Throne Of Supreme

Chapter 270: The Great Devil (Part 2)

______

With the help of the short-haired challenger, the long-haired challenger managed to leave the stairs.

Back on solid ground, the long-haired man grabbed his comrade's hand, his voice low but resolute.

"You must defeat him!"

Though strangers before, in this moment, they felt like the closest comrades-in-arms.

"Leave it to me!"

The short-haired challenger, fueled by anger and determination, strode forward with purpose, heading toward the ring.

---

The crowd erupted in excitement.

"Go!"

"Take him down!"

"Show him the strength of the Imperial Capital!"

One step, two steps, three steps, four steps...

In the blink of an eye, the short-haired challenger surpassed the previous record.

Five steps, six steps, seven steps...

"Come on!"

"Keep going!"

"Don't give up!"

The cheers below grew louder and more fervent.

---

The short-haired challenger's pace began to slow. Standing on the seventh step, he looked upward, sweat dripping into his eyes, distorting his vision.

Only three steps remained, yet the distance felt insurmountable—a chasm he couldn't hope to cross.

"Huff... huff... The pressure on these steps is getting stronger!"

Drenched in sweat, his heart was consumed by a growing sense of helplessness and frustration.

After a brief rest, he felt a faint recovery of strength and tried to ascend to the eighth step. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, his legs refused to move.

"Argh!"

With a roar, he summoned every ounce of willpower, feeling a surge of energy that seemed to push him past his limits. Slowly, he lifted his right foot.

But the moment he did, his left leg, unable to bear the strain alone, buckled under the pressure.

His face twisted in panic, but it was too late to stop the inevitable.

---

Boom!

A thunderous crash echoed as the short-haired challenger collapsed face-first onto the seventh step, losing consciousness instantly.

Aoki, watching from the ring, sighed.

"Tragic, but it seems you're not the hero who can unleash your inner cosmos and defeat the big devil."

With a wave of his hand, a gust of wind materialized, gently lifting the unconscious man and carrying him off the platform.

"Once again, I urge everyone: know your limits and don't push yourself too far."

Unbeknownst to the audience, Aoki had secretly intervened to prevent the challenger from fatally injuring himself.

---

A heavy silence settled around the ring.

Three challengers had attempted the climb, yet none had even reached the platform.

Those hoping to see Aoki humbled were visibly disappointed. Others began to murmur in frustration.

---

A portly man sneered.

"These rules are ridiculous. Is anyone even capable of getting on that stage?"

Beside him, a rail-thin young man crossed his arms and scoffed.

"This whole thing's a scam! He's just sitting up there, waiting for everyone to wear themselves out. Even if someone makes it, they'll be too exhausted to fight."

Across from them, a kindly older man chuckled softly.

"Actually, I think it's fair. It's probably just a way to filter out unworthy challengers. Besides, he has to accept a round-robin match once someone gets up there. He's not just sitting idly."

The thin man snorted.

"Round-robin match? That was his choice! It has nothing to do with anyone else. If he can't handle it, he shouldn't be up there in the first place. People like him are the worst!"

---

The audience's arguments grew louder, drawing an even larger crowd.

Aoki, unfazed by the commotion, scanned the gathering.

"Anyone else want to try?"

Two seconds passed before a middle-aged man in plain clothing stepped forward, his expression calm and composed.

"Let me give it a shot," he said, his voice steady.

He seemed to be quite well-known, as the moment he stepped forward, the crowd erupted in cheers.

"It's Master Hoffman!"

"Master Hoffman trained at the Royal Fist Temple!"

"Finally, a real master has shown up!"

"Master Hoffman, please teach him a lesson!"

Hoffman remained calm, his voice steady and composed.

"I will do my best, but I cannot guarantee victory."

Without any trace of arrogance or fear, he walked slowly toward the ring.

---

One step, two steps, three steps...

Hoffman climbed steadily, maintaining a constant pace.

Fifth step, sixth step, seventh step...

Reaching the seventh step, he paused and looked up.

"No wonder the last challenger stopped here," he muttered.

The pressure at this level had begun to weigh on him.

---

The crowd collectively held their breath, worried that Hoffman might meet the same fate as the previous challenger.

But after a brief pause, Hoffman resumed his climb.

Eighth step, ninth step, tenth step...

Finally, with a firm step, Hoffman ascended to the ring.

---

"Yes!"

"Hahaha, he made it!"

"As expected of Master Hoffman!"

The crowd erupted in thunderous applause.

Hoffman stood at the edge of the ring, a flicker of surprise crossing his otherwise calm face.

---

"Finally," Aoki remarked, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Someone has made it to the stage."

"Have you trained at the Royal Fist Temple?" Aoki asked, his tone curious but measured.

"Yes," Hoffman replied, nodding. "I trained there for ten years, but I left due to differences in philosophy."

Hoffman glanced around the ring, his expression thoughtful.

"The pressure here is even greater than on the tenth step. No wonder it's so difficult to reach this stage."

"Of course," Aoki said, his voice steady. "Do you still think I'm taking advantage of the challengers, as some have claimed?"

Hoffman's expression grew serious. Bowing slightly, he said, "I apologize on behalf of those who spoke without understanding the truth."

Aoki waved his hand dismissively.

"No need to apologize. Let's begin. Show me your strength."

---

Hoffman took a deep breath, his demeanor growing resolute.

The pressure on the eighth step had been intense, and by the time he reached the tenth, his speed and flexibility were clearly affected. Yet this man—this mysterious opponent—had been standing calmly in an area with even greater pressure, showing no signs of strain.

The outcome of this battle was already clear, but Hoffman was determined to give it his all.

He tore off his outer robe, revealing a muscular physique honed by years of rigorous training.

"Master Aoki," he said, his voice firm, "please instruct me."

With a roar, Hoffman charged forward, unleashing his ultimate move.

"Royal Fist Temple: Hundred Splitting Fist!"

His fists blurred into phantoms, each strike radiating fierce energy as they surged toward Aoki.

---

To Aoki, however, the attack was as slow as a drifting feather.

Calmly, he extended his hand, effortlessly catching Hoffman's fist. In that instant, the flurry of phantom strikes vanished.

Hoffman's face shifted in shock. The strength in Aoki's grip was overwhelming, an unyielding force that rendered all his struggles futile.

"The Hundred Splitting Fist," Aoki remarked, his tone even. "Well executed."

Hoffman's skill was undeniable. Only the core disciples of the Royal Fist Temple were entrusted with such techniques. Clearly, Hoffman's identity carried significant weight.

But Aoki had no interest in delving into his opponent's past.

His goal was singular: to become the strongest.

---

Aoki raised his right hand and pushed lightly.

Hoffman's body seemed to lose all control, sent flying backward as if carried by an invisible wave. He drifted out of the ring, landing gently on his feet.

Only then did Hoffman snap back to reality, as though waking from a dream.

---

"What terrifying power control," Hoffman murmured, staring at the ring in awe.

Aoki's mastery of both raw strength and precision was beyond anything Hoffman had ever encountered. The gap between them was insurmountable.

Hoffman's gaze shifted to the chest of gold sitting on the stage.

With a sigh, he thought, It seems no one will be able to claim that treasure.