Chapter Fifty-Five: A Gentle Smile

Arms, as thick as an average person's waist and knotted like twisted steel cables, trembled—not from weakness or exhaustion, but from the ferocity of the clash underway.

A grinding, metallic sound filled the air, as the muscles of Bai Tangjing's neck strained against the bulging arms of Julius. The struggle between flesh and blood echoed with the ring of iron.

"Incredible! Unbelievable! Contestant Bai Tangjing, faced with Julius’s heavy punch, merely tilted his head! He didn’t even take a single step back! Right now, he’s truly living up to his declaration—‘Come at me head-on!’"

"Oh my god! This can’t be real! With Reinhardt's strength, that punch should have packed enough force to flatten anyone, no matter their weight! How did he manage to withstand it?"

At the commentary table, both Kaoru Katagiri and Jerry, still reeling from Bai Tangjing’s surreal skills and bold declaration, finally regained their composure and resumed their duty, narrating for the audience.

On the arena floor, Julius indeed had no intention of playing games with fists. His enormous hand swung toward the youth’s head from another angle. If this landed, hand, head, and fist would soon form a brain-matter sandwich!

But the sound of flesh meeting flesh did not come from above, but from Julius’s chest and stomach.

A sharp kick, nearly piercing through flesh and bone, slammed into Julius’s chest. Beads of sweat flew from his skin as the giant, mountain-like man staggered backward.

His lungs compressed, air expelled violently, and the musclebound giant’s eyes widened in shock. The chest, normally so solid it could snap iron chains without a mark, now bore a deep footprint, as if pressed into clay.

"Oooooooh! Spartan kick! A textbook Spartan kick! Simple, direct, and forceful—just as Bai Tangjing proclaimed! He’s here to match pure strength!"

Jerry Tyson shouted with enthusiasm from the commentary booth. Though he’d once trained in martial arts in the Republic, the appreciation for raw, untamed power was etched into every bone of an American’s body.

The scene before him was like a rabbit sending an elephant flying with a single kick—almost enough to make him want to raise a flag in excitement.

But the youth in the arena had no intention of stopping.

Dragon-blooded internal energy surged through his meridians, the heat from his exertion being converted into spiritual energy by Spirit Drain. Not a drop of sweat formed, despite the intense motion. Yet he had no intention of using this heat-absorbing ability against his opponent—he pressed on, fists and feet flying.

After all, he had made a promise. If he didn’t keep it, that would be truly shameful.

His sleeve slashed through the air with a sharp hiss as Bai Tangjing closed the distance in a blink, pressing in on the retreating Julius and landing another straight punch.

"What is this? With Reinhardt’s massive weight and unbalanced posture, a strike to the ankle or a kick to the knee could cripple him instantly! Why is Bai Tangjing choosing a straight punch?" The sultry, dark-skinned beauty on commentary feigned ignorance, riling up the crowd. "Is this an insult to Reinhardt? A mockery of muscle?!"

"No!" Jerry Tyson snatched the microphone. "Bai Tangjing trained in Jeet Kune Do—joint destruction and breaking balance are routine for him."

The commentator jabbed a finger at the arena’s central big screen, his already prominent eyes nearly bulging with excitement.

"Look at that smile! That man, right now, is choosing to cast aside all those techniques!"

On the state-of-the-art screen, every detail of the arena was magnified—and on the youth’s handsome face was a bright, joyful smile.

Ordinarily, it was an unremarkable expression—something you might see on young lovers after a confession, or on a child receiving a long-desired gift.

But this was the Kengan Annihilation Arena! A smile of pure happiness, amid a savage battle where men tore each other apart without mercy...

Some of the more timid spectators couldn’t suppress a shiver.

Within that smile, the monster and the beast on the arena began a relentless exchange of blows—fist to fist, wrist to wrist.

Julius Reinhardt, like the earlier Takeshi Murozono, relied on raw physical power, untrained in any martial art. Even if he didn’t want to, Bai Tangjing, through keen observation and his AI’s calculations, could easily predict Julius’s attacks—forcing him into a direct confrontation.

“You underdeveloped little monkey!”

Veins bulged across Julius’s body as he brought his hands together into a hammer, muscles contracting like steel cables, pounding down from above like a pile driver.

Bai Tangjing’s grin widened. From the disadvantageous position below, he launched a rising uppercut.

"Uncle, muscle isn’t just about size—quality matters too!"

The three fists collided. The two-hundred-kilogram Julius was actually lifted briefly off the ground by the sheer force of the impact!

Beneath Bai Tangjing’s feet, the sandy arena floor was smashed into a new crater, clouds of dust rising to reveal the underlying floor, now webbed with cracks.

In the haze, Julius landed and tried to press his hands down, gritting his teeth. But even as veins threatened to burst from the effort, his hammer-locked hands were slowly forced upward, inch by inch, in the contest of strength.

"Sorry, Uncle," Bai Tangjing said, head bowed, "I know you’re a good man. Even when you confronted me before the match, you did it reluctantly and with courtesy.

But as soon as I stepped into this arena...

I just can’t help wanting to crush you, body and soul!"

Laughter rang in the boy's voice. When he raised his head, his smile had grown almost monstrous.

"Grandpa, look! Jing is so strong! And that smile... it’s so gentle!"

Garuda clung proudly to Wu Huiliang’s thin arm, oblivious to the bulging vein on her grandfather’s forehead as he forced a smile and nodded.

"Oh my, little one, you call that a ‘gentle’ smile? Your family’s taught you well, Huiliang."

Draped in a loose kimono that barely concealed his still-powerful muscles, the God of War, Hisayasu Takemoto, strode down the steps. With a single hand, he casually lifted Wu Huiliang’s companion, Wu Kurio, and tossed him aside before seating himself grandly.

The “Oni Ox of the Wu Clan,” a killer from the underworld with countless lives to his name, bounced away only when the old man let go, his massive body recoiling in shock, staring warily at the burly elder.