Chapter 118: Blade Master – Ronan

Chapter 118: Blade Master – RonanChapter 117

The arena was silent for a moment—just a moment—before erupting into chaos. Several seconds had passed since Blazer hit the ground, unmoving, and the referee finally raised his hand.

"Winner of the first match: Jay!"

An uproar burst through the stands like a wave crashing on rocks. Some spectators roared with joy, others shouted in outrage, and a few sat frozen in shock. Regardless of their reaction, one thing was clear: the match had become the center of attention across the entire tournament.


Jay—an unknown young martial artist—had just taken down Blazer, one of the A6, the six warriors everyone had pegged as favorites to win the Tournament of Power. And it was only the first match.

Jay stood silently, staring down at Blazer’s unconscious body. A faint smile tugged at his lips—not of pride, but disappointment.

> "Not bad," Jay thought. "But he wasn’t strong enough to bring out my all."

Still, he’d enjoyed the fight.

As he casually waved at the roaring crowd, many began noticing something strange. Despite being caught in Blazer’s intense flames, Jay was standing there shirtless, his skin nearly flawless, as though he’d never been burned at all. Some murmured that maybe an A-rank healer had already treated him, but those more knowledgeable quickly dismissed that idea.

The truth was more unbelievable.

Jay’s control over the Qi in his body was nothing short of masterful. He had subtly manipulated his Qi throughout the match—enhancing his body, boosting his speed and strength, and even disrupting Blazer’s flames before they could fully hit him. By minimizing the damage taken and accelerating his natural recovery, Jay had made it through the battle with almost no visible injury.



> "Still... I need to recover my used Qi," Jay thought as he stepped off the platform. "I could fight three more like him, but I’d rather be full at all times."

The cheers followed him like an echo. In the VIP section, the Undying Flame, Blazer’s older brother, wore a complicated expression. His gaze was locked on Jay’s retreating figure.

His younger brother had just been defeated—by someone completely unknown.

And worse... defeated while in his Rage Form.

Most would assume that Blazer’s Rage Form wore off due to exhaustion, but the Undying Flame knew better. That form didn’t drain energy; it fed off rage—and Blazer was always angry. For Jay to force him out of that state...

> "He beat the rage out of him," the Undying Flame muttered.

A rare feat. One no one else had ever achieved apart from him.

Just as he began pondering Jay’s potential, possibly even scouting him for his Hero Guild, a deep voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Don’t even think about it."

The Undying Flame didn’t need to turn. He recognized the voice instantly. The Beast.

Clearly, he wasn’t the only one interested in Jay.

But Jay remained oblivious to all of this. And even if he knew, he wouldn’t care. What he craved wasn’t fame, nor recognition. It was simple:

> "I just want an opponent strong enough to make me go all out.

The crowd’s thunderous cheers from the previous match were still echoing through the arena when the referee stepped forward once more. With a single hand raised, he gestured for silence. The energy simmered as anticipation shifted toward the next event.

"Next up—our second match of the day!"

Spotlights swept across the massive stage as a tall figure stepped into view, dressed head to toe in black. Twin blades were strapped in an ’X’ formation across his back, and his expression was colder than stone. His presence was quiet, but the silence around him was loud.

He walked without flair or theatrics, as if this entire match was beneath him.

The announcer’s voice rang out with dramatic flair.

> "Representing the Tryst Guild... standing undefeated in one-on-one duels... the master of the blade, whose strikes are as precise as they are lethal—give it up for the infamous ’Blade Master’—RONAN!"

Camera drones zoomed in for close-ups. Paparazzi lenses snapped. Despite his blank expression and complete lack of interaction, the crowd gave him a healthy roar of approval. His reputation alone commanded it.

Though Ronan rarely spoke a word, his presence carried weight—cold, sharp, and calculated. And while his demeanor was the polar opposite of the ever-cheerful fan favorite Han, few denied that Ronan’s brooding handsomeness stood on equal ground. He had a silent magnetism that drew attention effortlessly.

Ronan took his place at the center of the stage, eyes half-lidded, posture relaxed. As if nothing here could truly challenge him.

