Chapter 1617

Chapter 1617

Nigel’s fighting spirit surged upon hearing those words. Initially, he had

teetered on the brink of surrender, but now determination coursed through

his veins.

What an arrogant rascal! Nigel thought in silence.

Bernett and Hannah exchanged nervous glances. Their palms were coated

with a film of perspiration. Their emotions mirrored Nigel’s, which were a

blend of anxiety and anticipation.

“Just a moment ago,” Dominic chortled, “he boasted of defeating opponents with a single hand. Now, the tables have turned. He’s the one challenged to fight using only one hand. Perhaps this old folk won’t emerge victorious in

such a duel!”

Dominic’s laughter echoed through the room, which further drew angry

glares from the Finch family.

Dylan Yarrow, ever stoic, made no move to silence Dominic. Dominic’s

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Chapter 1617 Nigel’s Defeat

laughter added a layer of rivalry. The tension hung thick in the air, a clash of

pride and skill.

Nigel stood opposite Emmanuel. They formed a mismatched pair. Any

discerning observer could see that Nigel’s skill paled in comparison to the

formidable Emmanuel. Dominic, ever the provocateur, openly mocked the

Finch family. His laughter echoed. It was a taunt that cut deeper than any

blade. But he was no mere spectator. His motives remained shrouded. Could

he be a warlord in disguise, using this spectacle to prove allegiance or seek

refuge with the Quillen family?

“You little brat!” Nigel’s voice cracked, rage boiling over. “I’ll kill you! I’m going

to kill you!”

Shame washed over him. That was the greatest shame of his life. His eyes.

turned bloodshot, and he launched a desperate attack against Emmanuel.

Desperation fueled his blows.

How unreasonable!

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How unreasonable!

For decades, Nigel had been the challenger, the one who tested others‘

mettle. Now, the tables were cruelly turned. Emmanuel, that scoundrel, had

pushed arrogance to its limits. His death seemed well–deserved.

Yet, despite Nigel’s determination and the strength exerted to the breaking.

point, Emmanuel remained unscathed.

In the arena, the spectators craned their necks, eyes riveted on the unfolding

spectacle. Between Nigel and Emmanuel, an invisible galaxy of difference

stretched. It was a cosmic expanse separating skill from futility.

“Old folk, you’re too pathetic!” a voice sneered from the crowd. “Did you start

the game pretending to be strong?” The words hung heavy, a collective

judgment that echoed through the air.

“He made me lose my bet,” another voice chimed in, bitterness lacing the

words. “Acted all tough, he did. But he’s both weak and pretentious. Talking

about this shameless guy!” The crowd murmured in agreement, their disdain

Chapter 1617 Nigels Defeat

palpable.

Under the arena, swears erupted with a chorus of frustration and

disappointment.

Nigel’s heart lay cold, his spirit shattered.

Never in his decades of martial arts had he faced such humiliation. The

crowd’s jeers were a relentless assault, chipping away at his resolve.

If only he could kill Emmanuel. But fate was cruel. It was a taunting reminder

of Nigel’s inadequacy when Emmanuel fought with one hand. Nigel further

earned himself two punishing punches, with pain radiated when Emmanuel

landed two blows on him.

Nigel’s eyes swelled, a pair of panda–like bruises encircling them.

In the electric atmosphere of the arena, Shane’s laughter echoed. It was

much resemblant to a raucous celebration. “Haha, Emmanuel,” he called out,

“you have quite the artistic flair! You made Nigel start off as a monkey and

Chapter 1617 Nigel’s Defeat

end up as a panda. It’s like you are performing a magic show!” His words.

danced with mischief, a nod to the absurdity of the duel.

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His excitement was so evident that he almost performed Adriel’s “Dance with

Your Way” right there on the spot.

Not to be outdone, Frederick joined the chorus. His relief was palpable, a

million–dollar weight lifted. “Finally, I won a million!” he exclaimed, voice

booming. “Don’t call me a jinx anymore!” The crowd erupted, their cheers a

symphony of fortune.

