Strongest Scammer: Scamming The World, One Death At A Time
Chapter 65: The Final Fight

Chapter 65: The Final Fight

The fight between Murong Xie and She Ming lasted even longer than the previous one, dragging on for a whole twenty minutes before a winner was finally declared.

THUD

She Ming was knocked out of the ring by Murong Xie, tumbling like a poorly balanced training dummy. Her defeat was confirmed with the subtle grace of someone face-planting into gravel.

"Murong Xie is the winner!" the disciple announced with a flair that made it sound like he’d been waiting all day to say it.

"WOO!"

"MURONG XIE!"

"MURONG XIE!"

"MURONG XIE!"

"MURONG XIE!"

The children in the crowd cheered like rabid fans at a rock concert. The excitement was infectious—they’d just watched a dramatic fight between two youths, and not the usual grumpy old cultivators with long beards and deeper issues than most therapists could handle.

There was something inspiring about seeing kids their own age pull off crazy martial arts moves. It gave them hope that one day, they too might defy gravity and possibly common sense.

"This is how it should be," Elder Nie Jing murmured, a faint smile forming on his weathered face. He was pleased. This was exactly why they hosted these combat tests—not just to separate the wheat from the chaff, but to show the chaff it might become bread if properly kneaded.

These were specially selected children, talented already, but seeing someone close to their age excel could be more motivational than any lecture from an old geezer in robes.

"Now, only the final match remains. It shall be between Murong Xie and Han Yu," Elder Nie Jing announced, his voice echoing with authority.

"Oh yeah... that kid’s still left," a disciple muttered, as if he’d just remembered Han Yu existed.

The crowd’s mood dipped slightly. Murong Xie’s last match had been thrilling. Han Yu’s... not so much. His last fight was filled with trickery and surprise, which made for great entertainment but left many doubting his legitimacy as a finalist.

"Han Yu won’t last against Murong Xie. He’s way too strong," someone whispered.

"Yeah, didn’t you hear? He’s already at the Eleventh Stage of the Body Tempering realm."

"What about Han Yu? What stage is he at?" someone else asked.

"I dunno. They didn’t say. Probably Ninth? Maybe Tenth?"

Unbeknownst to them, their guess wasn’t just wrong—it was so far off it would’ve required a map, compass, and divine guidance to get back on track. Han Yu was a whole four stages below Murong Xie.

The few disciples who knew the truth were already smirking. To them, this match was over before it began. Honestly, Han Yu making it this far was about as shocking as finding a chicken that could do calculus.

Even Elder Nie Jing had mentally checked out of this match.

’The child has raw battle talent, sure,’ he thought, stroking his beard in sage-like fashion. ’But raw talent doesn’t beat a trained prodigy like Murong Xie. Even if he pulls some tricks, they won’t be enough.’

To the Elder, this was just a formality. All he had to do was wait a few minutes and the outcome would play out as expected. He clapped his hands, and the many rings on the stage rearranged themselves into a single large arena directly in front of the dais.

Han Yu looked at the shifting arena with visible anxiety. This was going to be different.

’I definitely can’t use sand this time,’ Han Yu thought, beads of sweat forming on his brow. ’Murong Xie’s not a slow brute like Gao Ren. He’s fast, nimble, and probably has better reaction time than a student spotting a teacher when they skip class.’

And if he tried the sand trick again? The elder would lose it, the disciple would throw a fit, and Xu Qing... Xu Qing might actually strangle him.

That would be bad.

But Han Yu wasn’t out of tricks just yet. He touched the small object in his pocket, feeling its solid shape press against his fingers.

’I brought this just in case, but I didn’t think I’d have to use it. Ugh, this is going to suck... and I forgot to bring a handkerchief too.’

He sighed in internal despair, slipped his hand into his pocket, and covertly retrieved the object, slipping it into his mouth and hiding it under his tongue.

’Careful now,’ he reminded himself. ’Don’t swallow it by mistake. That’s not the kind of "internal damage" I signed up for.’

Minutes ticked by. The final match was moments away. Han Yu stood awkwardly, fidgeting like someone who suddenly remembered he left the stove on.

"Feeling afraid?" Xu Qing asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Afraid? Who’s afraid? Definitely not me," Han Yu said, puffing his chest with all the confidence of a chicken pretending to be a tiger.

"You’re sweating."

"That’s because it’s hot," Han Yu insisted.

Xu Qing looked at him with a blank expression. "It’s fifteen degrees. And it’s autumn."

"Well, maybe I have... internal heat. Very rare condition. Look it up," Han Yu said, clearly flailing.

Meanwhile, Murong Xie was already sizing him up like a lion picking which zebra leg to chew first.

"Hmph, go ahead and try your little tricks," he muttered. "This time I’ll beat you so hard your ancestors will flinch."

"The first place shall be mine."

"Recruits Han Yu and Murong Xie, proceed to the ring!" Elder Nie Jing’s voice snapped through the air like a whip.

HUUU

Han Yu took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. This was it. Time to either win gloriously—or go down in flames and shame.

Murong Xie strutted forward with the confidence of someone who already had a victory speech prepared.

The two boys stood facing each other in the ring, the tension building.

"Not gonna talk big this time?" Murong Xie taunted, seeing that Han Yu had been unusually quiet.

Han Yu subtly adjusted the object under his tongue, then smirked.

"I don’t need to talk to a loser."

"Oh? You’re still dreaming, huh?" Murong Xie sneered.

"Begin the fight!" Elder Nie Jing ordered.