In Heavens Arena, high-profile fighters are often given nicknames by the audience.
This stage marks the gradual transformation of spectators into fans.
The birth of these nicknames depends on the distinctive traits a fighter displays in the ring.
When Morrow stepped into the arena, his most common habit was to analyze and counter his opponent's moves. If he failed, he would immediately pause to reflect, searching for a better response, then guide his opponent into recreating the previous exchange.
If he faced an opponent with exceptional martial skills, the frequency and duration of his contemplation would noticeably increase.
Within just a few days, the audience and fans who followed Morrow unanimously agreed on the nickname "Meditator."
They also noticed a pattern: the longer Morrow spent in contemplation during a match, the higher the skill level of his opponent.
During this time, as the center of attention, Morrow naturally heard about the "Meditator" nickname, and many fans even approached him for autographs.
Such was the atmosphere of Heavens Arena, where fan culture was a prominent force.
Since martial matches allowed on-site betting, many spectators who enjoyed placing wagers would naturally become fervent supporters of consistently victorious fighters.
Morrow paid little mind to these inevitable phenomena.
The nickname "Meditator" was, at the very least, far better than the likes of "Chop-Killua" or "Push-Palm Gon" from the original story.
While he could ignore the nickname, he couldn't overlook the potential threat posed by fan interactions.
Just imagine... what if a large crowd of fans suddenly rushed at him?
Such chaotic scenarios would provide the perfect environment for an assassin to strike.
He wouldn't even be surprised if someone in the crowd suddenly pulled out a machine gun.
Morrow had come to Heavens Arena for two reasons: to hone his skills and to openly face Nolan's retaliatory pursuit.
But that didn't mean he would generously offer an assassination opportunity, like being surrounded by fans.
—--
By the fifth day,
Morrow had completed ten matches and effortlessly advanced to the 100th floor.
Within Heavens Arena's hierarchy, there were several major thresholds.
The first was between the 1st and 100th floors.
At this level, the overall skill of the fighters noticeably improved, and the benefits they received underwent a fundamental upgrade.
As a result, many fighters would resort to any means necessary to maintain their position above the 100th floor.
Morrow was aware of this, but even after several days, and climbing all the way to the 160th floor, he encountered no harassment or targeting.
Perhaps his seemingly invincible performance in the ring deterred any troublemakers from acting recklessly.
I've gained a lot during this time.
After finishing his match on the 180th floor, Morrow returned to his room.
In less than ten days, he had fought a total of 18 matches.
He had faced a variety of opponents, learning numerous offensive and defensive techniques along the way. More importantly, he had expanded his understanding and steadily accumulated invaluable experience.
It was worth noting: the observational skills he had honed in the antique appraisal industry had subtly carried over into his combat abilities. Because he had been focusing on observing his opponents' force-exertion habits, after over a dozen matches, sometimes just seeing subtle physical reactions would allow him to predict their next moves.
Ten days wasn't long, but Morrow could clearly feel his growth.
He was like a sponge or a blank sheet of paper, starting from zero meant he could better appreciate the explosive progress made in such a short time.
—--
The next day.
Morrow stepped onto the fighting ring leading to the 190th floor.
Having gained much during this period, he had already set his sights beyond the 200th floor.
So he abandoned his original plan of slowing down...
If he won both matches today, he would advance to the 200th floor.
"Meditator! Meditator!!"
"Hahaha, Meditator Morrow, I'm betting on you again today, don't let me down!"
"Go, Morrow!!!"
The stands were packed, most of the audience there for Morrow.
Just a single entry ticket had already been scalped for dozens of times its original price.
This usually only happened for matches above the 200th floor, which showed just how popular Morrow had become in Heavens Arena.
And this near-fanatic fanfare? Morrow had achieved it in just ten days.
This was exactly why self-proclaimed elite fighters flocked to this arena.
It was the fastest path to fame.
"Here we go: the much-anticipated showdown before it even begins!"
The commentator's clear voice echoed through the venue, somewhat suppressing the noise from the crowd.
"Now stepping onto the ring is the unstoppable, undefeated Meditator Morrow! And his opponent, equally undefeated, charging forward with unstoppable momentum, Sonic Fist Tygor!"
Before the match began, the commentator introduced both fighters as usual.
When she mentioned Sonic Fist Tygor, the crowd erupted in cheers.
"Tygor, crush him! You can do it!"
"What kind of bullshit Meditator? Tygor, send him to hell with your Sonic Fist, haha!"
Clearly, in the world of combat where strength reigned supreme, this fighter also had a formidable reputation and a strong following.
Morrow stood on the left side of the ring, his gaze fixed on the passage ahead.
A lean, muscular man with a buzz cut emerged from the passage, walking toward the ring.
The man was bare-chested, wearing only yellow trunks, his hands wrapped in layers of white bandages.
Morrow studied Tygor, and a flicker of surprise passed through his calm, steady eyes.
His opponent... was a Nen user.
Morrow's gaze swept over the aura enveloping Tygor, a stable Ten suggesting solid fundamentals.
Meeting Morrow's scrutiny, Tygor strode onto the ring, his expression cold.
"Meditator... Hmph. Those ordinary people don't know the truth, so they blindly worship you, mistaking this for some kind of effortless mastery."
Tygor raised his right fist, emphasizing the words "ordinary people" with a sneer. "But after today, your corpse will help them see the truth."
"Corpse?" Morrow raised an eyebrow, puzzled by the sheer hostility.
For a moment, he almost thought Tygor had been sent by Nolan.
Watching Morrow's somewhat inexplicable reaction, Tygor's eyes gleamed with killing intent as he sneered, "Don't overthink it. This isn't favoritism. There's only one thing I do in the arena: kill my opponents."
"Hmm? Is it really necessary to go that far?" Morrow asked calmly.
In response, Tygor slowly released his aura, which coiled around his muscular frame.
"If power isn't meant for slaughter, then it's meaningless. And the arena justifies that act."
…
Morrow frowned in silence before smiling in understanding.
Seeing his grin, Tygor's gaze turned even colder.
—--
In the spectator stands.
Heavens Arena fighters who had lost to Morrow, including the long-haired woman defeated in the preliminaries, had all come to watch the match.
Without Morrow's steady strength to guarantee advancement, they naturally paid close attention to the most ferocious competitors.
So they knew Tygor, the Sonic Fist.
And this guy was precisely the kind of ruthless, brutal fighter they least wanted to face, someone who cared nothing for his opponents' lives in the ring!
"Go on and crush this bastard!"
Though they had lost to him, they openly cheered for Morrow.
Sure, Morrow's contemplative demeanor in the ring had made their defeats frustrating.
But compared to a savage fighter like Tygor, they'd much rather face Morrow.
—--
In a noisy corner of the stands, a handsome man stood apart from the surrounding clamor, silently watching Morrow in the arena.