The new faces entering the final eight displayed varied expressions. Doubt, surprise, and joy flashed across their countenances in quick succession.

A subtle smile played in Bai Sheng’s eye sockets. It was usually easier for a higher-starred martial artist to defeat a lower-starred one. Relying on superior strength meant controlling the rhythm of the fight, leading the opponent by the nose.

That last punch—the truly admirable aspect wasn't its irresistible burst of power, but the intent behind it: an unceasing flow like the great eastern river, making Alice judge in an instant that the blow was inescapable, leaving her only the option of a direct block.

One punch that commanded the entire battlefield—that was something beyond merely controlling the tempo, reaching a much deeper level.

The smile in Bai Sheng’s eyes deepened. Worthy of my attention after all. While many ten-star martial artists were still grappling with the concept of controlling the fight’s tempo, Qin Fen was already learning to dominate the engagement. Indeed, this young man's most terrifying quality wasn't his combat sense, but his innate understanding of battle.

“Good one, Old Qin,” Xue Gao cheered, waving his arms. “Beautiful!”

Bai Sheng stroked his index finger resting beneath his chin. If Xue Tian was an anomaly of pure, stellar talent in martial cultivation, then Qin Fen was the legendary God of War.

In the massive arena, aside from Xue Tian's high-pitched cries, there was absolute silence.

The mechanized armor troopers stared with uncomprehending gazes at the final eight newcomers from various continents. Alice was, after all, one of the more capable Seven Warriors. How could she not even withstand a single punch from Qin Fen?

A soft evening breeze drifted by, leaving the atmosphere even quieter. Badar, the Golden Lion, glanced at Wu Laohu, who subtly stopped him with a look. He shook his head of golden hair lightly.

The fact that mechanized armor fighters were using gunners had already brought deep shame upon the African newcomers. If they now dared not step forward against the formidable Qin Fen, the African Military Region would face an indelible stain throughout the Newcomer Competition.

Lose? A trace of contempt touched the corner of Golden Lion Badar’s mouth. So what if he lost? The most important thing was to withstand three of Qin Fen’s punches. In a situation where no one else dared challenge him, to endure those seemingly unstoppable three blows—that could partially erase the disgrace of the mechanized armor division.

“I’ll go.”

The quiet arena was shattered by Badar’s deep roar, breaking the original silence. He strode into the ring, speaking no pleasantries to Qin Fen. His eyes snapped open suddenly, like the wrathful guardians in a temple. His inner zhenqi surged, and he exhaled a cloud of stale air, a low grunt akin to that of a great field ox.

With that ox-like exhalation, the Golden Lion Badar settled his stance slightly. His body trembled once, and the concrete floor beneath his feet instantly cracked. He seemed like a nail driven in by a sledgehammer, aiming to embed himself deep into the platform.

Do not retreat. I will not retreat, even in death.

In that instant, everyone present felt the absolute resolve in Badar. The African newcomers watched him with complex expressions. This man was fighting for the last shred of honor for the African Military Region.

“I admire your resolve,” Qin Fen said, his eyes holding a hint of appreciation, nodding his head a few times as if a teacher were praising a student. “Pity. You won't do either. You also won't be able to block my single punch.”

Qin Fen straightened his back slightly, then strode toward the Golden Lion Badar, his shoulders twitching almost imperceptibly.

With every step he took, the ground near his feet visibly trembled, and loose gravel adhering to the surface shook incessantly.

With each step, the hearts of the African newcomers mysteriously constricted. It was as if that sound wasn't the sound of walking, but the countdown proclaimed by the God of Destiny announcing the Golden Lion Badar’s impending defeat.

The Exploding Force Style of the Hong Fist's Sky-Piercer? Golden Lion Badar’s eyes narrowed, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks, shining with piercing light. Is this kid even human? To have perfected the Exploding Force Style of the Sky-Piercer to this degree? He’s practically a humanoid Jungle Ranger!

The smile in Bai Sheng’s eye sockets had spread to the corners. This Newcomer Competition was far more interesting than imagined. If one closed their eyes and only sensed that single execution of the Hong Fist’s Sky-Piercer style, they would swear it was a large-caliber field artillery piece firing continuous shells.

The two men were less than fifteen paces apart. Qin Fen's Sky-Piercer Exploding Force Style bloomed again at his feet. The concrete veneer near his foot snapped apart with a crack. The whole body transformed into a projectile in that same instant, the friction of his clothes against the air turning into the whistle of a cannonball.

Badar inhaled sharply, his eyes squinted almost completely shut. A sharp, keen light flared from his pupils, locking onto Qin Fen’s silhouette. If he could withstand the first punch, he would have shattered Qin Fen's prediction.

Bang. Qin Fen’s right foot landed, aligning with his left, striking down. His right arm, driving up from inside his left arm, shot out in a vertical straight punch.

