Chapter 126: Mission Behind the Match

Chapter 126

"What?" Aiden blinked, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "You want me to lose my match?"

The words felt like a punch to the brain. It didn’t make sense—not one bit.

Han nodded solemnly. "I know it sounds ridiculous. But you’re the only one who can pull this off with near-perfect efficiency."

Aiden’s cheerful tone faded, his voice now edged with seriousness. "Pull what off exactly?"

Han let out a quiet sigh, then began to explain.

The group had reason to believe that members of the Cursed Organization were hiding somewhere in Maurina City. They hadn’t made any obvious moves yet—but that was the problem. Han was certain they were preparing something subtle, something that wouldn’t become apparent until it was already too late.

Which was why someone needed to keep watch.

That someone... was Aiden.

"Clara could’ve done it," Han continued, "but her method relies on tech. If she deploys her drones, the city’s Tech Barrier will detect them instantly, and Lord Tech will be alerted. That kind of attention? We can’t afford it."

"And you?" Aiden asked.



"I could try with my clones," Han admitted, "but multiple versions of me walking around the city might raise suspicion. Too many eyes."

Then Han looked at him with a kind of reluctant admiration. "But you... you’re different. Thanks to one of your beast DNA, you can deploy small creatures—rats, insects, birds. You can cover almost 70% of the city without anyone noticing. You’re literally built for this mission."

Aiden fell silent, eyes narrowing in deep thought. He didn’t like it. Not because he didn’t want to help—but because this meant giving up the match. He wasn’t forced into it, but he had to do it. For the group. For the mission. After all, they weren’t just here to grab an Evol Shard.

They were here to stop the Cursed Organization—for good.

"...Alright," Aiden finally said with a sigh. "I’ll do it. But let me fight first—I’ll start surveillance tomorrow."

Han shook his head. "If our intel is accurate, they’ve already begun whatever twisted plan they have in motion. Every second we delay, the more dangerous it gets."

Aiden groaned. "But if I forfeit, people will think I’m afraid of him. I’ll look like a coward. I’m a warrior, not a runner."

"You do know," Han smirked, "your match isn’t exactly a match. It’s more of a... public mismatch."

Aiden’s eye twitched.

"You really think I’d lose that badly?" he asked, shooting Han a glare.

Han blinked at him, then broke into uncontrollable laughter.

Aiden scowled, suspecting he was being mocked, until Han finally explained.

Almighty—the so-called "invincible" opponent—wasn’t unbeatable because of overwhelming power. He didn’t even have a Prime body. His limit was normal and his skill was well.... not so good.

"You can’t be serious," Aiden muttered, trying to wrap his head around it. "How can someone called ’Almighty’ be that weak?"

Back to the Present...

Almighty blinked rapidly, his blank expression slowly shifting as the realization finally settled in.

He wasn’t in a coma.

He wasn’t hallucinating.

This was real.

Aiden was actually throwing the match.

Almighty, the so-called "invincible" warrior, narrowed his eyes at the figure standing before him—Aiden, who looked like he’d just eaten a lemon dipped in betrayal. Aiden gritted his teeth so hard it sounded like someone grinding stone.

How the hell is this guy considered invincible? he thought furiously, watching Almighty shift around awkwardly like a freshman trying to throw his first punch.

"What now?" Almighty asked in a soft, curious whisper, snapping Aiden out of his internal rage monologue.

Aiden stared at him, resisting the urge to scream. Hit? Almighty had the nerve to call that pathetic breeze of a jab a hit?

He forced a breath through his nose. "Come on," Aiden growled under his breath. "Hit me with everything you’ve got."

Almighty nodded like a monk accepting a sacred mission—and then threw another punch.

Another gentle bam.

Another breeze.

Aiden’s eye twitched. The punch barely moved his hair, and yet—he did what had to be done. With a dramatic shout, he launched himself backwards using his legs, twirling through the air as if Almighty’s punch had come with a built-in hurricane. He smashed into the ground, bounced twice, and landed flat on his back like a broken marionette.

The crowd erupted into thunderous applause.

"I told you! He never stood a chance!"

"Did you see that? He couldn’t even move! The pressure must’ve frozen him in time!"

"That’s Almighty for you! One touch and you’re a ragdoll!"

All around the arena, fans began hyping up theories with the energy of conspiracy theorists at a coffee shop. Some believed Aiden had been hit with divine pressure. Others insisted Almighty must’ve tapped into an ancient forbidden technique. And the announcer? He was milking the moment like his paycheck depended on it.

