Hearing that, Alex broke into a wide grin.
A thunderous voice ripped through the courtyard.
"Who the hell thinks they can mess with our Number Nine?"
Heads snapped toward the corner. Eight enormous figures pushed through the crowd. The Fatty brothers. Massive bodies. Heavy steps. Faces burning with fury.
They stormed straight toward Alex and formed a tight circle around him, sealing him off from the world.
The outer disciples from the Tiger Group and the Dragon Group froze for a second when they saw who had arrived.
One of the outer disciples sneered. “You bunch of oversized pigs. We''re about to teach this kitchen servant a lesson, and you dare stand in our way? Do you all have a death wish?"
The First Fatty stepped forward, his belly shaking with each step, eyes zing.
"He is our brother," he said coldly. "Touch him, and next time you eat, you might find my shit special mixed into your food pill."
A wave of disgust swept through the crowd. Faces twisted. A few even gagged.
Everyone knew the kitchen staff prepared the food pills. If they wanted to slip something in, no one would ever know. And once swallowed, it was toote.
"You''re asking for it!" the outer disciple roared.
Steel shed. He drew his sword in one smooth motion, de gleaming under the
sun.
The First Fatty didn''t back down. He stepped forward again, fists clenched, jaw set. The other seven Fatty brothers moved with him, forming a wall of flesh and loyalty. "We''re ready to fight to the death for our Number Nine!" they shouted as one.
The air tightened. Killing intent flooded the courtyard.
"Wait, brothers,” Alex said suddenly.
"Don''t stop us, Nine," the Third Fatty said, his voice low and serious. "We live together. We die together. If you fall, we fall."
“Yeah!” the others echoed, eyes burning. They looked ready to tear someone apart.
"Please," Alex said firmly. "Listen to me. I''m serious."
The Fatty brothers paused. One by one, they turned to him.
Alex nced at the outer disciples, then leaned closer to his brothers.
"Form a ring."
They didn''t hesitate. They huddled together instantly, blocking him from sight.
The outer disciples frowned. "What are they doing?"
From inside the circle, muffled voices whispered urgently.
"Are you serious?" one of the Fatty brothers blurted out.
"Shhh! Lower your voice," Alex hissed.
More whispers. Low. Intense. Focused.
The outer disciples grew impatient.
"Are you idiots done yet?" one of them shouted.
Atst, the Fatty brothers broke their huddle.
Moments ago, their faces were twisted with rage.
Now?
They were smiling.
Wide. Bright. Almost cheerful.
The sudden shift sent a strange chill through the crowd.
Alex stepped onto the empty tform.
The courtyard went quiet.
The eight Fatty brothers moved with surprising coordination. Each one took a side of the tform, iming it like a fortress. Each one of them threw arge cloth onto the ground at the center, smoothing it out with both hands.
It looked like a battlefield.
Or a gambling table.
The fattest of them all stepped forward and roared, his voice echoing across the courtyard.
“We''re from the kitchen! We don''t care if you''re from the Dragon Group or the Tiger Group. You mess with us, we''ll fry you, boil you, and eat you!"
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
A kitchen servant challenging outer disciples?
It had never happened before.
Not here. Not in the Wudang Sect.
"Our Number Nine is our brother," another Fatty bellowed. "He''ll duel all of you to
the death. One by one. Send them up-Dragon or Tiger, we don''t care. Our Number Nine will take you down one at a time!”
Murmurs exploded around the courtyard.
The First Fatty jabbed a thick finger toward the cloth on the ground.
"Listen up! If you think our Number Nine will lose, then bet against him!"
He pointed at the cloth.
"Put your wager down right here. If our brother loses, we''ll pay you back ten times!"
He paused, then lifted his chin proudly.
"No. Twenty times!"
The entire courtyard went silent.
Had these kitchen servants lost their minds?
How could a servant fight an outer disciple?
Most of outer disciple were already at the Fifth to Eighth Level of Qi Condensation.
They were real cultivators. Trained. Hardened.
While the servant was, at best, only at the Third Level of Qi Condensation.
That was the ceiling of Servant''s strength. Everyone knew it.
The gap between them wasn''t small-it was a cliff. In the world of cultivation, a difference of two or three levels was enough to decide life and death.
One of the disciples suddenly stepped forward and tossed something onto the cloth.
"I bet that servant dies," he said sharply.
What hit the cloth wasn''t gold or silver.
It was a spirit stone.
In the Wudang Sect, and among cultivators everywhere, money meant nothing. Gold was useless. Silver was worthless.
Only spirit stones mattered.
They looked like chunks of emerald, glowing faintly green. Over countless years, they absorbed the essence of heaven and earth, storing pure spiritual energy inside.
Cultivators could draw that energy directly into their bodies. It strengthened their cultivation. It was life itself.
More disciples stepped forward.
"I''ll bet my food pills," another outer disciple said, throwing down a small pouch.
Every month, outer disciples received about thirty food pills. They were packed with condensed nutrients and spiritual essence. They sustained cultivation and, over time, had be a form of currency within the sect.
"My sword," another disciple shouted, tossing it onto the cloth.