Then came his opponent.

Another figure emerged from the waiting zone, this one clad in a sleek, form-fitting brown combat suit. Short black hair. Eyes devoid of emotion. His movements were measured, heavy with purpose. He didn’t wave. He didn’t smile. He didn’t acknowledge the crowd—just marched to the stage like a soldier with a mission.

> "And his challenger—representing the infamous Smashers—he’s the juggernaut of hand-to-hand combat, the one-man wrecking crew, feared for his brutal technique and relentless drive... make some noise for the Iron-Fisted Brawler—ARGON!"

The cheers were fewer, more scattered, but still present. While Ronan’s fame inspired admiration, Argon’s reputation drew a mix of respect and fear. His fans weren’t as loud, but they were loyal.

> "Known for turning bones into dust and walls into rubble, Argon rose through the ranks with nothing but fists and fury. With no elemental skills and no weapons, he has crushed opponents relying on sheer physical domination. And today, he’s aiming to break more than just his opponent’s pride!"

Argon arrived at the center of the stage, squaring up in front of Ronan without a word. The two stood there, eyes locked, neither flinching.

The arena held its breath.

One wielded blades with elegance and deadly grace.

The other fought with fists forged from raw power and grit.

Two fighters. Two philosophies. One victor.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen... let the second match of the Tournament of Power... BEGIN!"

The referee’s fingers snapped, releasing a thunderous bang that echoed across the arena like a detonated spark, signaling the start of round two.

Unlike the tense buildup between Jay and Blazer, this battle exploded into action instantly.

Argon charged.

No hesitation. No wasted motion. The moment the signal dropped, he crossed the distance in a blur of motion, launching a brutal punch straight toward Ronan’s face.

Ronan’s arms rose in an instant, forming an ’X’ in front of him. The punch connected with a thud, but instead of being launched across the stage, Ronan merely slid back—two steps.

Argon blinked.

For a moment—just a flicker—his expression betrayed surprise. That punch should’ve shattered the so-called Blade Master. Instead, Ronan stood, silent as ever, eyes blank, like the strike had been nothing more than a breeze.

Argon didn’t pause.

He lunged again.

But Ronan twisted, planted a foot, then sprang off his back leg—delivering a rising under-kick straight to Argon’s chin. The impact jerked Argon’s head upward with a crack, forcing him a few steps back.

He landed hard but steadied himself, one hand wiping the trickle of blood from his cheek. He slowly raised his head, eyes locked onto Ronan.

> "You’re strong. I’ll give you that... but you can’t win."

His tone was cold. Matter-of-fact. As if announcing an inevitable truth rather than trash talk.

Ronan said nothing. His face remained still, but beneath the mask, rage boiled.

> He’s working for Buster, he reminded himself bitterly. He doesn’t deserve mercy...

But then Han’s voice echoed in his head.

> "He might be like you, Ronan. Taken. Used. Forced into it. Don’t kill him until you know for sure."

Ronan exhaled.

> "I’ll play along... for now," he muttered under his breath.

Argon struck again, his fist crashing downward with devastating kinetic force, trying to slam Ronan into the stage like a hammer to a nail. Ronan ducked and braced—his legs straining, arms trembling under the weight of the blow. He gritted his teeth.

Cracks formed beneath his feet.

> If I stayed a second longer... I’d be paste, Ronan thought grimly, rolling out from under the pressure just in time.

He panted, pain pulsing through his bones. That kind of power... was nothing to laugh at.



But he wasn’t finished.

With a growl, Ronan launched forward, then sprang upward. Argon saw him, rearing back a fist—but that was exactly what Ronan wanted.

He grabbed Argon’s incoming arm, yanked it with a twist, and drove his knee into Argon’s face.

CRACK!

The satisfying sound of a broken nose filled the air. Tough as Argon was, a nose was still a nose.

Argon recoiled, a snarl on his bloodied lips. He swung to grab Ronan, but the Blade Master struck the incoming hand with a swift kick, pushing himself back and creating distance.

Argon’s eyes flared. Fury surged in his veins.

