Chapter 462

The drunkard torso twisted sideways, the punch grazing cloth instead of flesh. His foot pivoted awkwardly, momentum collapsing, then rebounding as he slid into a new angle, already attacking from the side Ludger had just vacated.

Normally, Ludger would disengage. This time, he didn’t. He saw the blow coming. Calculated the impact. And chose not to avoid it.

The drunkard’s strike crashed into his guard, force ripping through Ludger’s arm and into his shoulder, but Ludger was already moving through it. He stepped

into

the hit, not away, letting the impact carry him forward as his own fist drove in at the same time.

Bone met bone. Both attacks landed. The sound echoed, dull, heavy, unmistakable.

Pain flared up Ludger’s arm as his knuckles buried themselves into the man’s ribs. The drunkard grunted, feet skidding back as the force punched through him.

They separated a step later, both still standing. Ludger rolled his shoulder once, eyes steady.

If this was how the man wanted to fight… Then fine. He was willing to trade.

The drunkard staggered back a step and coughed, one hand pressing against his side where Ludger’s fist had landed. It wasn’t dramatic—just a rough, irritated sound, like something had finally gotten past his ribs.

“Damn,” he muttered, giving his side an experimental pat. “Youth nowadays are harsh.”

He glanced back up at Ludger, shaking his head slowly. “You don’t care about permanent damage at all, do you? Trading hits like that.” He clicked his tongue. “Reckless. Absolutely reckless.”

Ludger rolled his shoulder once and shrugged.

“Right. Right,” he said dryly. “I’m a reckless youth.”

He tilted his head slightly, eyes still sharp despite the casual tone. “So let’s finish this before noon. Preferably before you start vomiting all over the arena.”

A ripple of stunned silence passed through the stands.

The drunkard froze for half a second, then looked genuinely offended.

“Hey,” he said, scowling. “That’d be a waste.”

He waved a hand emphatically. “Drink only to vomit afterward? What kind of amateur nonsense is that?”

Ludger nodded along, entirely serious.

“Right,” he agreed. “You have to let the booze damage your liver properly first.”

The drunkard’s expression brightened in approval. “See? You get it.”

The audience didn’t know what to do with that.

Some people laughed, uncertain, delayed. Others just stared, mouths slightly open, trying to reconcile the absurd conversation with the fact that two monsters were trading bone-shattering blows in the middle of the imperial arena.

The referee looked like he wanted to interrupt. The narrator didn’t dare.

And Ludger, standing there trading insults with a drunken martial artist who refused to fall, adjusted his stance again.

Weird or not… This fight was far from over.

The drunkard came at him again, laughter still lingering in his breath.

He lurched forward like his legs had forgotten which way was straight, foot dragging just enough to look sloppy. Ludger didn’t take the bait. He watched the shoulders, the hips, the tattoos, those damned tattoos pulsing faintly as momentum coiled and uncoiled.

The first strike came low.

Ludger dropped his elbow, deflecting it just in time, but the man was already twisting away, spine bending as if joints were optional. Ludger countered immediately, fist snapping toward the opening at the ribs… and missed by a breath.

The drunkard slid past it, skin brushing knuckles, his torso folding sideways as his foot scraped the sand and redirected him into a sudden upward strike. Ludger brought his forearm up hard, the impact ringing through his guard and rattling his teeth.

Pain flared. He ignored it.

Ludger stepped in, throwing a short punch aimed at the man’s jaw, compact and brutal. The drunkard ducked, head rolling lazily to the side, but not far enough. Ludger adjusted mid-motion, turning the punch into a hammering elbow instead. It connected.

The drunkard grunted, staggered back half a step, and answered immediately. His knee drove forward, catching Ludger in the thigh with a sharp, bone-jarring impact. Ludger felt muscle scream as he absorbed it, grit spraying from under his boots as he slid back.

They didn’t separate. They crashed into each other again.

Ludger’s fist slammed into the man’s shoulder. The drunkard’s palm struck Ludger’s chest. Both hits landed nearly at the same time, force rippling through armor and bone. Ludger felt the air leave his lungs in a sharp burst; the drunkard coughed again, teeth clicking as he sucked in breath.

Neither fell. They twisted apart just long enough to reset, then went right back in.

The drunkard tried to slip the next counter entirely, feet crossing awkwardly as he leaned too far forward. Ludger chased the movement, stepping into range and driving a punch toward the man’s stomach again.

The man twisted away, but not completely.

The blow grazed ribs instead of sinking cleanly, but the drunkard’s counter came in at the same time, a crooked hook that slammed into Ludger’s side and forced a sharp grunt from his throat.

Trade.

Again.

Ludger planted his foot and shoved forward with his shoulder, forcing space, then snapped a punch toward the man’s face. The drunkard ducked, tattoos flaring brighter as his balance

failed

, then recovered explosively, his elbow smashing into Ludger’s forearm guard.

The impact numbed Ludger’s arm.

He clenched his jaw and stayed in it.

Block. Counter. Hit. Get hit.

Sand flew. Armor rang. Breath came harder now for both of them, sweat cutting tracks through dust and grime. Every exchange ended the same way, neither able to cleanly avoid the other, neither willing to disengage.

They weren’t probing anymore. They were grinding each other down.

And as Ludger wiped blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes still locked on the drunken martial artist swaying in front of him, one thing became painfully clear…

This man didn’t dodge to avoid damage.

He dodged just enough to make sure he could

return it

.

The impacts came harder now.

