Returning to the Mysterious Era

"Not to mention the Golden Leaf Hall they reserved, the city-wide banners, and the street cleaning and restoration. This must have cost at least tens of millions."

The man shook his head, marveling not only at Evil Eye Fist's wealth but also at their vast network. As the deputy chief of the Mia City police department, he understood well how deeply Evil Eye Fist's influence extended throughout Wenxia County. Even local officials and the police had to cooperate to ensure the tournament's success.

After decades of growth, Evil Eye Fist had long become a formidable force in Wenxia County. It was difficult to imagine any power daring to oppose them there.

Suddenly, footsteps echoed from the staircase behind him. A young officer quickly approached.

"Deputy Chief Marco, the police department's Special Operations Team has mobilized and started taking over the officers stationed around the cordoned area," the officer said, clearly out of breath from running.

"Special Operations Team? Aren't they specifically for handling..." The middle-aged man's words trailed off as he murmured, "Who authorized the Special Operations Team to be here? Technically, in the department, only..."

"It was me."

A deep, resonant voice came from behind the winded officer.

A tall man in a higher-ranking uniform, with gold-rimmed glasses, stepped forward.

"Chief Reuben!" The young officer turned, recognizing him instantly.

This was Reuben, the chief of the Mia City police department and Deputy Chief Marco's superior.

"Marco, I'm taking over the arrangements here, and the Special Operations Team will assist accordingly. From this point on, both of you will stay by my side." Chief Reuben's sharp gaze swept over them.

"And... what about Evil Eye Fist?" Marco sensed something unusual, as if the sudden change and the presence of the Special Operations Team were signs of something greater.

"Evil Eye Fist?" Chief Reuben smiled slightly. "They're not our concern. We just need to do our job. From this morning until the tournament concludes, whatever happens at Black Pupil Tower, stay by the cordoned area and do not intervene."

"But..." Marco seemed to want to ask more.

Chief Reuben raised a hand, cutting him off. "Our job is to be in the right place at the right time to clean things up."

"Understood?"

Meeting Reuben's stern, commanding gaze, Marco nodded silently. "Understood..."

This was merely a minor episode on the first day of the Eastern Martial Arts Exchange Tournament. Unseen currents were already converging from all sides, weaving an invisible web, waiting for unwary prey to fly into its trap.

On the first day of the tournament, in the hall of Black Pupil Tower.

The first, second, and third floors had undergone extensive renovations, opening up the levels to create a ring-shaped layout. Even from the second and third floors, spectators could look down and see the ring on the first floor, and perhaps even more clearly.

On the first floor, four circular rings were set up. Although similar to boxing rings, these were specially designed by Evil Eye Fist for the tournament: they were larger in diameter and made of more durable materials. A custom rubber layer covered the concrete underneath, reinforced with steel.

The rings were surrounded by protective nets made from steel-alloy wire, with support pillars as thick as a grown man's thigh. This wasn't a normal tournament; it was an event for the Covert Martial Arts world. Compared to regular boxers, any participant here could be considered a monster, and pugilists who had broken through human limits were not uncommon.

When their blood flow accelerated, their strength and speed surged, and combined with their explosive secret techniques, it was not unheard of for one kick to crack concrete or a punch to bend iron pillars. In fact, such feats were highly likely.

The durability and security of these four rings were at least ten times that of standard boxing rings. Even so, after a full day of fighting, they would likely need overnight repairs.

Around the rings were seating areas for the different sects. The seating arrangement was similar to the setup at the opening ceremony, resembling a café-style layout.

Each section was semi-enclosed by yellow wooden panels, creating a semi-private space. Each sect had its own area with U-shaped seating, resembling a lounge where one might entertain guests. A table was set in the middle for fruits, snacks, and tea.

The wooden partitions weren't particularly tall; even while seated, spectators could see the shoulders and above of those from other sects. The distance from the rings, ranging from five to fifteen meters, was ideal for covert martial artists to observe the action closely.

Pathways between the sections allowed for easy movement for service staff. Evil Eye Fist had indeed gone to great lengths to ensure a well-organized and hospitable setup.

Ring Number One, Cloud Dog Fist's base—silence pervaded the area.

The match hadn't officially begun yet, but looking around, a dense crowd of heads could be seen bobbing everywhere. Most of them were disciples and core disciples of various sects, so the faces were largely those of young men.

For most, it was their first time participating in the Martial Arts Exchange Tournament, and, being impatient by nature, they could hardly contain themselves. The chatter was constant, filling the entire first floor with a buzz like a bustling marketplace.

Except for the Cloud Dog Fist section.

Around ten disciples sat in utter silence, even the instructors were unusually reserved. At the center sat a young man with black hair, taking long, deep drags on his cigarette, exhaling clouds of smoke with a blank expression. He was in a foul mood—maybe extremely so. His intense aura was pouring out, affecting those around him.

"Simone, what's wrong? You left the training hall this morning, and since you came back, you've been in a bad mood. The tournament is about to start; get yourself together. And rein in that aura; you're scaring your junior brothers and sisters..."