> "I’ll crush you!" he snarled, voice deep and guttural.

He charged again.

Ronan rolled aside, but Argon twisted mid-run, slamming his fist toward where Ronan landed. Ronan met him head-on.

Bang!

A concussive shockwave burst out from the clash, and even the golden arena barrier rippled, a clear sign of the overwhelming power both fighters possessed.

Argon raised a brow, mildly impressed—but not for long.

He dove in again, punches flying like a machine gun.

Ronan responded in kind—fist meeting fist, kick slamming into kick.

Each strike echoed across the stage like thunder, the crowd stunned into silence by the sheer ferocity of the exchange.

High above, seated among the Han group, Jon leaned forward, eyes gleaming.

His blood was pumping. This—this—was his kind of fight.

But his gaze narrowed, observing every detail, every pattern.

> Ronan’s skilled... agile... precise, Jon analyzed. But against Argon’s raw power...? I don’t see him winning this.

One thing was becoming increasingly clear—Argon wasn’t even using his full strength yet.

But Jon didn’t comment. He’d made that mistake once, predicting Jay’s loss—only for the unexpected to happen.

So this time, he simply watched. His eyes narrowed, focus sharp.

The battle had reached a new level of intensity.

Ronan and Argon were a blur of motion across the arena, exchanging blows with terrifying precision. Punches and kicks whistled through the air, clashing in flurries of force. The stage groaned beneath their relentless movement.

Argon swept at Ronan’s feet with a low kick—but Ronan leapt, launching himself skyward. Argon followed.

Mid-air, Ronan twisted, executing a spinning kick that caught Argon in the shoulder, knocking him downward like a missile.

But then—Ronan’s eyes narrowed.

Argon landed hard, slamming into the metallic stage with a deep crash, creating a large crater. The crowd gasped.

Then, his body changed.

Thick veins pulsed across his skin, muscles bulging grotesquely. Steam hissed from his body as he exploded upward once more, his right arm swelling with power.

Danger.

That’s what Ronan felt.

Real, lethal danger.

Argon’s punch came like a meteor—aimed directly at Ronan’s head, laced with unmistakable killing intent.

Ronan blocked—but the force behind the strike sent shockwaves through his bones. His arms vibrated violently, and then—

Cough!

A mouthful of blood burst from his lips as he was hurled downward, crashing into the stage with a sickening bang, forming an even larger dent than before.

The crowd fell silent.

No one watching could imagine surviving such a strike.

Up in the stands, Jon exhaled slowly, a smirk curling on his lips.

> "Seems my analysis was right this time. Your friend has lost."

But a voice beside him calmly replied,

> "Are you sure about that?"

Jon turned. It was Aiden, the ever-smiling enigma.

> "What do you mean?" Jon asked, genuinely confused.

Aiden leaned forward, his grin widening.

> "Think back. When Ronan was introduced... what title was he given?"

Jon furrowed his brows, then suddenly—

Click.

His eyes widened.

> Blade Master...

He hasn’t even drawn his swords yet.

All this time, Ronan had fought barehanded.

Back on the stage, Ronan slowly rose. Blood dripped from his lip, his expression unchanged. His body had endured immense punishment, but he showed no sign of pain. His physique, honed through countless battles and further refined by his evolved human body. He was built for this.

He locked eyes with Argon, whose bulging, monstrous form still surged with raw power.

But Ronan wasn’t looking at a man anymore.



He was looking at a killer.

The moment Argon launched that punch, Ronan had felt it—the intent to kill. No hesitation. No restraint.

Whether Argon had once been a captive of Buster or not, it didn’t matter anymore.

> He’s like them now, Ronan thought coldly. Another pawn of Buster. Another name to erase.

Ronan exhaled sharply.

Then, in one fluid motion, he unsheathed his twin blades. The steel shimmered in the arena lights, wicked and gleaming.

He crossed them calmly in front of him.

His eyes began to shift—glowing a deep, ominous purple, the glow spreading in a pulse-like wave.

Then, finally, his lips moved.

His trademark words, cold and precise:

> "Let’s roll."

To be continued...