But on the arena ground laid Nigel, defeated and broken. His spirit had

crumbled, worse than death.

He clung to stubbornness, a last vestige of pride. “If I hadn’t started by letting

you use only one hand,” he rasped, “and if you hadn’t injured me, you

definitely wouldn’t have beaten me!” His defiance hung in the air, a

desperate plea.

Seeing that he was still being stubborn, Emmanuel simply hid both of his

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arms and offered. “Nigel, how about this. I’ll let you use both legs and one

hand, is that acceptable?”

Nigel’s leap was fueled by vengeance. “You said it yourself,” he spat, rising

from the ground. “If you die, don’t blame anyone else!” This was what he

wanted to hear.

Nigel faced a crossroads. Emmanuel’s challenge had stripped him bare,

leaving pride and desperation as his only weapons. If he failed now, he would

be branded the lousiest and dumbest fighter in history. It was a title no one

coveted.

But cruel reality mocked Nigel. No matter how he attacked, Emmanuel

danced away, a phantom eluding his grasp. With a single leg, Emmanuel

delivered a kick that reverberated through Nigel’s skull, knocking out teeth

and shattering resolve! Pain exploded, and Nigel’s surrender was inevitable.

“I surrender! I surrender!” His voice cracked, desperation echoing. “I lose!!

lose!”

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The crowd watched, silent witnesses to his downfall.

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Emmanuel poised for another strike, but Nigel waved his hands in fear,

retreating. Words tumbled from his toothless mouth, unintelligible. Whether it

was a plea for mercy or defiance, no one could tell.

Emmanuel’s final kick sent Nigel sprawling, a broken figure on the arena floor.

Nigel looked undeniably pitiful and tragic after being beaten up by

Emmanuel. The situation mirrored the famous poet, Gemma Mann’s quote

“How utterly tragic!”

Emmanuel’s brow furrowed as he strained to understand Nigel’s words. “I

apologize,” he said, scratching his head. I didn’t quite catch what you said

earlier.

His sincerity was evident.

He was a reasonable man who adhered to the rules of combat. Surely, when

an opponent surrendered, he wouldn’t Further, right?

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Chapter 1617 Nigel’s Defeat

Despite he was obviously dying, Nigel still got up in a daze and knelt in front

of Emmanuel to beg for mercy. He thought Emmanuel was coming over to

attack him further.

Even if he cannot hear clearly, surely, he can understand, right?

The thought played in Nigel’s mind as he thought even if his voice wavered,

surely Emmanuel could understand. He deemed Emmanuel did it on

purpose.

“I surrender!” Nigel rasped, the words a plea for mercy. “I quit!”

Bullying an elderly person. What a lack of martial virtue!

Nigel quickly knelt and groveled as a sign of begging for mercy. He then

rolled off the arena. His old bones protested, and he feared another beating

from Emmanuel.

Amidst the charged atmosphere, Shane’s laughter cut through the tension

like a blade. “Haha, this is the Finch family’s expert!” he jeered. “The kind of

master they have determines the kind of pet dog they raise!”

Chapter 1617 Nigel’s Defeat

His words were merciless, a calculated strike at their pride.

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The Finch family, once boastful, now faced their own hubris. How many times

had they flaunted their expertise before this match?

Bernett and Hannah, thrust into the spotlight, wore expressions that mirrored

their inner turmoil. Their expressions were seen half pale, half dark. It was

evident that they were so embarrassed and they wished to vanish into the

arena floor.

What a predicament!

The crowd held its collective breath, witnessing the fall from grace. And then,

like a phantom, Dylan rose from his seat.

“Mr. Finch, see you!” he murmured, no hesitation in his voice. His exit was swift,

a retreat from the impending storm. Dominic followed suit, slipping into the

night’s embrace.