"What!?"

  "Th-th-this... How is this possible!"

  Marshall stared, utterly dumbfounded, at the cleanly severed half of the phantom steel blade on his hand. An unspeakable shock and terror crept into his chest. His mind went completely blank with a deafening buzz.

  And he wasn't the only one...

  Vincent and the other Student Council members watching from the sidelines were equally startled by the scene.

  Even Forrest Banks, who had been calmly enjoying Fly's "struggles," found his eyes widening in disbelief.

  "Impossible!"

  Just moments ago, Marshall clearly had the upper hand. His Mantis Sage's obsidian twin blades had Fly completely suppressed. How could it be that now... Marshall's Skill was the one broken? And broken in an instant, so effortlessly?

  What exactly was going on?

  Could their initial assessment have been wrong? Was this Fly kid stronger than early stage two?

  Could he truly be a once-in-a-century genius!?

  Fly paid no heed to the shocked expressions around him. He simply stated coldly, "Had enough fun? The game... is over."

  Marshall stuttered, "Game over? Wh-what?"

  Fly vanished from his spot.

  No one present could track his movement, nor could they see how he attacked.

  Forrest Banks only saw a flash of golden light streak past. The next instant, when he could see Fly's figure again, Marshall had already been sent flying.

  Fast!

  Too fast!

  Banks had never seen such speed from any first-year freshman!

  Fly snarked inwardly.

  The next second...

  Fly closed the distance to Marshall again with blinding speed. Skill—Steelbone Blades activated instantly, striking heavily at Marshall's collarbone!

  THUD—

  With a deafening, sickening thud, Marshall crashed to the ground. The Beast Totem mirage behind him flickered, faded, and disappeared.

  "I'll be taking this victory," Fly stated coldly.

  The disappearance of the Totem Beast mirage was the definitive sign that a Beast Warrior had lost their ability to fight. By any measure, this battle was Fly's win.

  "Why... Why did it turn out like this? I worked so hard, but why..." Marshall lay prone on the ground, muttering to himself, tears welling up in the corners of his eyes.

  "You still don't understand, do you, Marshall?" Fly took a step forward, looking down at him. "What level do you really think you're at?"

  "What level?..." Marshall murmured.

  After a moment of silence, he suddenly raised his voice, shouting, "I'm at the peak of level two! I'm a peak level-two Beast Warrior!"

  "You... you defeated me so easily. Could it be... you're level three?"

  "No," Fly shook his head. "I'm only a mid-stage level-two Beast Warrior. And you, Marshall, are barely even a 'quasi-level two'."

  Looking at him, Fly's eyes filled with a deep sense of pity.

  "Your initial aura was indeed strong," he explained, "but once we engaged, I realized it was just a bluff. Your true strength probably hasn't even reached the level-two threshold."

  It was an open secret in this world that many young masters from prominent families with mediocre talent relied on various supplements to boost their strength. But what many overlooked was the simple truth: every medicine comes with a cost.

  Yes, every potion inevitably had side effects; the only difference lay in their severity. And those supplements capable of rapidly increasing a Beast Warrior's strength, due to their potent effects, necessarily carried enormous side effects. Therefore, the young masters of great families, besides consuming these potent supplements, would also spend a significant amount of time conditioning their bodies—through massage, receiving aid from higher-level Beast Warriors to expel toxins, or soaking in hot springs infused with gentle medicinal herbs to soothe their meridians... In short, the time and effort spent on detoxification and conditioning were absolutely no less than the time spent consuming supplements and training!

  This was how those scions with deep resources could achieve steady and solid progress. Such details were often kept secret. Fly himself had only stumbled upon this information by chance while researching in Star City High's vast digital library.

  The common populace only knew that with enough money and resources, one could become a powerful Beast Warrior by consuming potions. But that understanding was only half correct. Massive consumption of supplements combined with proper body conditioning was the key to maximizing strength gains.

  This was the tragedy of the common person. Not only did they lack the wealth and resources of the great families, but even their access to basic cultivation information was severely limited.

  Perhaps this was why the great families produced geniuses generation after generation, while it was so difficult for ordinary families to produce exceptional individuals.

  Fly sighed inwardly.

  And this Student Council, whether intentionally or unintentionally, had completely disregarded Marshall's physical conditioning, simply force-feeding him supplements. This had resulted in his current state: strong on the outside, weak on the inside. On the surface, he appeared to be a peak level-two warrior with an impressive aura, but actual combat revealed he had barely crossed the threshold into level two.

  Moreover, long-term, reckless consumption of potent supplements caused irreversible damage to the body. In just half a year since joining the Student Council, Marshall had transformed from an average student into one of the top elites of the second year. One could only imagine the sheer volume of drugs he must have ingested. It had likely already shaken his very foundation as a Beast Warrior.

