Liver Shot

'Good thing headbutts are forbidden.'

Seeing that his opponent wasn't headbutting, it seemed they were at least maintaining the basic form of boxing.

Maybe headbutt attacks were allowed, but he just couldn't use them.

'The fact that they didn't tell me any rules means they had zero expectations. I'll have to find out properly after the match is over.'

Thunk! Thunk! Thwack! Whack!

Bebo kept throwing hooks.

They were somewhat clumsy hooks, but he was shifting his weight appropriately.

So even though he hit above the guard, Aslan's upper body swayed.

Was he just swaying dramatically?

No.

At the timing when the hook came in and shook his body, he quickly reached out and struck Bebo's abdomen, not forgetting that either.

Tap! Tap!

They were light attacks, but abdominal damage was bound to accumulate. Especially what makes damage accumulate is accurate attacks rather than powerful ones.

Getting hit in the same spot multiple times causes problems in any body part.

Especially the place he was attacking was the liver—one of the most difficult areas to condition.

It might not matter at first, but the aftereffects of that damage were bound to surface.

Whoosh!

He dodged Bebo's attack for the first time.

He'd dodged a strongly thrown punch while pretending to sway. Bebo was starting to think:

'Damn it. Why the hell won't he go down?'

His physicality was overwhelming in youth division matches. When trading punches, he was always the one left standing at the end.

But the guy in front of him was different. He had a body that looked like it would collapse with one good hit, but he wasn't falling.

Was he dodging all the attacks then?

That wasn't it either. The attacks were landing. His limp body swayed dramatically in response.

And what about those half-glazed eyes and that breathing? It was so rough he looked like he might pass out any moment.

'But why the hell won't he fall?'

It felt really strange.

But Bebo stopped thinking further. The opponent standing there claiming to be of royal blood still looked way too weak.

Thunk!

Bebo threw another punch. And it was blocked again.

But this time was a bit different.

Until now, Aslan had been swaying and deflecting attacks, but this time he moved forward while blocking.

'Ugh!'

Bebo's expression twisted.

An elbow guard.

It was a technique of blocking the finger part of the opponent's punch with your elbow.

If used really well, it could even break the opponent's fingers.

Feeling pain in his fingers, Bebo stepped back.

And Aslan didn't miss that opening. He drove his palm into Bebo's body once more.

A bit harder than before!

Then Bebo's expression clearly twisted.

Aslan swayed again, acting like he was in a groggy state.

His method was the Drunken Immortal Method.

The Drunken Immortal Method learned drunken fist as its foundation.

Drunken fist wasn't a fist used while drunk, but a fighting style that toyed with opponents while pretending to be drunk.

The more convincingly you acted, the more confused your opponent became.

And for Aslan, who'd been hardened in the martial world, acting convincingly groggy was nothing.

In fact, even though there hadn't been a single moment of crisis from the beginning until now, everyone thought Aslan was going to get beaten to death.

When amateurs feel pain, they get excited. Bebo was the same. He got excited and charged in.

As if he'd been waiting for that, Aslan crouched even lower.

Protecting his face as much as possible.

Then Bebo attacked from below to above.

He didn't care about the pain in his fist anymore.

Thunk! Thunk!

Everything was going according to plan.

With damage accumulated in the abdomen and attacking recklessly without controlling breathing, getting tired quickly was natural.

Plus, matches here had no round concept.

It meant no rest time and no time limit either.

With no time to recover, he'd get tired even faster. And right now, Aslan was taking attacks while being grabbed.

To get out of this place, he had to gain popularity.

He recalled the odd-eyed girl's advice again.

'The crowd goes wild for blood. Even in boxing matches, more money comes out when blood starts flowing.'

Crunch!

Aslan bit his tongue hard.

Hard enough to bleed.

Biting your tongue causes considerable pain. There's a saying about biting your tongue to commit suicide, but in reality, people don't die from biting their tongues.

The amount of bleeding from the tongue isn't enough to kill someone.

So Aslan boldly made blood come from his mouth. It was to create effects with blood flowing from his tongue.

He was still crouching his head, and Bebo was still hitting toward his face.

Aslan held some blood in his mouth, got it on Bebo's fist, then let it streak across his face.

A situation where his face got covered in blood.

When Aslan's face was finally revealed, the spectators cheered.

Getting excited at the sight of blood was natural.

Plus he spat out the blood he'd been holding in his mouth.

Ptooey!

Blood sprayed in all directions.

Then exclamations flowed from the spectator stands that had been quietly watching the match.

It was the blood they'd wanted.

"You bastard!"

Bebo, who got blood in his eyes, cursed.

It could be called foul play, but by the rules here, it wasn't a foul. To anyone watching, it looked like he'd unavoidably spat it out while getting beaten up.

And the attack that followed.

