THE LAST WARRIOR REVENGE

The Dark Horse

Finally, the long-awaited day arrived. Arga packed his belongings with care and set out toward the grand fighting arena of the Red Frog Sect.

When he reached the sect’s training grounds, thousands of visitors had already gathered, eager to watch their champions fight for honor and prestige. The air was thick with excitement, and the sound of voices blended into a constant roar that shook the ground.

From every corner of the land, low-ranked warriors had come—not just to compete, but also to witness the spectacle of the legendary contest that only occurred once every five years. This event was more than a tournament; it was a festival where the strong rose to fame and the weak vanished into obscurity.

For a brief moment, Arga chose to sit quietly in the audience seats, blending in with the restless crowd. From where he sat, he could see a special platform above the arena where the elders of the sect were already seated. These men were regarded as the most influential figures of the Red Frog Sect, and their presence alone commanded respect.

Suddenly, a beautiful young woman stepped onto the stage. Her entrance drew every eye in the arena. She was breathtaking, dressed in revealing garments that accentuated her charms, and the way she carried herself instantly stirred the audience into a frenzy.

The spectators whistled and cheered wildly, shouting her name and praising her beauty. In response, the girl winked mischievously and stuck out her tongue, which only made the men roar louder, their voices rumbling like thunder across the sect’s courtyard.

Arga shook his head, covering part of his face with his palm.

“What a strange girl,” he thought silently.

The young woman picked up a voice amplifier and raised her clear, sweet voice.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Today marks the grand return of our five-yearly tournament, held with great pride in the grounds of our Red Frog Sect!”

Her announcement was met with even louder cheers. The atmosphere was electric, and the entire place trembled with excitement.

“Before we begin the main event,” the girl continued with a dazzling smile, “allow me to introduce myself. My name is Kirana Dewi, but you may call me Princess Kirana! I am none other than the daughter of the leader of our powerful Red Frog Sect!”

As her words rang out, the arena erupted into yet another storm of applause. Her declaration filled the audience with admiration, and they shouted her name with renewed passion.

Arga’s gaze sharpened as he studied her carefully.

“So she is the daughter of the sect leader? Interesting,” he thought, his eyes locked on her with silent curiosity.

Kirana raised her hand for silence. “In this tournament, we have many new challengers from all across the land. To speed up the selection process, all participants holding a registration slip, please step onto the stage!”

After giving her instruction, Kirana ascended to her own special podium where she could oversee the arena and observe the participants.

Arga rose calmly from his seat. With unhurried steps, he strode toward the wide combat platform where the other contestants were already gathering. Soon, the stage was filled with a sea of eager warriors, each with fire in their eyes.

“Listen well!” Kirana announced. “For this preliminary round, everyone standing on the stage is your enemy! Whoever is thrown out of the arena will be declared defeated. Only twenty participants will remain and move on to the official tournament!”

There were more than a hundred contestants on stage, all glaring at one another with suspicion. Arga smiled faintly.

“Hey, maybe we should be friends instead of enemies?” one man suggested as he approached Arga.

Arga didn’t bother replying. He seized the man’s head and slammed it brutally against his own knee.

Crack!

The skull shattered instantly, blood and brain matter spilling out as the man collapsed lifelessly to the ground.

Gasps of horror swept through the stage. The gruesome sound of breaking bone silenced everyone. The corpse lay sprawled in a pool of blood, streams of red dripping from the broken skull and nose.

Terrified, the other participants instinctively stepped back, leaving Arga alone at the edge of the arena.

From the stands, the audience erupted in awe. Cheers filled the air, and they began calling Arga by a new name: The Red Warrior—a title inspired by his crimson clothes and his striking red headband.

Among the contestants, whispers spread quickly.

“I heard rumors… that some time ago the Mad Seven Bulls were beaten to a pulp by a mysterious stranger. Could this be him?” one murmured, cold sweat dripping down his face.

