First Battle - Martial Arts - Chapter 19

The bustle of the Republic of Padokea was different from Fallenerdes.

But Arin's mind wasn't on the beauty of the republic.

He closed the door behind him and leaned on it for a moment.

His wallet was thinner than it had been a few days ago.

Forty thousand Jenny left after buying the international flight.

And now, ten thousand more gone to rent a room.

It was essentially just a bed and four walls.

But that was enough.

He dropped his duffel on the floor, stretched his arms, and took a slow breath.

"Time to move," he muttered.

The walk to Heaven's Arena took fifteen minutes.

As he got closer, the crowd thickened.

Vendors shouted about merchandise: keychains, shirts, and even fake action figures of popular fighters.

Arin kept his head down and moved.

Once inside, he found the registration hall, a long, open space filled with folding chairs and numbered counters.

Dozens of people waited already, most looking bored or fidgety.

Arin walked to one of the counters when his number was called.

The clerk didn't ask many questions.

"Name?"

"Arin Walker."

"Level of combat training?"

"Intermediate. No official matches."

"Any medical conditions?"

"No."

"Good. You'll start at Floor 1. Once you win, you'll rise. If you lose, you're disqualified for 72 hours."

Arin nodded.

She handed him a small card with the number "436."

"Wait in the lounge. Your name will be called when it's your turn."

He took the card, thanked her, and moved to the arena and sat down at the nearby seating area.

There were more than ten different small open areas, and some of them were actively fighting.

They all wanted to win and get a rank to reach higher levels.

As Killua said, winning on the first floor did not matter much.

As it only paid enough money to buy a soda from a vending machine.

He folded his arms and watched.

A boy in his late teens was called first nervous and jittery.

A pair of twins next.

Then a tall woman who looked like she had trained in professional martial arts.

Most of them were quiet.

No talking.

"There are many interesting people here compared to Fallenerdes..."

Arin let his mind wander.

He wasn't going to rush.

He had already made a promise to himself:

"One month below the 200s."

One full month of testing his instincts, sharpening reaction time, and understanding how his Nen behaved under pressure.

As long as he stayed below Floor 200, the matches wouldn't involve advanced Nen users,

"It would be just physical fighters, those using raw power, street skills, or trick-based tactics." he thought and grinned.

Perfect training ground.

He knew that once he stepped into Floor 200 and above, everything would change.

He exhaled slowly.

He looked at the screen above the counters, watching the numbers cycle through.

Then he took out his notebook, creased and smudged from travel, and opened to a page filled with thoughts on manipulation types.

He'd been brainstorming what kind of ability to create when his Nen Points reached 20.0.

But that would come later.

Now it was about timing. Positioning. Reading opponents.

He clenched his fists and relaxed them.

Again.

"You can't learn war from books," he said under his breath. "Time to bleed a little."

After ten minutes his number appeared on the display:

"436" - VS – "444" (Arena 5)

A voice called his number, and he stood.

He walked calmly down the hallway that led to the arena floor.

Arin stepped forward in just a minute.

His opponent was already there.

A young man in blue robes, barefoot, hands open at his sides.

His stance was a wide but relaxed classic martial arts posture.

The man's gaze was steady but not cold.

There was no killing intent in his eyes.

"He's done this before."

Arin thought.

"But that doesn't mean he's ready for me."

He didn't underestimate him, not outright.

That was dangerous.

As Arin stopped ten feet from the center, he activated Gyo, his eyes sharpening with focus, aura concentrating in his pupils.

He nodded to himself.

"No Nen," he muttered under his breath, just enough for his own ears.

"But I won't assume he's helpless. Could be using Zetsu or masking with In."

He couldn't afford arrogance.

"I would say if I was a non-nen user, this guy could beat me with ease..." Arin smiled as he thought.

In the end, it is true that he was a killer, but he was not really great when it comes to direct combat.

He was more of an ambusher, taking his targets down when they were not expecting it.

The man tilted his head slightly, reading Arin's stance.

He smiled faintly.

"You don't look like a fighter," he said aloud.

"Your stance is full of holes. You hold tension in the wrong places. You breathe like a civilian."

Arin didn't respond.

The robed man gave a slow nod.

Arin gave a smaller one.

"BEGIN!"

The instant the word left the referee's mouth, Arin moved.

Just a single step forward.

Then another.

And with the third, his palm snapped out, not a punch.

Right into the man's chest.

There was a sound, a dull, deep thump.

The blue-robed fighter's eyes widened slightly as all the air left his lungs in a painful gasp.

"Ughh..."

He staggered, his stance crumbling as he dropped on the ground.