An elderly man with graying hair walked over from the second-floor area where elders from different sects sat. Clearly, he'd noticed the unusual atmosphere at Cloud Dog Fist's base and realized Simone was the cause.

“I know, Uncle Fes...“

Simone took one last deep drag, then slowly extinguished the still-burning cigarette in a metal ashtray.

"Watch yourself..."

The old man opened his mouth as if he wanted to take Simone aside for a talk, but with the tournament about to start, this was hardly the time. He suspected Simone's mood swings were due to his inability to break through to the combat artist level, though who knew what else had rattled him earlier. Maybe tonight over dinner, they could discuss it.

He turned and returned to the second-floor viewing area.

Standing in place, Simone lowered his gaze, a hint of gloom flickering in his eyes. The price to break through to the combat artist level with the help of the Golem Sect wasn't simple. That combat artist-level brat had approached him this morning, explaining part of the plan and the role he was supposed to play—a public betrayal of his own sect. While Simone didn't care much about his reputation, he didn't want his betrayal to be so brazen. He would have preferred to disappear quietly.

Even though Amos had promised him another dose of Cassius' life-vibration energy, Simone wasn't thrilled.

But, as the saying went, he was forced by circumstance.

Even if he didn't want to do it, Simone had to.

He even thought at one point that he might have been better off joining original Gate organization. But Amos, as if reading Simone's thoughts, had immediately pointed out the shortcomings of the Gate organization's methods. Simone had spoken with Eye Devil, and the Gate organization's approach was to get him a Gate Fragment, allowing him to attempt the breakthrough. At the moment of becoming a combat artist, he would perform the Gate-opening ritual, opening his physical body's gate, and then endure the collapse that followed.

According to Amos, this method merely treated the symptoms, not the root problem.

Sure, he could withstand his body's breakdown, but the issue of his spinal curvature would remain, as would the pain from explosive combat. The harder he fought, the faster he'd collapse, and he'd be right back where he started. Unless he performed the physical Gate-opening ritual repeatedly.

But the timing for Gate Fragments wasn't consistent, sometimes long, sometimes short. And if the intervals stretched too long, he'd simply have to wait for his body to collapse again. The Gate organization's so-called solution was just a means of strengthening his physique to withstand it. Eventually, he'd reach a breaking point.

Even his back pain and the side effects—like being unable to fight at full strength frequently—would remain. The Golem Sect's solution was entirely different, addressing the root cause with a surgical procedure, a bloody, grueling operation to forcefully straighten his spine bit by bit.

The surgeon was Cassius, aided by a team of top doctors. If luck was on his side, it would only take a few hours; if not, a few days. Lucky ones would only need one or two procedures, while the less fortunate could require hundreds. Still, Simone wouldn't need to worry about dying, as Cassius could keep him alive even with the slightest breath remaining. Full anesthesia would be used, with no recovery period afterward. When he woke up, he'd find himself with a healthy body.

Simone accepted the order, but it didn't mean he was happy about it, nor that he wasn't angry.

“I should have known from the first time I met that arrogant brat in Saka Park. He was clearly no good!“

“The sect master agreed to this plan, probably under his influence. Otherwise, with the sect master's regard for me, he wouldn't ask me to do something so embarrassing, something that would damage my reputation!“ Simone recalled the scene of Cassius reaching out to him under the moonlight, cheerfully inviting him to join his ranks.

Confident and forthright, the sect master definitely admired him!

But then he remembered that ugly look on Amos' face that morning, hidden behind his glasses. What was the point of that glare on his lenses—was he trying to cover those shifty eyes entirely?

If he hadn't been so much weaker than Amos, Simone would have flipped out already. At the very least, he would have thrown a few words back.

Ding, ding, ding...

The clear sound of the bell echoed in the first-floor hall.

Immediately, the noisy venue quieted down.

It was nine o'clock; the tournament was starting.

On each of the four rings, a referee appeared, glancing around before pulling out a portion of the match list.

In Ring One, a referee with a goatee announced loudly, “The Eastern Martial Arts Exchange Tournament is now officially starting. For the first match in Ring One, it's Cloud Dog Fist versus Crescent Moon Fist Hall.“

“The format is a knockout battle until one side is entirely defeated.“

“Participants have one minute to prepare. All fighters are to gather in the ring after one minute,“ the goateed referee declared, moving to a corner of the ring.

“It's finally starting! I'm up first,“ said a young man with a slightly boyish face, excitement flashing across his features. He took a deep breath and was about to stand up.

A strong hand suddenly pushed him back into his seat.

“Otto, your senior brother is in a bad mood today. I need to vent a bit. Leave everyone from Crescent Moon Fist Hall to me...“

The boy looked up to see Simone's sharp, stern profile. Simone tore off his jacket, revealing the plain white combat attire beneath, and began walking steadily toward Ring One, leaving only his back visible as he moved forward.