I had a full 24 hours to prepare for the death match. I was confident in myself, but I knew it would be bloody. I couldn't get this rage out of me without fighting. Maybe it would help me in a fight to the death, or maybe it would blind me. There was no way to know. In the arena, something unexpected could always happen. One mistake, one distraction, and everything could end.s
So I focused on what I could control: food and meditation. I needed as much energy as possible. It was disappointing that I couldn't use my coins to buy better food, but I made do with second-class meals and my favorite food bars. I ate twenty bars across five meals and finished all the meat they delivered that day. After that, I meditated.
As the sun began to set, I watched it in silence. It was beautiful, and for a moment, it calmed me. But I knew what would happen tomorrow. There would be no mercy. I washed myself and went to sleep.
When I woke up, it was still night. I went straight to the commander's quarters and knocked.
"Come in."
Inside were Turte and two of his lackeys, one of whom I recognized as an arena referee. They looked at me briefly, then pointed to a seat in the corner.
"Sit there and wait."
"Yes," I replied, sitting down without another word.
After some time, I heard footsteps. Then he entered. Caral. The man who would become my first kill in this world. I felt excitement run through me, mixed with a desire to torture him. But first, there were procedures.
We were checked and measured to make sure we carried no weapons or poison. My power level was measured first: 2600. Caral's was slightly higher: 2670. The lackeys searched our bodies. They found a small bag of dirt hidden in Caral's mouth and took it away. It wasn't poison, so they didn't care. Saiyans only cared about the winner.
Soon after, we entered the arena. Many Saiyans were watching. Only those on missions or those who didn't care about low-level fights were absent. We didn't wait for ceremony. We jumped straight in.
The commander sat high above the ground. Behind him was another seat, even higher. I assumed it was meant for the king, or perhaps for inspections or special tournaments.
The referee asked, "Are you ready?"
"Yes!" we both shouted.
"Start!"
I couldn't afford carelessness. One clean punch could decide everything. I had barely seen Caral fight before, except for one punch he once threw at me. I knew I couldn't be passive. I closed the distance immediately, using my tail to poke and disrupt his arms. When he didn't expect it, I grabbed his arm with my tail, pulled him toward me, and struck his inner thigh with my leg. His stance broke for a moment, and he stepped back, switching position.
For the next several minutes, we circled each other, trading jabs and testing reactions, trying to steal initiative and information.
Suddenly, his ki flared and gathered into his right hand. He threw an overhand punch. I dodged and countered with full force toward his ribs. But he was fast. My punch smashed into his elbow. The impact shattered both his elbow and my fist at the same time.
I lost the use of my fist. He lost the use of his left arm.
It was a trade in my favor.
I pressed him, cornering him. Then suddenly he shouted, "I surrender!"
For a split second, my focus broke. That was enough. He struck my lower stomach. I blocked most of it with my tail, but the pain still hit hard. My rage exploded. I stopped thinking about openings and tactics and attacked relentlessly.
Most of my punches were blocked by his arms, especially the injured one. I targeted it again and again, wanting him to feel every bit of pain. Unable to fight properly with one arm, he stepped back and tried to surprise me with a reckless strike from his broken hand. It clipped my face.
The damage was minor.
The insult was not.
I went wild. I knew I couldn't keep that pace forever, so I forced an opening and threw a full-power overhand punch. It slammed into his forehead. His head snapped back, his legs gave out, and he dropped to his knees.
I followed with a football kick to his head and continued punching him while he was down.
Then something happened that I didn't understand. A white energy left his body and flowed directly into mine. I froze.
The crowd kept cheering, screaming my name, shouting for me to kill him. They didn't see it.
I looked into the stands and saw Culer. He was hiding his face, tears falling from his cheeks.
I stood over Caral's broken body and stared at Culer until he finally looked back at me. I held his gaze for ten seconds. Then I turned around and walked out of the arena.
I needed to understand that energy. I didn't feel any immediate change.
I went to the commander, collected my rewards, returned to my room, collapsed onto my bed, and fell asleep, still covered in both my blood and Caral's.
