Chapter Seventy-Two: The Outcome Decided

Both men were certain: their opponent had elevated martial arts to the highest realm. They could read each other’s next move with such precision, neither could be deceived by feints or fabricated openings. Thus, the two were forced into an unspoken agreement—slowing their pace, pouring more energy and mental acuity into reading and countering the other’s actions, hoping to anticipate just one step ahead, even if just a single step!

This is precisely why Takehisa Takemoto abandoned that red, body-strengthening state. In a match of this caliber, physical prowess wasn’t even among the top three deciding factors for victory. Instead, it was wiser to reserve stamina and focus for preemptive reading.

The uncanny duel on the arena continued.

Yet, none among the spectators still viewed this as a “fixed” or “staged” fight—no one questioned its authenticity now!

This was, since the start of the Kengan Annihilation Tournament, the most nerve-wracking clash ever witnessed.

Read, respond, read, respond.

One step, ten steps, twenty steps ahead.

Just imagining the details was enough to make Kaneda Suekichi, himself a master of pre-reading, twitch at the corners of his mouth, his mind reeling.

Like a chess match, the artificially prolonged intervals between attacks allowed for exponentially more time to think.

How far could two martial artists, both capable of anticipating intent in a split second, stretch their predictions with this extra time?

Not even seasoned fighters could say, nor could ordinary people discern it.

Not even Kiyotaka Hakudou, who possessed two supernatural energies, could see through it.

Because this wasn’t a problem that could be solved by simply exerting more strength.

It was a synergy of thought processes, observational skills, and decisiveness honed through years of martial practice and insight.

Hakudou himself was still far from this level.

And after such an intense battle of wits, Kuroki Gensai, still in his prime, remained utterly unfazed.

This man, who had endured countless hellish trainings, had forged his body to a level of endurance that defied human imagination.

But Takehisa Takemoto, his veins bulging across his scalp, was now exhaling searing white steam with each breath, and the air above his white hair shimmered with heat.

“That old man won’t last much longer,” remarked the gaunt Wu Huailiang from the stands.

“A shame—I wanted to see if that monster from the old days could still dominate even in his twilight years.” Next to the Wu clan leader, an old man with hair trailing to his heels lounged upside down on his seat, idly playing with his locks.

“In the end, he’s only human. Who can defy aging?” The dashing elder with a hairstyle matching the competitor Yurai Zero spoke with a stern face.

Yet, as he uttered these words, memories stirred within him.

He recalled the elderly man in the arena, who in his prime had defeated the entirety of his own “Thunderheart Style” with a single hand and sleeve, his face bored and unimpressed.

Even such a man, would he now fall at the hands of his successor?

A dull thud—so faint compared to the brutal impacts of earlier matches—rang out.

But it snapped everyone, entranced by the high-level contest, back to themselves.

Takehisa’s face twisted in pain as, unable to dodge in time, he took a swift inward roundhouse from Kuroki to the upper arm.

He staggered back. Though he quickly strung together counter techniques, from that moment on, more and more blows began landing solidly.

“The advantage is clear… the outcome is decided.” Watching his teacher’s slight decline, Hakudou commented with certainty.

In battles at this level, both sides pushed their predictive abilities to the limit.

With every exchange, the number of possible futures escalated exponentially, shaped by each fighter’s habits and tactics.

A single misstep meant falling far behind in the pre-reading contest, and it was nearly impossible to catch up.

The aged body was now covered in swelling, bruises, and even blood.

The “Summoning of the General” technique mainly boosted brain activity, so Takehisa’s resilience to strikes remained unchanged.

And for a man in his nineties to withstand Kuroki’s merciless attacks for so long—he had now, inevitably, reached his limit.

Another dull thud.

After a smooth straight punch crashed into his torso, the veins bulging on Takehisa’s head faded as his labored gasps finally subsided.

With a hiss like a blade slicing air, the “Demon Lance”—a piercing hand strike—paused before the old man’s face.

“It seems you never waited for the ‘right’ moment, Lord Takehisa,” the bear-like man withdrew his arm and bowed his head slightly, adopting the respectful stance of karate after a match.

“Thank you for the contest.”

Sweat streamed down his face, neck, and even the arm he’d extended.

Though he appeared much more composed than the blood-soaked old man, the toll on his mind and body was immense. Even with a day’s rest before the next match, he might not recover fully—not even if he abstained from fighting for the rest of the tournament.

The old man, bleeding from his mouth, eyes, nostrils, and even ears from mental overexertion, spat out a great mouthful of blood.

Yet, after catching his breath, he burst into hearty laughter.

“Hah, hahah! You really are something, boy! That was exhilarating—truly exhilarating!”

After his laughter subsided, the old man gazed at Kuroki with genuine admiration.

“Strange Arm Style… truly has a worthy successor. If only I were ten years younger…” He shook his head with a self-deprecating smile.

“Getting old makes one sentimental. Between martial artists, defeat is defeat—there’s no need for excuses!”

“Young man, lift up your head! Your victory is undeniable! I regret only that I never witnessed the legendary Sea Emperor’s teachings.”

The “young man” Kuroki Gensai remained standing respectfully before the old master after returning his fists to his sides.

Only when the elder’s words faded did he raise his head.

His stern features lifted, but on that wild, bristling face, there was no awkwardness or guilt over defeating a senior.

Instead—it was only natural.

He respected the old man’s strength and character, but in martial arts, victory meant the winner stands and the loser falls.

If he was stronger than the old master now, then “winning” was nothing but the natural order.

The old man, wiping blood from his lips, paused for a moment at this, then erupted into unrestrained laughter.

“That’s it! That’s how it should be!”

“Winners stand, losers kneel! Anything else is nonsense to a warrior! Good lad, very good!”

“However…”

The loving, appreciative look for his junior faded from the old man’s eyes, replaced by a terrifying, beast-like, predatory grin.

He lifted his head toward the stands, where Hakudou stood pressed against the arena rail, and called out in a booming voice for all to hear.

“When your aged master is defeated, as his disciple, surely you won’t just stand by and watch, will you?”

The youth’s eyes, hidden beneath plain glasses, reflected the arena lights in a blinding white glare.

Yet, everyone in the arena and those watching via broadcast had the same thought—

Those eyes were smiling.

At the rail, under the gaze of tens of thousands, the boy bowed slightly toward his teacher below and spoke.

“To restore my master’s honor after his defeat is only natural. Besides…”

He straightened, eyes turning to Kuroki Gensai.

“I am also deeply curious about the teachings of the so-called ‘Sea Emperor.’”