At that very moment, someone parted the edge of the crowd and stepped forward. It was a young man, with sharp features and a handsome face. He was still carrying a bag, as if he had just arrived, but he had clearly witnessed the entire match between Mad Bull and Lin Hai.
He glanced at Lanxi with a smile.
"Looks like you've hit a wall this time, Mad Bull. This guy's physique is top-notch!"
Then he turned to Lin Hai, extended a hand, and smiled again.
"Impressive physical performance. I wouldn't dare compare. But I wonder—are you interested in a little mech combat? We could have a bout."
The moment those words landed, the crowd's excitement skyrocketed.
The young man was none other than Lu Ming, the reigning champion of the mech arena at the Body Refinement Club, known to all as "Battle King."
If there was one area in the Wheel of Sky Club that truly got people's blood boiling, it was the Mech Combat Arena at its core.
Compared to that, every other section of the club paled in significance.
As the heavy doors of the mech arena slowly slid open with a grinding noise, the expansive arena came into full view. Many members instinctively stopped their workouts and headed straight for the glass-protected viewing stands.
The opening of the mech arena signaled the start of the most electrifying event, and every screen in the facility automatically switched to broadcast the combat ring.
Lu Ming was said to be a top student of Qingyuan Imperial University—renowned even within the university, and hailing from the upper echelons of Riverbank Star society. His background was shrouded in mystery; even those who pulled strings and tried to investigate couldn't uncover much. All they knew was that Lu Ming's family rarely interfered with his interest in piloting mechs and engaging in personal duels at the club.
The fearsome nickname "Battle King" wasn't self-proclaimed—it was earned. Lu Ming had crushed nearly every challenger in the arena.
Now that he'd seen Lin Hai's earlier shocking performance, many among the crowd dared to hope again.
After all, they couldn't just watch the Body Refinement Club's three top figures be taken down one after another. If that happened, how could they hold their heads high in front of the other elite clubs?
But the memory of Lin Hai's terrifying display still loomed large, making people uneasy.
Weimo led Lin Hai into the backstage area of the mech arena. As he caught sight of the sleek mechanical lines of the battle suit before him, Lin Hai felt a surge of adrenaline rise up from within.
The model was called "Short Sword."
It was a third-generation Imperial mech design—humanoid in form, somewhat outdated by modern standards, but undeniably a classic that had once dominated the battlefield for two centuries.
Growing up in the slums, Lin Hai had often found discarded magazines full of these older mech models. To his well-read eyes, this "Short Sword," though aged, was stunningly beautiful and familiar.
Though old-fashioned, the Short Sword was known for its vast mechanical potential. It demanded a high level of operation skill, but could outperform even modern civilian mechs equipped with electronic assist systems—provided the pilot could handle it.
According to Mech Panorama, a globally respected publication, many old masters praised it lavishly. Most of those experts were long gone, leaving behind only this museum-worthy relic to testify to its legacy.
Because it pushed pilots to their limits and reflected their true skill, the Short Sword remained the mech of choice in the Wheel of Sky for head-to-head combat.
The cockpit opened. Lin Hai climbed in and ran his hands over the dense array of controls. A dream was becoming reality.
This was his first time seeing a Short Sword up close. His first time piloting one.
The lift raised his white mech into the arena. Through the canopy, he could see Lu Ming's black Short Sword already in position across the field.
The stands were full, protected by reinforced glass. Lin Wei was among the spectators.
Earlier, Lin Hai's defeat of Lanxi had left her face burning and her heart seething with anger. But now, calm had returned.
She, along with the other socialites from the yoga room, had come to watch—and she wanted to see how this newcomer would perform in actual mech combat.
Lu Ming was a fellow student at Qingyuan University—an elite peer. According to evaluations, he had reached the rank of High-Grade Mech Fighter in the Empire's pilot classification system.
Pilots were divided into Low, Medium, and High grades. Above them stood the true professionals—Mech Masters.
Only high-grade fighters had a chance to become professional mech pilots, a status that often guaranteed a bright future.
Such talents could be recruited by the military or earn prestige and wealth in the private sector.
In top-level competitions like Dakar, Mech Super Bowl, or World Formula Championships, these fighters raked in prize money that even celebrities couldn't match.
Even in smaller regional contests, a high-grade fighter commanded impressive pay. Mech corporations vied to hire them for research, design, or branding. The influence they wielded was enormous.
So the fact that Lin Hai was facing Lu Ming—a rising star at Qingyuan, a high-grade mech fighter—made Lin Wei's heart skip a beat.
If he could win…
Such a victory would be a godsend for the declining Wayne Group, her family's enterprise.
