this time. His head spun, vision blurring from the devastating blows he had endured.

“Damn youuuu!” he screamed, his voice cracking under frustration. None of his strikes had even grazed Arga. Every attempt had ended with his own blood spilling.

Still, pride kept him from surrender. His honor as a representative of the Water Dragon Sect was on the line.

“I carry the name of the Water Dragon… I cannot lose so easily!” he muttered, staggering to his feet once more.

Arga’s eyes narrowed, sharp as blades. This time, his fists clenched tightly. Before, he had only used his palm strikes to silence Cong Wei’s arrogant mouth. Now, he would end it properly—with the fists that had shattered great stones during years of brutal training alongside Elder Barata.

Cong Wei screamed, his voice raw, as he charged recklessly. His sword swung down in a wild arc, fast but utterly predictable.

Arga surged forward, slipping beneath the strike with blinding speed. In a single seamless motion, he appeared directly in front of Cong Wei—so fast that Cong Wei barely realized what had happened.

Then, with the power of a mountain collapsing, Arga drove his fist into Cong Wei’s abdomen.

BOOOM!

The strike blasted Cong Wei off his feet. His frail body hurtled across the arena before crashing violently outside its boundary.

When he landed on the hard ground below, his body convulsed. The internal damage was catastrophic—his life was beyond saving.

For a long moment, silence ruled the arena. Every eye was fixed on Arga, the young warrior who had felled his opponent with such speed and ferocity that even the elders had struggled to follow the movement.

“What was that strike just now? Even my eyes failed to catch his motion…” one elder of the Red Toad Sect whispered in awe.

The Water Dragon Sect disciples, witnessing the death of their comrade, erupted in fury. They surged forward toward the stage, intent on avenging Cong Wei.

But the senior warriors of the Red Toad Sect blocked their path.

“This was a fair duel! What are you doing, trying to interfere?” one elder scolded sharply.

“He killed our representative! Do you expect us to stand idle?” one of the senior Water Dragon warriors shouted back, his voice brimming with rage.

Arga turned, smirking coldly, and walked away from them without a care.

The chaos on stage only humiliated the Water Dragon Sect further. They should have known better than to break the sacred rule of the arena. By interfering, they brought dishonor upon themselves.

Eventually, after tense negotiations, the Water Dragon warriors retreated, forced to swallow their loss and accept Cong Wei’s fate.

One of the Red Toad seniors approached Kirana Dewi, whispering in her ear. The young woman nodded, then descended gracefully from the pavilion to approach Arga.

“Warrior,” she said softly, her cheeks tinged with red, “would you be willing to continue fighting and defend your victory in the next round? According to the proposal from our leader, as long as you keep winning, you will keep advancing. What do you think of this arrangement?”

Her voice carried both shyness and admiration—clearly, she had already been captivated by the gallant figure standing before her.

Arga looked at her briefly, his gaze sharp and unreadable.

“The rules of this sect seem to change whenever it pleases, especially in official matches like this. That is why you have never been able to rise to the highest ranks,” Arga replied coldly, his words striking Kirana like a harsh slap. Her face flushed with embarrassment.

“But very well,” Arga continued calmly. “I will play by the rules of your sect. Tell me—who will be my next opponent?”