“It must be. The description matches. That man who caused an uproar—it has to be this youth,” another replied grimly.

In the spectators’ section reserved for leaders, Marga—his face filled with envy and fear—leaned closer to one of the sect elders and whispered.

“It’s true,” Marga insisted. “This is the one who injured me back then. He’s dangerous. We should eliminate him before he becomes a threat.”

The elder chuckled. “Do not be foolish, Marga. This boy cannot endanger a sect as large as ours. You are overreacting.”

“But—” Marga tried to argue, only to fall silent when the elder raised his hand.

“Enough talk. This is a tournament. Killing him here, before all these witnesses, would bring shame to our sect. Do you want the world to see us as cowards afraid of a single youth? Use your head, Marga!”

Humiliated, Marga lowered his gaze, unable to say another word. Inside, he cursed Arga and waited for the chance that another warrior might take him down.

That chance came quickly. Kirana’s voice rang out across the arena once more.

“For those who feel outmatched, remember this: alliances are permitted. You may join forces if you fear a stronger opponent!”

Instantly, the majority of the participants rallied together, all directing their hostility toward Arga. Smiling maliciously, Marga thought, This time you’re finished.

“Ridiculous sect!” Arga muttered in annoyance. He no longer wished to play games. As the mob surged at him, he struck back with blinding speed.

One punch—one man down. Another strike—another collapsed. In moments, Arga was tearing through the horde, his movements sharp and efficient, his fists like iron.

The crowd was spellbound.

“Unbelievable! One man against more than a hundred!”

“No, what’s unbelievable is the sect’s rules! That young man must think this is unfair!”

“Yet look at him! He’s already defeated half of them!”

The audience’s cheers turned into chants of support.

Soon, the stage was covered in groaning bodies, forming a heap of defeated warriors. Only a handful still stood against Arga, and even they faltered. They were mere common fighters with no real skill.

But to Arga’s surprise, nineteen contestants remained completely still, refusing to attack blindly like the others. Their eyes were sharper, their stance calmer.

“Incredible,” one of them, a skinny man with a sharp face, muttered. “This year’s dark horse has emerged. A hundred men felled in just seconds.”

Arga ignored him, stepping down from the pile of unconscious opponents.

“So arrogant,” the skinny man muttered again, frowning.

“Don’t underestimate him,” another spoke up. This one had long dreadlocks and skin as dark as midnight. “He hasn’t even revealed his true strength yet.”

The skinny man turned sharply. “How do you know that?”

The dreadlocked warrior grinned, revealing yellowed teeth. “Just a guess,” he said cryptically, which only made the skinny man scowl harder.

At last, Kirana raised her hand again. “The selection round is over! We now have our twenty official contestants!”

Her voice rang with authority as she explained, “The matches will be divided into two sessions. The first session will take place today with five battles, and the second tomorrow with another five. Because one contestant has clearly stood out, becoming the shining star and the true dark horse of this tournament, he will be granted a special privilege! He may freely choose his first opponent!”

The crowd roared with excitement, chanting Arga’s new title: The Dark Horse.

Arga was handed the chance to select his opponent. The nineteen remaining fighters grew tense, each silently praying not to be chosen.

“Please, young master, draw a token from this box. Each token bears the name of one contestant,” Kirana said as she approached Arga, her eyes fixed on him with fascination.

Arga reached in and pulled out a token at random, completely indifferent. To him, it made no difference who his opponent was; he would defeat them all the same.

Kirana, standing close, couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was, how calm his expression remained. Most men would have stolen glances at her figure, but this young warrior didn’t even blink. His icy composure only deepened her curiosity.

Arga handed her the token.

Kirana lifted it high. “Our Dark Horse, with the spirit of a true warrior, has chosen not to select his opponent directly but to draw at random. And the name written on this token will be… his first challenger!”

The entire arena held its breath, waiting for the name of the one who would face the young man who had single-handedly crushed over a hundred fighters with his bare hands.

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