  And once a warrior's foundation was compromised, future progress became exceedingly difficult...

  Fly thought, his heart heavy with a sense of sorrow.

  Seeing the pity in Fly's eyes felt like a knife twisting in Marshall's gut.

  For a defeated person, nothing was harder to bear than pity from their enemy.

  This wasn't the first time Marshall had acted as the Student Council's enforcer. Ever since he was recruited in the second semester of his first year, he had played this role—following the Council's orders to suppress disobedient or troublesome students.

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  Almost every student he had suppressed ended up displaying either impotent rage or utter agony. Marshall relished seeing those expressions. To him, it was the ultimate pleasure.

  What could be more satisfying than watching your opponent suffer helplessly, unable to even touch you?

  However, this was the first time. The first time Marshall had seen pity on someone else's face, directed at him—the loser.

  he asked himself.

  The path of Martial Studies essentially boiled down to three routes:

  First, sufficient talent.

  Second, sufficient resources.

  Third, sufficient talent and sufficient resources.

  This was common knowledge. And the importance of the latter two far outweighed the first.

  In this world, no matter how outstanding your talent, without resources, you could barely take a single step forward.

  But this Fly guy, how...?

  Consumed by jealousy and resentment, a sinister idea suddenly sparked in Marshall's mind...

  During his time as an enforcer, he hadn't always been victorious. But whenever defeat seemed imminent, he would always resort to "that move" to turn the tables.

  "That move" had never failed him. To this day, his record as an enforcer remained unblemished.

  A glint of cunning flashed in Marshall's eyes.

  "Mr. Fly, cough, cough..." Marshall coughed, looking pained. "What do you mean, I was bluffing?"

  He struggled to swallow, his expression one of agony.

  He reached out a hand towards Fly, his eyes filled with sincerity.

  "Oh?" The playful look on Fly's face vanished instantly. He took a step forward and grasped Marshall's hand to help him up.

  Fly held no particular animosity towards Marshall himself. In his eyes, Marshall was just a pitiable pawn being used by the Student Council.

  As he pulled Marshall up, Fly began, "The reason I said you were bluffing is because..."

  Just then, Marshall smirked coldly and whispered close to Fly's ear, "You fell for it!"

  With that, he immediately held his breath, pulled a small, purple, glass-bead-sized sphere from his pocket, and threw it straight at Fly's face.

  Although Fly hadn't completely let his guard down, the distance was too close, and his hand was still held by Marshall. He couldn't retreat in time. The purple sphere exploded right in front of him, releasing a faint, herbal fragrance.

  Fly understood instantly. He violently threw off Marshall's hand, covered his mouth and nose, and rapidly retreated.

  Seeing his attack hit, Marshall could no longer contain his elation. "That's the Student Council's special Paralysis Pellet!" he laughed maniacally. "Any Beast Warrior who inhales it loses their strength for several hours! Hahahaha, Fly, you're doomed this time!"

  With that, Marshall's aura flared once more, and the mirage of the Mantis Sage reappeared behind him.

  It turned out Fly hadn't struck a heavy blow earlier, only intending to disable Marshall enough to win. Thus, after a brief rest, Marshall could once again draw upon the power of his Beast Totem.

  BAM!

  Marshall launched a flying knee strike, hitting Fly squarely in the chest.

  "Hahahaha!" Marshall roared with laughter. "Why are you so weak now, Fly? Fight back!"

  Before the words faded, he followed up with an elbow strike to Fly's back.

  "Fight back, Fly! Have you lost all your strength?" Marshall sneered. "Tell me, who's bluffing now?"

  He punctuated his words with several vicious kicks.

  Seeing Fly completely powerless under Marshall's assault, the other Student Council members all began to laugh.

  As a minister, Forrest Banks naturally understood what had happened, but he didn't care. As long as they won, any means were justified.

  This was also why they had chosen not to use the virtual battle arena. Although the school encouraged sparring, using methods like the Paralysis Pellet was still frowned upon. Fights in the virtual arena were fully recorded; if the school investigated later, it would be difficult to explain.

  But fighting directly on the sports field was different. They could use all sorts of underhanded tactics without fear of investigation. The Paralysis Pellet was colorless and odorless, and it degraded quickly in the natural environment. By the time anyone looked into it, there would be no evidence left.

  Moreover, fighting on the field still attracted a large audience of students.

  Forrest Banks looked at the crowd gathered in the distance and felt even more pleased.

  Those onlookers wouldn't know what methods Marshall had used to defeat Fly; all they would see was the result—Marshall triumphant over Fly. That was enough.

  Especially for the freshmen. Seeing their number one student easily taken down, would anyone else dare to defy the Student Council in the future? This would be a huge boost to their prestige!