Bebo, who'd recovered his vision a bit, attacked again. But you could clearly see his movements had gotten sluggish.

There's one of the most effective and famous methods for overcoming weight differences.

That's using the opponent's strength.

Counters.

Aslan was watching for the perfect counter timing.

As Bebo's next attack came in, he swayed and threw out bait. Laying a trap and looking for the perfect angle.

Especially to hide his claws, he had to avoid attacks that hit the face as much as possible.

Aslan's choice was to take Bebo's punch with his forehead. Bebo's expression twisted again from the pain traveling up from his fist.

Thwack!

In that state, he slightly lowered his upper body and attacked toward Bebo's liver.

It was a perfect body shot.

The original target was the liver.

A body shot counter.

An advanced technique that even pro fighters had trouble using easily during matches.

Body shot counters were that tricky to time.

But for Aslan, catching this level of timing wasn't that difficult.

Bleurgh!

Liver shot.

A liver blow.

A technique compared to the pain of hell.

Naturally, Bebo couldn't get back up. He just rolled on the ground, clutching his stomach and writhing.

The spectator stands went quiet at the result nobody had expected. Then they began cheering loudly.

***

"What! He got beat up all day and lost in one shot?"

"Must've taken a good punch to the stomach."

"He was tired. When you're tired and take an attack to the stomach, you can go down like that."

"Wow. Anyone bet on that kid? How much money are they raking in?"

"Me! But I only bet 1 slan. Damn, if I'd bet even 1 galand, how much money would that be?"

"Bebo. That stupid bastard. What's Liscal doing? Isn't he managing properly?"

"He still can't get up. Looks like he really got hit good."

"Or maybe he had an injury."

"What kind of times are these that you fight with an injury? This is a youth division match. They don't manage youth division matches that strictly."

"He might have hidden it himself. How else would one hit to the stomach do that?"

"Wow. Looks like he took about a hundred hits. Takes a hundred hits and reverses it with one shot. Maybe that crown prince kid has stone fists?"

"Look at that body. Does stone fists make sense?"

"No, he could have stone fists. There's a type that has naturally heavy fists regardless of build, you know?"

As expected, the crowd's reaction was explosive. It was a completely unexpected comeback victory.

Those who'd bet on Aslan for fun screamed with unexpected luck and threw coins wildly into the arena.

"Please keep it up like this for the next match too."

"You're so handsome! Please do the next match too!"

"Hey. Today was pretty good. Looking forward to the next match!"

1-slan coins began falling into the arena like crazy.

8 galands, 780 slans.

That was the profit Aslan earned from his first match.

Gladiator slaves couldn't receive money even after fighting matches.

Because they were sold bodies, they had to keep going into combat until they were freed.

Bad food, bad environment, harsh training. Gladiator slaves could only survive by enduring that process while winning.

Because they were in harsh environments, gladiator slaves didn't live long.

But among those gladiator slaves, there were occasionally some who lived very comfortably. Those were the very popular gladiator slaves.

Popular gladiator slaves who made hundreds of galands fall into the arena with each match.

The arena had an unwritten rule passed down through generations.

That was not to touch the money spectators threw into the arena.

That money was sacred money that nobody could touch.

Not slave overseers, not owners, not even nobles or royalty.

So popular gladiator slaves lived comfortably with the money that fell in the arena.

Eating well, dressing well, sleeping in good places—popular gladiator slaves and regular gladiator slaves inevitably had growing gaps.

***

Creak!

As soon as the match ended, Aslan received treatment. A physician stationed at the arena treated Aslan's tongue.

Naturally, if you could call it natural, the medical facilities were terribly poor. There wasn't even anesthesia. The fortunate thing was that they at least burned the needle in fire for minimal infection prevention.

"You endure well. You're tougher than you look."

The physician said with a smile.

"How is it?"

Liscal asked.

"I stopped the bleeding. Stitched it up too. If he's lucky, he'll heal."

"If he doesn't heal?"

"What are you asking? He'll die."

"What about his face? Think it'll swell up?"

"It's fine. Haha. Despite that pretty face, his skin seems tough. He took quite a beating. Doesn't look like someone who got beaten up. Was Bebo throwing weak punches?"

"You think weak punches are possible with that build? Bebo had pretty heavy fists."

"Then this guy has thick skin."

"So what happens to his face?"

"Why? You planning to eat his face or something?"

"It's the master's orders. He told me to ask."

"It'll be fine once he washes up."

"Aw man... that won't work then."

"Sounds like you want him to get hurt?"

"That might be better for him. So what does he need to do to live?"

Then the physician looked at Liscal with pitying eyes and said,

"Your questions aren't consistent. Do you want him to die? Or..."

"Just answer me. What does he need to do to live?"

"I already answered."

"When..."

"If he's lucky! I said if he's lucky, he'll live!"

The physician shouted angrily.