I had a full 24 hours to prepare for the death match. I was confident in myself, but I knew it would be bloody. I couldn't get this rage out of me without fighting. Maybe it would help me in a fight to the death, or maybe it would blind me. There was no way to know. In the arena, something unexpected could always happen. One mistake, one distraction, and everything could end.
So I focused on what I could control: food and meditation. I needed as much energy as possible. It was disappointing that I couldn't use my coins to buy better food, but I made do with second-class meals and my favorite food bars. I ate twenty bars across five meals and finished all the meat they delivered that day. After that, I meditated.
As the sun began to set, I watched it in silence. It was beautiful, and for a moment, it calmed me. But I knew what would happen tomorrow. There would be no mercy. I washed myself and went to sleep.
When I woke up, it was still night. I went straight to the commander's quarters and knocked.
"Come in."
Inside were Turte and two of his lackeys, one of whom I recognized as an arena referee. They looked at me briefly, then pointed to a seat in the corner.
"Sit there and wait."
"Yes," I replied, sitting down without another word.
After some time, I heard footsteps. Then he entered. Caral. The man who would become my first kill in this world. I felt excitement run through me, mixed with a desire to torture him. But first, there were procedures.
We were checked and measured to make sure we carried no weapons or poison. My power level was measured first: 2600. Caral's was slightly higher: 2670. The lackeys searched our bodies. They found a small bag of dirt hidden in Caral's mouth and took it away. It wasn't poison, so they didn't care. Saiyans only cared about the winner.
Soon after, we entered the arena. Many Saiyans were watching. Only those on missions or those who didn't care about low-level fights were absent. We didn't wait for ceremony. We jumped straight in.
The commander sat high above the ground. Behind him was another seat, even higher. I assumed it was meant for the king, or perhaps for inspections or special tournaments.
The referee asked, "Are you ready?"
"Yes!" we both shouted.
"Start!"
I couldn't afford carelessness. One clean punch could decide everything. I had barely seen Caral fight before, except for one punch he once threw at me. I knew I couldn't be passive. I closed the distance immediately, using my tail to poke and disrupt his arms. When he didn't expect it, I grabbed his arm with my tail, pulled him toward me, and struck his inner thigh with my leg. His stance broke for a moment, and he stepped back, switching position.
For the next several minutes, we circled each other, trading jabs and testing reactions, trying to steal initiative and information.
Suddenly, his ki flared and gathered into his right hand. He threw an overhand punch. I dodged and countered with full force toward his ribs. But he was fast. My punch smashed into his elbow. The impact shattered both his elbow and my fist at the same time.
I lost the use of my fist. He lost the use of his left arm.
It was a trade in my favor.
I pressed him, cornering him. Then suddenly he shouted, "I surrender!"
For a split second, my focus broke. That was enough. He struck my lower stomach. I blocked most of it with my tail, but the pain still hit hard. My rage exploded. I stopped thinking about openings and tactics and attacked relentlessly.
Most of my punches were blocked by his arms, especially the injured one. I targeted it again and again, wanting him to feel every bit of pain. Unable to fight properly with one arm, he stepped back and tried to surprise me with a reckless strike from his broken hand. It clipped my face.
The damage was minor.
The insult was not.
I went wild. I knew I couldn't keep that pace forever, so I forced an opening and threw a full-power overhand punch. It slammed into his forehead. His head snapped back, his legs gave out, and he dropped to his knees.
I followed with a football kick to his head and continued punching him while he was down.
Then something happened that I didn't understand. A white energy left his body and flowed directly into mine. I froze.
The crowd kept cheering, screaming my name, shouting for me to kill him. They didn't see it.
I looked into the stands and saw Culer. He was hiding his face, tears falling from his cheeks.
I stood over Caral's broken body and stared at Culer until he finally looked back at me. I held his gaze for ten seconds. Then I turned around and walked out of the arena.
I needed to understand that energy. I didn't feel any immediate change.
I went to the commander, collected my rewards, returned to my room, collapsed onto my bed, and fell asleep, still covered in both my blood and Caral's.