Even though she still held some resentment toward Lin Hai, deep down, she couldn't help but feel anticipation.
Her hands clenched the railing.
"Lin Hai…" she murmured the name softly, her beautiful eyes narrowing.
…
Suddenly, the lights dimmed in the arena, focusing only on the two mechs.
Lu Ming chuckled. His voice came through the comm, regal and confident.
"I've defeated countless opponents in this ring. I hope you can at least surprise me."
Lin Hai's voice responded evenly.
"I'll do my best."
The system beeped.
"Effective Control Test: Please execute the following commands…"
Swish, swish, swish!
The black Short Sword leapt forward and launched a flurry of punches, followed by a twisting aerial kick and a graceful landing—a flawless demonstration of old-school mech potential.
The giant screen displayed the results:
"Black Short Sword: Control Speed – 80 actions/min. Landing Stability – 90%."
Applause erupted from the stands.
Effective control speed was a key metric in evaluating a pilot's skill.
A control rate of 40 actions per minute qualified one for basic military mech duties.
The higher the rate, the more complex tactical maneuvers a pilot could perform.
That flurry just now? A high-level tactical routine.
All eyes turned to Lin Hai.
He followed the test instructions. The white Short Sword moved, launching a series of decent punches. But his final blow was poorly timed, causing a stumble. His aerial spin-kick also landed poorly, sliding awkwardly to the side.
"White Short Sword: Control Speed – 43 actions/min. Landing Stability – 64%."
A passable score for a casual pilot—but clearly inferior to Lu Ming's.
Many had feared Lin Hai might be a hidden expert. Now, they were relieved.
Then the black Short Sword lunged.
Its feet slammed the metal floor, closing the distance in a flash. Its fists burst forward in rapid succession.
"Quad Burst Punch!" someone on the stands called out.
Lu Ming's signature move.
He had used this exact combination to demolish many opponents before.
"He wants to finish it quickly," someone muttered. "That white Short Sword's test score must've disappointed him."
To Lu Ming, this opponent wasn't even worth a real duel.
But just as disappointment began to settle in among the crowd—
the white Short Sword moved.
It wasn't fast. In fact, it was clearly slower.
But it weaved left and right at critical moments. Lu Ming's storm of punches—lightning-fast and ferocious—barely grazed the white mech's armor!
The fourth punch struck its shoulder, causing a jolt.
But then—two hands came together, intercepted an incoming alloy leg mid-air, and used the force to retreat.
All of this happened in a flash.
"He dodged it…"
The crowd gasped.
Lu Ming's seemingly unstoppable combo had been blocked.
Inside the black mech, Lu Ming's expression turned serious.
The other pilot was slower—technically inferior.
But he had dodged those blows with incredible precision and timing.
It meant his combat instincts and predictive ability were astonishing.
Lu Ming pressed the attack.
He launched into close-quarter combat, a brutal melee that he had perfected.
White mech was battered backward, blocking with its thickest armor panels.
Lu Ming's black Short Sword rained punches and kicks like a storm.
But Lin Hai held on—sweating, hands dancing like a pianist over the controls, defending with grim focus.
For one whole minute, the white Short Sword withstood the assault.
Each hit seemed to land—but it always struck the least vulnerable parts of the armor.
Lu Ming was shocked.
This pilot had already seen through his attack patterns.
Though Lu Ming's superior control speed kept the pressure on, the psychological advantage had eroded.
A moment's distraction—
BAM!
The white Short Sword launched a rising kick that nearly smashed into the black mech's chin.
So close.
The audience held its breath.
If that alloy leg had struck true—it could've ended the fight.
But Lu Ming dodged at the last second.
The kick grazed his helmet—too close for comfort.
Inside the white mech, Lin Hai's eyes gleamed—and showed a trace of regret.
Lu Ming, drenched in cold sweat, immediately countered.
The black Short Sword caught the white mech's outstretched leg, slammed it to the ground, and began a relentless barrage.
A direct punch broke the white mech's defenses.
The control system shorted out.
Another wave of crushing strikes rained down.
Finally, the fight was over.
Weimo's voice crackled through the comm:
"Enough, Young Master Lu. You pay the club enough every year, but let's not break another expensive mech today, alright?"
The black Short Sword halted.
No one laughed at Lin Hai.
Because everyone knew—
No one else could've lasted that long under Lu Ming's assault.
And some were already wondering:
What if that kick had landed?
Had Lin Hai truly lost?
Lu Ming stood panting, staring down at the fallen white Short Sword.
Given the opponent's skill level, that fight had been a draw.
In fact, Lu Ming now realized something chilling—
Lin Hai was probably piloting a Short Sword for the very first time.
If that was true—
Then Lu Ming had already lost.