Temple of the Demon Lord of Wishes

Chapter 66 Underdog's Mocking Technique

The air in the arena crackled with tension as the announcer stepped back, and the fight began. Ivaim's feet shifted lightly in the dirt, his baton resting in his hands.

Garath, on the other hand, stood still, his hulking form unyielding as he gripped his axe with a deadly focus.

The crowd quieted in anticipation, eyes locked on the two fighters.

Garath moved first, swinging his massive axe in a wide arc, aiming to cleave Ivaim in two with a single strike.

The force behind it was enough to stir the air, but Ivaim was already gone.

With a swift activation of [Lucky Leap], Ivaim shot to the side.

His body twisting effortlessly through the air as if gravity itself had forgotten to pull him down.

He landed lightly on his feet, just outside Garath's reach.

The crowd gasped in awe as Garath's axe struck the ground with a deafening thud, sending a shockwave through the arena.

"Really? Is that all you've got?" Ivaim called out, voice dripping with mockery. "Come on, even my grandmother swings harder than that!"

Garath's expression didn't change. His focus was singular, intense, his stance unshaken.

But as he raised his axe once more, his eyes narrowed, searching for any hint of weakness. He swung downward with a brutal, controlled motion.

This time, the air around Ivaim seemed to bend, the gravity suddenly pressing down with a force that should have sent him crashing to the ground.

Ivaim felt the weight pushing against him, but the [Coin of Fortune] flickered to life in his chest, its subtle magic guiding him to his luckiest path.

His body shifted just in time, bending his knees to absorb the extra pressure before launching himself sideways in another [Lucky Leap].

He soared, the ground below him suddenly feeling weightless, and landed behind Garath, just out of the path of the axe.

"Wow, you're really giving me a workout here," Ivaim drawled, stretching his arms like he was preparing for a nap.

"You'd think a guy your size would have more to offer."

The man's jaw clenched, but he made no move to respond. Instead, his focus tightened, his grip on the axe becoming even more pronounced.

He swung again, faster this time, trying to catch Ivaim off guard.

But Ivaim was already moving.

And this time, Ivaim didn't move. He let the attack come toward him, the heavy weight of the axe in motion.

The crowd gasped, but just as the blade neared him, Ivaim's luck seemed to shift.

He wasn't pushed away, and he didn't leap. Instead, he darted forward at the last possible second, ducking under the attack and reaching for Garath's arm.

The move was sharp, quick, and entirely unexpected.

In a flash, Ivaim had Garath's arm locked, twisting it with a deft movement.

The giant's axe fell to the ground with a loud clatter, and the crowd went silent for a brief moment before erupting into applause.

Ivaim straightened, a sly grin spreading across his face as he released Garath's arm.

"Now that," Ivaim said, raising his hands, "is what I call a real move. Maybe you should try it next time, but hey, don't strain yourself. You wouldn't want to pull a muscle."

Garath stood still, his chest heaving, his face flushed with a mix of fury and surprise. He knew he had been bested, and he didn't speak. He didn't need to.

Without warning, Ivaim's hand flicked, the baton darting forward like a striking snake. His movements were precise, a blur of practiced skill.

The baton made contact with Garath's throat in a swift, sharp jab.

The impact was like a thunderclap in the sudden silence.

Garath's head snapped back, his hand instinctively reaching for his neck as his breath hitched. His body staggered for a moment, the force of the blow cutting off his air supply.

His knees buckled slightly, his grip on his throat faltering.

Before Garath could fully recover, Ivaim was already on the move again, his baton extending outward in a clean arc, catching Garath just beneath the jaw.

The strike wasn't brutal, but it was perfectly timed, sending a shockwave through Garath's system, disorienting him.

The giant's legs gave way then. He stumbled, his vision swimming, and as his consciousness flickered, he collapsed to the ground with a thunderous crash.

Ivaim stood over him, eyes sparkling with a hint of playful satisfaction. He adjusted his baton in hand, his stance unbothered.

Ivaim, however, couldn't help himself. He winked at the crowd and gave a dramatic bow.

"Thank you, thank you!" he called. "I'll be here all week—just remember, if you want to see a real fighter, you've got to bet on the underdog!"

The crowd roared again, their cheers echoing through the arena as Ivaim casually walked away, his baton still resting lightly in his hand, his victory sealed with a playful smile.