Chapter 17: The victor will own everything!

Consciousness felt like sinking into a pitch-black abyss, only to struggle upward again amid violent tinnitus and the aftershocks of explosions.

Lester’s heavy eyelids trembled slightly, the corner of his brow twitching.

Amid the chaotic buzzing, he seemed—in a daze—to hear an exceptionally clear voice.

Bright, anxious, carrying a stubbornness that still hadn’t quite shed its childishness:

“Stand up! Lester! Don’t let a guy like that knock you down!”

Was it Rosie?

Hallucination?

Lester thought for a moment—Rosie would never call him by his full name like that. Definitely a hallucination.

His muddled thoughts turned with difficulty. His eardrums buzzed from the relentless barrage of explosion roars; his vision had been completely robbed by the blinding flash and rising clouds of dust, plunging him into momentary darkness.

To still be hearing things in such a pathetically battered state—how ironic.

He had clearly brought his wife here to watch him look imposing. Now her husband was about to be beaten into a punching bag.

The corner of Lester’s mouth struggled into a pull, forming a bitter, self-mocking curve.

Yet the details of that voice were unnervingly vivid.

He could almost see her—the little figure barely over one meter forty tall—standing in the VIP seats, tiptoeing desperately to get a better view of the arena below. Her small body was stretched taut; she might even have climbed onto the chair.

And that little face that was always puffed up in indignation was probably now staring anxiously at the battle raging in the center of the fighting pit.

Was she really watching?

Watching him in this sorry, humiliated state?

Would Rosie cheer for him?

Just imagining the scene sent a tiny, strange thrill through Lester’s heart.

The little one clenching her small fists, face flushed red, shouting encouragement for him.

A warm current suddenly welled up from deep inside, slowly washing away the searing pain and numbness in his body.

He had brought his wife here to show off his might—yet she hadn’t seen any might at all, only her husband being pinned to the ground and rubbed raw.

If he lost like this…

No!

He absolutely could not fall here!

A fierce will surged through him. He forcibly rallied the last scraps of mana in his body, forcing it to struggle through paralyzed meridians. The stabbing pain made his whole body convulse.

Jet-black dragon scales gleaming with metallic chill instantly pierced through his skin, densely covering every inch of him.

He forcibly turned himself into the hardest shield possible—relying purely on the innate defensive power of dragon scales to withstand the terrifying black flames raining down like a meteor shower.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Each strike landed like a sledgehammer on steel, producing dull, thunderous crashes.

Lester’s body was continuously driven deeper into the pit. His internal organs churned violently; thick, metallic blood surged up his throat.

If only there were a halftime break, Lester thought in despair.

Just give him a little time—enough to dispel this damned paralysis—and he could show that shadowy, hide-and-seek Satan what true despair really felt like.

An absurd, reckless idea suddenly bubbled up:

Since the source of this paralysis was the electric current released by Rosie in her juvenile dragon form clashing with his mana…

Then the one who tied the bell should be the one to untie it. Negative cancels negative, becomes positive…

One more shock—maybe it could break through this cursed restraint?

Haha…

Lester let out a silent, bitter laugh in his heart.

He must have been smashed stupid to even consider such a method.

But no matter what—he had to move.

Gritting his teeth, relying on the dragon clan’s formidable physique and unyielding will, Lester forcibly dragged himself up from the bottom of the scorching, spiderweb-cracked pit.

Every bone in his body groaned. Large patches of his soot-blackened scale armor had shattered, dark red blood seeping through. The situation was utterly disastrous.

He had considered manifesting his full true form—but with his limbs still numb and sluggish, that would only turn him into an enormous, immobile target.

Satan’s trap seemed tailor-made for exactly that.

Thick smoke and dust hung over the pit like dense fog, completely blocking all prying eyes.

Satan had deliberately smashed the pit this deep—his meticulousness was chilling.

The opponent had clearly come prepared. The goal was to isolate the outside world, perhaps even specifically to blind everyone’s view.

In the past, there had been Demon Kings who revealed their true forms during duels and lost control, destroying the entire beast-fighting arena.

Satan choosing to fight inside a pit was certainly… creative.

But every challenger who came here had only one purpose.

Satan’s aim was the throne of Demon King—he would show absolutely no mercy!

Lester held his breath and focused every scrap of perception into a single point—like a hunter lying in wait in the darkness, silently awaiting the instant the opponent’s attack rhythm shifted!

Now—!

While the embers of the final black-flame sphere had not yet dissipated, a black-robed figure appeared at the edge of the smoke like a wraith—silent, looming over the pit, gazing down at Lester.

Satan did not seem surprised at Lester’s stubborn rise; rather, it looked as though he had anticipated it.

He did not rush to launch the next wave of attacks. Instead, he slowly raised one arm hidden beneath the wide black robe.

Under Lester’s suddenly contracted pupils, that hand reached into the robe and drew something out—

“This is—?!”

Lester’s pupils shrank to pinpricks. He stared wide-eyed at the object in Satan’s hand.

At that moment, on the other side of the square—absolute silence reigned.

The prolonged stillness pressed down on the hearts of everyone supporting Lester like a giant boulder.

Unease and worry spread rapidly. Even the magical broadcast commentator fell into awkward silence, unsure how to describe the thick curtain of dust that obscured everything.

Finally, under countless burning gazes, the swirling smoke and dust reluctantly, slowly dispersed—like a dying beast giving its last breath.

The instant the bottom of the pit came into view—

The entire arena fell into an absolute, suffocating hush.

Everyone present widened their eyes in utter disbelief at the sight before them.

The mysterious black-robed challenger—Satan—was floating in midair at the edge of the deep pit.

In one of his hands, he was holding Lester—bloodied and mangled, his breathing so faint it was almost undetectable.

Like displaying a trophy, Satan slowly lifted the dying, unconscious Demon King, exposing that wretched figure to every eye in the arena.

This silent gesture spoke louder than any declaration—

The outcome was already decided!

Lester… had lost?!

Ankira shot up from the sofa in one explosive motion, darting to the floor-to-ceiling window of the VIP room. His hands clamped onto the cold frame with white-knuckled force.

The blood drained from his handsome face. His violet eyes were filled with extreme shock and incomprehension.

“Impossible! This is absolutely impossible!” he cried out.

There had been no earth-shaking battle fluctuations, no world-destroying energy eruptions in the pit—how could Lester have been defeated so completely, so bizarrely?!

Ankira’s mind raced, sharp light flashing in his eyes:

A trap? Magic? Or some hidden weapon?

Satan must have used some forbidden method inside that vision-blocking pit—a demonic artifact or special ability capable of instantly dismantling Lester’s power. Everything had been a meticulously planned ambush.

But in a Demon King challenge, there is no referee—only the iron rule of winner takes all.

Victory is victory. No explanations. No appeals.

The victor claims everything!

What chilled the blood even more was that Satan’s floating posture did not stop.

His other hand—still hidden beneath the black robe—slowly rose. In his palm, an ominous swirl of dark-glowing energy began to condense, aimed directly at the unconscious Lester he held.

He intended to kill the Demon King right here and now!

Before the eyes of the entire watching crowd, he would refine the loser’s flesh and魔核 into the most bloody, most intimidating coronation ceremony for the new king’s ascension.