A gale of wind whipped up in the arena, the rushing force sounding like thunder to everyone’s ears.

Dodge? Bai Sheng knew the Golden Lion Badar didn't want to avoid this heroic punch, but he also knew that no matter what, he couldn't evade it. Qin Fen’s speed and intent completely dominated, dominating him as well.

Thump. Fist met arm. Badar’s sleeve instantly shredded into powder, as if explosives hidden within the cuff had suddenly detonated. Qin Fen’s sleeve around his wrist ripped open with dozens of fissures, as if wantonly shredded by scissors.

“Ugh.”

Badar groaned, his feet scraping the ground as he was sent flying back nearly two meters before landing heavily on the platform. He constantly shuffled backward, retreating a full twelve steps before stabilizing his stance. His specialized combat boots, durable enough to adapt to almost any environment, were completely split open along the seams from the repeated backward shuffling, revealing the blackened soles of his feet.

Even his socks had completely burst during the continuous rearward movement to dissipate the force.

Pfft. Pfft.

Badar coughed, spitting out two streams of bloody mist. A faint, almost imperceptible paleness crept across his dark skin. To minimize his retreat—to avoid the crushing defeat Alice suffered—Badar forcibly halted his backward momentum, aggravating his internal injuries. He was certainly injured worse than Alice, but judging by the distance he retreated, it was nowhere near as terrifying as hers.

“Who else?” Qin Fen asked, hands clasped behind his back. His calm voice carried an unquestionable weight. “Who among you is willing to take my three punches in a one-on-one?”

Defeated. Badar’s arms were trembling slightly. The force of that punch had surged straight through both limbs. He felt as if what he had struck wasn't Qin Fen’s fist, but a genuine bomb.

At this moment, all eyes turned toward Caesar. As the other eight-star newcomer among the final eight, he was the only candidate capable of stopping what felt like Qin Fen’s reign of tyranny.

“...”

Caesar slowly walked out of the spectator stands. His steps, unlike Badar’s previous heavy, grounded movements, conveyed an indescribable grace. He stopped a short distance from Qin Fen. The crowd’s attention snapped back to Qin Fen, eager to see how the man who had spoken nothing but arrogant boasts would react.

“You?” Qin Fen asked, a hint of regret in his expression. “You can’t take three punches.”

Being looked down upon by a peer of the same eight-star rank did not cause Caesar’s expression to darken significantly. Instead, he smiled.

“If you want me to fail to take three punches,” Caesar’s lips curled upward as he rotated his neck twice, “then you need to get serious. The punch you just threw is useless against me.”

Serious? Not serious? Badar’s scalp prickled repeatedly. Qin Fen’s previous fierce attack was being dismissed as not serious? Wasn't that his full power?

A faint glimmer of humiliation crossed Alice’s mind. Being defeated by a single punch was humiliating enough, but to now realize the opponent hadn't even used his true strength was worse.

“Bring out your external zhenqi release; stop holding back,” Caesar said, gently rotating his wrist. “Fight me with your real power. Between you and me, the true measure should be about seeing who can achieve a greater leap in cross-level challenge.”

“Your leap isn’t big enough,” Qin Fen’s voice was cold. He turned his head to look at Kai Tian Brooks, who had been eliminated in the initial sixteen but had simultaneously advanced his star rating. “Do you want to fight me too?”

“That’s right,” Brooks retorted, his chin lifting, showing no sign of being crushed by Qin Fen’s imposing aura. In fact, reaching eight stars and almost immediately challenging Qin Fen left him feeling disappointed.

“Very well,” Qin Fen swept his gaze over the remaining competitors. “When they all step forward to fight, you join in as well.”

...

Brooks fell silent. If he had a choice, a one-on-one fight would be best. A flicker of self-mockery crossed his eyes. As a non-upgraded eight-star newcomer, simply getting a match against Qin Fen was already luck. He shouldn't harbor greater expectations. “Fine,” Brooks conceded, glancing at Caesar. “Provided you can only defeat him in three punches. Otherwise, we fight one-on-one.”

“Deal.” Qin Fen refocused his attention entirely on Caesar.

At this moment, Caesar’s face was no longer completely indifferent. A spark of rage appeared in the corner of his eye—the fury born of being completely disregarded.

Caesar was angry.

Even the Emperor can become enraged. The wrath of an insulted emperor does not necessarily mean stupidity. It also signifies the terror of ten thousand tons of thunder.

“Here,” Caesar slowly raised his right arm, his palm shaped like an imperial seal. “I only hope that after I withstand your three punches, you won’t withdraw from the Newcomer Competition. I want to defeat you in front of all these spectators and tell them that this year’s European newcomers are the strongest in this entire contest.”

【Emperor Fist】.