Chapter 103: Arrogance

Since Yang Fan was so confident, Elder Han and Chen Yanggong both felt a surge of anticipation. If they could clinch first place at this International Martial Artists Competition, the Yanhuang nation would finally hold its head high. In recent years, Yanhuang had failed to produce any promising talents; every time they participated in the competition, they lost and endured much ridicule, leaving their people feeling disheartened.

Wang Gang was excited, his eyes scanning the arena, eager to size up the martial artists from various countries. This year, many overseas nations had sent representatives to compete.

After a while, the host stepped onto the stage and announced the start of the matches.

The competition was straightforward: martial artists from different countries would step forward to accept challenges or issue them. In the end, whoever remained standing on the platform would be declared the winner.

The first to step forward was a young man from the Fusang Kingdom named Heishan Heben, who looked to be around twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old. He climbed onto the platform with a smug expression, eyes sweeping arrogantly over the crowd, a disdainful smirk curling his lips.

"Damn, this guy is so cocky before even starting the fight. Doesn't he fear getting beaten black and blue?" muttered many of the onlookers around.

Heishan Heben’s arrogant demeanor drew widespread disapproval among the spectators. "Heh, people from Fusang have always been arrogant, never considering others worthy of respect. In their minds, only Fusang citizens are supreme," one grumbled.

"Damn it, I hope Yanhuang sends out a formidable fighter to crush that bastard," another hoped.

"Hush, hush, we've been losing for years now. I don't know if we stand a chance this time," someone cautioned quietly.

Apart from the martial artists representing their countries, the majority of the spectators were from Yanhuang. Seeing the Fusang fighter’s arrogance, their irritation simmered. Having beaten Yanhuang fighters a few times, the Fusang people looked down on them with contempt, fueling a palpable sense of hostility among the Yanhuang audience.

Heishan Heben smiled confidently and called out, "Fusang’s Heishan Heben. Anyone brave enough to step up and test their skills? Don’t worry, I won’t hit too hard."

As soon as his words echoed, the audience erupted in jeers.

Damn, already so sure of victory before the fight even began!

Many spectators felt an urge to jump up and punch him.

“I’ll go,” a young man stepped forward.

This was Jackson, a martial artist from the United States of America. Towering and muscular, standing about 1.9 meters tall, he exuded the imposing presence of a giant, radiating an overwhelming sense of pressure.

“Jackson,” he said, bowing respectfully to Heishan Heben before stating his name.

“Let’s get this over with. No need for chit-chat,” Heishan Heben waved dismissively, completely indifferent.

Jackson’s expression darkened at the blatant disdain in his opponent’s eyes, and he immediately launched his attack.

His massive frame moved across the platform like a miniature mountain. The arena trembled under the force, as if it might shatter.

Any ordinary person would surely be crushed by Jackson’s blows.

Yet Heishan Heben showed no sign of panic; instead, his scorn deepened.

He emitted a powerful aura and met Jackson’s attack head-on.

Their fists collided with the force of two titans clashing.

Jackson smirked disdainfully upon seeing Heishan Heben willing to match his strength.

But when their fists met, his expression quickly shifted.

“Bang!”

The impact rang out like a drumbeat.

Jackson’s face contorted in pain, and his sturdy body staggered backward rapidly.

He felt as though his fist might shatter.

Seizing the moment, Heishan Heben surged forward with another punch, his momentum overwhelming.

Jackson had no time to defend and was struck, collapsing onto the platform—defeated.

After dispatching his opponent, Heishan Heben stood proudly on the platform, a triumphant smile on his face.

“Damn, the Americans look tough but are useless. Getting knocked down so easily is disappointing,” many spectators muttered, disheartened to see their countryman fall so quickly.

They had hoped to witness Heishan Heben humiliated.

“See that? Heishan Heben wins again. He easily defeated the American fighter. He is the pride of Fusang. Such strength! Keep it up!” a Fusang commentator shouted excitedly near the platform.

He broadcasted the live feed to his countrymen.

Heishan Heben naturally made sure to pose for the camera, radiating supreme confidence.

The American martial artists scowled, itching to shove the commentator to the ground and stomp on him.

Fusang spectators watching online erupted with excitement as their countryman claimed an effortless victory.

“Heishan Heben is mighty! Smash those American fighters! Hahaha!”

“Heishan Heben, you’re my idol!”

“Haha, and those Yanhuang losers? They need to be humiliated so badly they don’t even recognize themselves!”

The Fusang crowd was ecstatic, convinced their warrior was the best in the world.

Some viewers in Fusang watching the live broadcast grew impatient with the boastfulness.

One Yanhuang spectator fired a barrage of comments: “You trash! Our great Yanhuang is no match for your Fusang!”

That comment was immediately attacked with a deluge of mocking responses.

Soon, the live stream was flooded with insults like “Yanhuang fighters are trash.”

Every International Martial Artists Competition was not only about the fights but also about the verbal battles waged by online fans from each country.

“I heard Yanhuang has some strong warriors. I hope someone steps up to give me a worthy opponent. Don’t disappoint me,” Heishan Heben sneered, his gaze fixed challengingly on the Yanhuang side.

“Master, let me go up and knock him down,” Wang Gang’s fingers twitched, eager to teach Heishan Heben a lesson.

“Wait. Let others try first. If they fail, then you go. You’re the finale,” Yang Fan said calmly.

Reluctantly, Wang Gang held back.

Elder Han’s eyes rested on Wang Gang, curiosity flickering within. He hadn’t expected that such a young man, around twenty-five or twenty-six, would be Yang Fan’s disciple. He looked forward to Wang Gang’s performance.

“I’ll take you on,” a young Yanhuang martial artist stepped forward.

Chen Yanggong recognized him immediately: “This young man is Liu Jun, twenty-seven years old, from the Tianhe Martial Hall. He possesses mid-stage postnatal strength and is among the more talented in the younger generation.”

“Indeed. To have mid-stage postnatal strength at twenty-seven is impressive,” Elder Han nodded approvingly.

Hearing that Liu Jun only had mid-stage postnatal strength, Wang Gang doubted he could stand against Heishan Heben.

“Heh, I like fighting Yanhuang warriors. It’s fun to crush them,” Heishan Heben chuckled, eyes glinting with mockery.

Feeling belittled, Liu Jun’s expression darkened, anger burning in his heart.