Each collision sent dull booms rolling across the arena, sound crashing into sound as fists, elbows, and shoulders met. Stone rang. Sand sprayed. The noise swallowed everything else.

The drunkard leaned in on a clash, forearm slamming into Ludger’s guard.

“Don’t react,” he muttered, lips barely moving.

Ludger didn’t blink.

Another hit, Ludger’s elbow into the man’s shoulder, the drunkard’s knee glancing off his thigh. The sound cracked sharp and loud.

“I’m a spy,” the man said calmly, voice buried under the impact.

Ludger twisted, blocking a backhand, then drove a punch into the man’s ribs. Bone flexed. Air burst.

“No reaction,” the drunkard reminded him, coughing once as they separated by inches.

Ludger complied perfectly. His expression didn’t change. His stance didn’t waver. He came back in, shoulder-checking the man hard enough to rattle both of them.

“And,” the drunkard added, timing the words with another heavy clash, “I’m the son of the emperor.”

There was a half-beat.

They collided again, forearm to forearm, the shock jarring teeth.

“For real?” the drunkard asked, genuinely curious.

Ludger answered while trading another blow, fist digging into the man’s side as a palm strike hammered his chest.

“Of course not,” Ludger said flatly. “You moron.”

They separated just enough to keep moving.

“I’m just mirroring your nonsense.”

The drunkard barked out a laugh mid-exhale, the sound lost entirely under the next thunderous impact as he smashed a knee into Ludger’s hip and took an elbow to the collarbone in return.

“Fair,” he muttered approvingly.

To the crowd, it looked like nothing but savage close-quarters combat, two monsters beating each other into the sand, every strike shaking the arena.

No one heard the words. No one saw the calculation behind Ludger’s eyes as he kept fighting like nothing at all had changed. Another collision shook them both.

Forearm to shoulder. Knee to thigh. The sound rang loud enough to drown out breath, let alone words. The drunkard leaned in with the hit, head lowered, mouth close enough that only Ludger could hear him.

“You don’t have to believe me now,” he said, timing the words with a brutal shove that sent sand spraying. “But I’m telling the truth.”

Ludger absorbed the impact, redirected it, and answered with a short punch to the ribs. The exchange cracked like thunder.

“I’ve been hearing rumors back home,” the man continued, voice calm despite the strain, despite the pain. “Old ones. Ugly ones.”

They traded again, Ludger’s elbow scraping past the man’s guard, the drunkard’s palm slamming into Ludger’s chest. The sound swallowed everything.

“Some of the leaders,” the man said, teeth clenched as he took another hit, “are working with the Empire.”

That made Ludger’s brow tighten.

The drunkard felt it immediately and smirked, even as he staggered half a step and came back in swinging.

“Not openly,” he went on. “Quiet deals. Trade favors. Borders softened. Influence bought.” Another clash. Another muffled breath. “The goal’s the same as it’s always been.”

Ludger blocked, countered, forced space with his shoulder.

“To weaken the land,” the man said, voice low, almost lost beneath the impact, “then rebuild the old Empire. The one from before everything shattered into realms and petty crowns.”

Their fists met again, shock ripping up Ludger’s arm.

This time, he frowned openly. It was small. Subtle. But it was there.

The drunkard noticed and took a hit for it, laughing under his breath as he slid back a step, tattoos pulsing faintly along his arms.

“Yeah,” he muttered, wiping blood from his lip with his thumb. “That face.”

They crashed together once more, the arena roaring around them, the crowd blind and deaf to anything but violence.

But Ludger’s mind had shifted. If even half of that was true… Then this arena, this duel, this farce of politics and pride… was just one small piece of something much larger.

That did it.

For just a moment, no more than a breath, Ludger flinched.

It wasn’t his body that betrayed him. His guard didn’t drop. His stance didn’t break. But something in his eyes shifted, focus slipping just enough for the drunkard to notice.

And then, nothing happened.

No sudden rush. No savage follow-up. No attempt to capitalize.

The man

let it pass

.

They exchanged another pair of measured blows instead, heavy but restrained, like the drunkard had deliberately chosen not to press the opening. That restraint hit Ludger harder than any punch.

He corrected immediately, expression smoothing back into its usual calm, but the question had already taken root. How much of that was true? Rebuilding the old Empire.

Ludger didn’t know much about the past. Not really. Dates, names, borders, those were things scholars obsessed over. He’d been too busy surviving, building, protecting. Still, even with his limited knowledge, he knew enough to understand what that meant.

Centralized power. Erased autonomy. Strong regions bled dry to feed a distant core. That

did

sound familiar.

It sounded exactly like the kind of long, patient rot his enemies favored. Influence before invasion. Contracts before armies. Weakening rivals until resistance collapsed on its own.

The drunkard took another hit to the shoulder and grunted, but he didn’t smile this time. He didn’t joke. He just kept moving, erratic as ever, tattoos pulsing softly with every broken step. If he was lying, he was committed.

If he wasn’t… Then this arena wasn’t just a trap for Ludger. It was a

screen

.

A distraction loud enough to keep everyone looking at the sand while decisions far above their heads quietly reshaped the world. Ludger’s jaw tightened.

He drove forward again, fists colliding with the drunkard’s guard in another thunderous exchange, eyes sharp now, not just watching the man in front of him, but the shadows behind him. Whether the story was true or not… It was dangerous. And danger like that didn’t surface without a reason.

Thank you for reading!

Don't forget to follow, favorite, and rate. If you want to read 300 chapters ahead, you can check my patreon: /Comedian0