Peter Bolton looked at Grace Young's terrified expression, feeling even more confident. His thick palm slapped his chest with a loud "pa pa" sound, his chin raised high, wearing a proud look as he shouted, "This young master’s word is as good as gold! I’ll let you have three moves, you brat. Come at me if you dare!"

Grace Young took a deep breath, cheering herself on in her heart. Then, pushing off with her toes, she desperately controlled the pitifully small amount of vital energy in her meridians. The moment she felt the power surge through her body, she charged straight at Peter Bolton.

In an instant, the five or six meters between them vanished. With no fighting technique at all, Grace Young swung her small fist directly at Peter Bolton's nose.

"Crack—"

The crisp sound of a nose bone breaking was heard clearly by all the adventurers nearby. As Peter Bolton's body fell backward, Grace Young followed up with a fierce kick, landing hard on Peter Bolton's abdomen.

"Gah—"

The crowd, who had been cheering for Peter Bolton, fell silent in an instant, as if that punch and kick had landed not on Peter Bolton, but right on their own hearts.

Grace Young watched as Peter Bolton was sent flying several meters, sliding back on his knees. A hint of hesitation appeared on her delicate face, but recalling the adults’ words—"strike while the iron is hot"—even though she had no intention of taking Peter Bolton's life, she still pounced like a nimble leopard.

Every punch landed with full force.

Grace Young showed no mercy, afraid that if she didn’t hurt Peter Bolton enough, he’d get up and she’d be the one getting beaten.

At this moment—

The area around the arena became deathly silent. Faces were frozen in disbelief, eyes wide with shock, as if they had turned into living statues. The unexpected turn of events, and the outcome that now seemed inevitable, felt like an invisible slap landing hard on the faces of those self-assured spectators—burning hot, stinging not just their faces, but their pounding hearts.

A hundred meters away—

A qilin-drawn carriage sat quietly by the roadside. Four burly, middle-aged men in battle robes scanned the surroundings with cold expressions. A beautiful maid, dressed in fine silk, stood quietly by the window.

"Wen Yun…"

A faint female voice came from inside the luxurious carriage.

The maid’s expression changed slightly, and she quickly replied respectfully, "Mistress, do you have any orders?"

Behind the curtain, a graceful and noble lady gazed calmly at the arena a hundred meters away and said, "That little girl is not bad. Stay here in Hanshan City and find out about her background. When I return, if possible, bring her with you."

"Yes!"

The maid looked again toward the arena, a trace of pity and a bit of envy flickering in her bright eyes.

At the edge of the arena—

Henry Clark watched the one-sided fight, admiration showing in his eyes. Although he was worried about Grace Young, he did not stop the match. There was no peace and prosperity here; everyone struggled desperately to survive. Even if he could protect Grace Young for a while, he couldn’t do so forever. If she wanted a better life in the future, she would have to rely on herself.

Besides—

Children’s matches, even if they got hurt, rarely ended in death.

"Stop!"

A stout, middle-aged woman in coarse clothes stormed onto the arena, two chubby boys with angry faces following behind her.

Grace Young stopped attacking and, seeing the stout woman and the two furious boys, immediately showed a look of fear and quickly retreated to the other side of the arena.

"Fat lady, if you dare lay a finger on her, I guarantee you won’t leave this arena," Henry Clark jumped onto the stage, glaring at the stout woman who was trying to rush at Grace Young.

"Brother Yezi!"

Grace Young's eyes lit up, all her fear vanishing like a receding tide.

Henry Clark glanced at her and nodded approvingly, "Well done. From now on, if anyone dares bully you, just fight back hard. Even if you beat them half to death, I’ll have your back."

The stout woman stopped, her face full of distress as she looked at her son, who was curled up and twitching on the stage. Then she glared viciously at Henry Clark and cursed, "Where did you come from, you pig? That damned brat hurt my son so badly—this isn’t over! Da Kui, Er Kui, beat them to death for me!"

A cold glint flashed in Henry Clark's eyes. As he drew his left hand back into his sleeve, he crushed a black pill into powder. Just as the two chubby boys lunged at him, he flicked his fingers, sending the black powder flying. It burst into flames, and though the fire only lasted a few breaths, it was enough to scare the two boys into retreating.

"Magic arts?"

Most of the people present looked shocked, even the stout woman was no exception.

In the crowd, an adventurer holding a longsword shook his head and said, "That’s not magic, just a blinding black poison."

Blinding black poison?

Everyone suddenly understood, and their expressions toward Henry Clark became strange.

Henry Clark had used poison in full view of everyone, making no attempt to hide it. He snorted coldly, "Kneel and apologize, and you can walk off this stage alive. Otherwise, let your butcher of a husband come collect your corpses."