"My rare herbs!"
"My ring!"
The crowd surged forward. Disciples shoved and elbowed their way toward the Fatty brothers, eager to ce their bets. The pile on the cloth grew higher-spirit stones, weapons, herbs, pills, even personal treasures.
To them, this was easy money.
A kitchen servant fighting an outer disciple?
There was a thousand percent chance the servant would die.
"I''ll go first," one of the disciples from the Tiger Group dered, stepping forward with confidence.
“Hold it,” the First Fatty said, raising a thick hand. "You want to fight our Number Nine? Then you bet something."
The Tiger disciple hesitated.
Before he could respond, a disciple
from the Dragon Group stepped forward and leapt onto the tform,
brushing past the Tiger disciple
without ever looking at him
"I''ll bet my sword," the Dragon disciple said calmly. "If you win, you can take it. If I
win, you pay me twenty times what it''s worth."
"Deal," the First Fatty replied instantly.
The Tiger disciple''s face darkened with fury. "You bastard! I was first!”
"You talk too much," the Dragon disciple saidzily. "Wait for your turn."
"What turn?" the Tiger disciple snapped. "You''ll kill him in one strike. There won''t be
a next chance."
The Dragon discipleughed loudly, the sound sharp and mocking. He turned his gaze to Alex.
"You," he said, pointing his sword. "Kneel now. Beg forgiveness. I might spare you. I could even bring you into our group."
Alex lifted his iron wok.
The ck metal caught the light. It looked absurd in his hand-like a cook who had wandered into the wrong arena.
"If you can beat me," Alex said calmly, "then sure. But I don''t kneel to people weaker
than me."
The insult hit like a p.
"How dare you!" the Dragon disciple roared.
He drew his sword fully and charged, spiritual energy surging around him. His steps were fast
precise trained. The de cut through the air, aimed straight at Alex''s throat.
Everyone held their breath.
This was it.
The servant would die.
But something strange happened.
In the blink of an eye, Alex shifted one step to the right.
Just one.
Simple. Clean. Effortless.
The sword sliced through empty air.
At the same time, Alex swung his iron wok.
There was no shy technique. No dramatic aura.
Just a solid, brutal swing.
The Dragon disciple''s momentum carried him forward-straight into the path of the
iron wok.
ng.
The sound rang across the courtyard like a struck bell.
The iron wok smashed into the disciple''s head with terrifying force.
His eyes rolled back instantly.
His body went limp.
He dropped to the ground like a sack of grain, unconscious from a single strike.
The courtyard fell into stunned silence.
No one understood what they had just witnessed.
One swing.
One move.
And an outer disciple was down.
“Did that outer disciple just run his face into the iron wok?"
"Yes... it looked like he deliberately smashed himself into it."
The whispers spread fast.
From where they stood, it really did look that way. Alex had swung his iron wok toward the spot where the outer disciple was about to move his head.
It was like two speeding carriages colliding head-on. The disciple charged. Alex
adjusted. Impact was inevitable.
The entire arena fell silent.
No one understood what they had just witnessed.
An outer disciple from the Dragon Group-knocked out cold by a kitchen servant
with a cooking utensil.
"Thank you, thank you,” Alex said cheerfully, as if he had just received a gift instead
of winning a duel. "You let me win."
He bent down, picked up the fallen disciple''s sword, and tossed it casually to the
Eighth Fatty.
"Hold that for me."
The Sixth Fatty climbed onto the tform, grabbed the unconscious disciple by the cor, and dragged him across the wood like a sack of Lise. Without Ceremony, he heaved him off the tform and tossed him
aside.
“Next,” Alex said, twirling the iron wok in his hand.
The Tiger Group disciples burst intoughter, pointing at the Dragon Group.
"Your outer disciple lost to a servant!"
"What kind of trash are you sending out?"
Faces in the Dragon Group darkened with humiliation.
A Tiger Group outer disciple stepped forward and climbed onto the tform. His expression was cold and controlled.
"You can take my sword if you win," he said evenly. "But unfortunately for you, I''ll be taking your head."
His tone wasn''t loud. It didn''t need to be. The killing intent around him was sharp
and real.
Below the tform, the Fatty brothers started shouting again.
"Anyone who lost before can bet again!"
"If our Number Nine loses this time, you win everything back!"
“Remember! Bet one, get twenty back! This is your second chance!"
The crowd stirred.
Many of the disciples who had lost their first bets were already furious at the fallen
Dragon disciple. Their pride had taken a hit. Their spirit stones were gone.
If they wanted their losses back, they had to bet again.
And bet bigger.
The cloth quickly filled once more—more spirit stones, more food pills, more
valuables.
The Fatty brothers were grinning from ear to ear. What they had already won from
the first round was enormous.
The First Fatty looked up at the tform and waved his hand.
"You may begin."
The Tiger disciple didn''t waste time. He lunged forward, sword shing.
"You''re dead this time," he snarled.
The crowd leaned in.
Steel cut through the air.
And then-
ng.
The unmistakable sound of iron striking flesh echoed through the courtyard once
again.
The iron wok had found another face.