"Ladies and gentlemen, has Aiden been obliterated by just two punches?! Are we witnessing the power of a legend?!"

But just as he said that, Aiden’s body twitched.

The crowd gasped.

He moved again—slowly, shakily, as if struggling to rise from the grave. Blood dripped from both corners of his mouth. A brutal sight.

Except... it wasn’t real.

In truth, Aiden had just bitten the inside of his cheek really hard.

Theatrics, baby.

Up in the stands, Han watched with an amused grin. "Oscar-worthy," he muttered under his breath. "If only we had cameras here, he’d be an internet legend."

Aiden finally stood, staggering like a wounded hero. Almighty stood frozen, visibly stunned by Aiden’s Oscar-worthy performance. His eyes narrowed as they drifted down to Aiden’s hand—subtly gesturing for him to strike again.

Come. Again.

Almighty nodded seriously.



Now’s the time to rise... to my former glory! he thought, filled with shameless determination.

He raised his fist high, as if summoning divine energy from the heavens themselves. A few people in the crowd leaned forward in anticipation, eyes wide, mouths open.

Almighty dashed forward and screamed, "HHHYYYYAAAHHHHH!" as he launched a blessed punch directly at Aiden’s forehead.

Aiden blinked.

He felt a light breeze.

That was it.

Oh, forget it.

Without wasting another second, Aiden slapped both feets to the ground and launched himself backward like a human rocket. He screamed in "pain" as he went soaring out of the ring, crashed into the arena wall, then collapsed to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

He didn’t move.

Not even a twitch.

Silence fell.

Then—

"Aiden has been KNOCKED OUT COLD!!" the announcer cried dramatically. "Without even touching Almighty sleeves! What power! What might! What divine precision!"

The crowd lost it. The cheers were deafening. They screamed, clapped, waved banners, and threw confetti (from who-knows-where).

Almighty smiled as he soaked in the glory, raising his hand and waving like royalty. It was the loudest applause he’d ever received—far louder than when he first walked onto the stage.

He looked proud. Triumphant. Victorious.

And yet... his heart was pounding in his chest like a war drum.

Because as he’d landed that "devastating" punch, Aiden had whispered something that sent a chill down his spine:

"You owe me. And you will pay your debt."

Almighty’s smile twitched.

Something told him... this wasn’t over.

Soon after, the noise faded as Aiden was stretchered out like a tragic war hero. Almighty followed, his back straight and head held high, even though deep down, he felt like a man who’d just accepted a loan from a mob boss.

The Seventh Match Was About to Begin...

The crowd buzzed with excitement, the air practically humming with tension and anticipation. So far, not a single match had disappointed. Some were brutal. Some were one-sided. Others felt like chaos wrapped in flames—but none of them were boring.

This tournament was alive, and the next bout promised to turn the heat up even further.

"You’ve got this," Han said, placing a reassuring hand on Clara’s slender wrist.

She looked at him, her violet eyes calm but focused, and gave a small nod before rising to her feet. She adjusted the hem of her cloak and walked toward the preparation area with steady resolve.

Han exhaled slowly. He hated to admit it, but he was worried.

Not because Clara was weak—no, she was anything but that.

But because of who she was facing.

The Second Smasher.

---

Behind the Stage...

In a dimly lit prep room, Kalen fastened her gear in complete silence, her face carved from stone. Cold. Blank. Unreadable.

Footsteps echoed behind her.

She turned immediately—and her gaze settled on the man approaching.

"Lord," she said coolly, bowing her head in acknowledgment.

"It’s time," Buster said, his voice deep and sharp. "You’re up next."

He stepped closer.

"Your opponent..." he continued, his tone growing icier, "is from the same guild as the one who killed Argon."

Kalen’s jaw tightened. No emotion crossed her face, but something shifted in her posture.

She nodded once.

"You know what to do."

Buster began turning away, then paused.

"What’s our motto?" he asked without looking back.



Kalen responded without hesitation, her voice like steel:

"Smash those who anger us. Crush those who cross us."

Buster smiled faintly.

"Good."

He took a step forward—then added, almost as an afterthought:

"But this time..."

He turned his head slightly, eyes gleaming with malice.

"Don’t just smash. Don’t just crush. I want you to kill her."

---

To be continued...

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