  Forrest Banks smirked triumphantly.

  ...

  Meanwhile, Marshall was still gleefully attacking Fly. "Fight back, little insect! Why don't you fight back? Tell me, who's bluffing now?"

  Suddenly, the triumphant expression on Marshall's face froze.

  Because he saw that Fly was smiling...

  He was smiling!

  "You... what are you smiling about? What's so funny?" Marshall's voice trembled slightly.

  "Heh, are these despicable tricks the only things the Student Council knows?" Fly's icy voice cut through the air.

  "You... stop bluffing!"

  Marshall lashed out with another kick, but this time, Fly easily blocked it.

  "The only one bluffing here is you," Fly's cold voice echoed again.

  Marshall launched several rapid attacks, but Fly neutralized each one effortlessly.

  It wasn't just his voice anymore; Marshall's entire body began to tremble. "You... how are you doing this? You clearly..."

  "Got hit by your Paralysis Pellet, right?" Fly chuckled, his smile as warm as the spring sun, yet utterly devoid of warmth. To Marshall, it felt colder than a winter tomb.

  "Did you forget something?" Fly continued with a smile.

  "Wh... what?"

  "My Beast Totem—the cockroach—is the most adaptable creature on Earth!" As he spoke, Fly's aura surged, and the cockroach mirage behind him crackled with brilliant lightning.

  Yes, the cockroach—a creature that had appeared on Earth millions of years ago, survived extinction event after extinction event, yet still thrived, spreading across the entire globe, even capable of resisting nuclear radiation. Could such tenacious life force truly be subdued by a mere Paralysis Pellet?

  "Th-this... this..." Marshall was speechless. At that moment, he was completely gripped by terror.

  That was the first thought that flashed through his mind.

  He spun around and fled.

  He was fast, but Fly was faster.

  Could an opponent already consumed by fear possibly mount an effective defense?

  In a flash of lightning, Marshall was struck down once more. This time, Fly planted his foot firmly on Marshall's back, like a hunter pinning his prey.

  Clang— Skill Steelbone Blades activated. The sharp, black steel blades glinted menacingly before Marshall's eyes.

  "Do you have any last words?" Fly's tone was calm, yet it carried a sharp, deadly edge.

  Marshall's body trembled uncontrollably.

  "Why... why did I receive the Student Council's support, why did I train so hard, but why... why can I still not compare to a freshman whose family is struggling with mortgages and car loans?..." Marshall's voice was broken. In his eyes, Fly was an unbelievable existence.

  He knew very well that the Student Council had poured considerable resources into him. He came from an ordinary family too; it was only through their support that he had climbed so high. If he were defeated by Fly so publicly like this, it would be a devastating blow to the Student Council's prestige.

  His own martial path... would likely plummet into the abyss...

  No!

  It would likely be cut short entirely!

  Such a failure meant the Student Council would never support him again.

  He knew that he had only ever been a pawn to them. That was why he had carried out every order they gave him with 120% effort. He knew that only by clinging tightly to the Student Council could he continue to grow.

  But now, his martial career... was likely... over.

  "No, stop!"

  Seeing the black steel blades slowly descending, Marshall could no longer contain his emotions. His voice turned into a desperate plea, tears streaming from his eyes.

  "Fly, please, don't hurt me!"

  "I know I was wrong!"

  "No!"

  "Please."

  "Otherwise, my martial career might really be over."

  Looking at Marshall, who was begging and crying in desperation, this time, Fly merely let out a cold snort. There was no trace of pity on his face.

  "Begging me? When you had the upper hand, did you ever consider letting me go?" Fly said coldly. "And I doubt this is the first time you've done something like this."

  "When those other students begged you, did you ever give them a chance?"

  "Did you ever think that you yourself might end up like this one day?"

  Faced with Fly's interrogation, Marshall was speechless.

  Fly looked coldly at the silent Marshall. Silence, sometimes, was an answer in itself. If Marshall had firmly replied, "No, I've never done that," perhaps Fly might have given him another chance.

  But now...

  Why should he, the victim, forgive Marshall, the aggressor? If he had lost, who knows how badly they would have suppressed him. Perhaps he would never have been able to hold his head high in high school again.

  Fly's voice was low and chilling. "No."

  The word struck Marshall like a bolt from the blue. He covered his head, his eyes bloodshot.

  The Student Council needed Marshall as an "advertisement and enforcer." Now, Fly needed him too. He needed Marshall to send a clear signal to the Student Council:

  Fly raised his right arm. The black steel blade slammed down hard onto Marshall's spine.

  Then, he turned around, his icy gaze sweeping over the remaining Student Council members.

  "Anyone else have a problem with me? Come at me together!"

  Fly's voice was resolute and resounding. He raised his blade-covered arm, ready for battle.