Chapter 38: Johnny vs. Karl – The Duel of the Elite Guards Captains!

Out of the forty contestants, half were eliminated in this round, leaving only twenty to advance to the final stage: a series of one-on-one comprehensive duels. These twenty selected participants would compete in duels to decide the final ten.

The rules were simple.

Johnny and Karl, both as the dark horse and the seeded contestant, entered the last round.

“Do you think Scarface Johnny will meet Karl in the final selection?”
“Normally, the odds are only one in nineteen, but I’d never believe there’s no behind-the-scenes manipulation in this kind of selection!”
“Manipulation? Really? I thought they drew numbers!”
“Heh! How naive!”
“Just watch, Karl and Johnny are bound to face each other. If not, I’ll stand on my head and poop!”

The audience, a crowd of ratfolk, buzzed with speculation.

Soon, the duel order was determined. Wendy held up a parchment and announced,
“The first match: Johnny versus Karl! Would both contestants please step forward!”

The stands erupted in shouts. Among the onlookers, Coger stood on tiptoe, his little sister on his back, cheering for their father. Yet his small voice was quickly drowned out by the throng.

“Karl! Karl! Karl!” A group of frenzied young female rats screamed with excitement—the scene more fanatical than any idol fan club.

Yet Karl remained unfazed. He chose a staff from the weapons rack, one as tall as his brow, and gripped it tightly. He sized up Johnny, not far away—a ratfolk warrior his father had mentioned, known for his boldness, fearlessness, decisiveness, and wealth of experience in past battles. Now a squad leader in the prairie patrol under the jurisdiction of the Security Department, Karl believed that the heights this scarred Johnny could reach would far exceed his current position.

Facing such a powerful opponent, the battle was destined to be arduous!

Johnny, for his part, knew little of Karl. His days were already filled to the brim with responsibilities for his tribe and family; he hardly had time for idle gossip. Whoever stood in his way would find no mercy.

With a quick glance at the weapons rack, Johnny grabbed a short baton. The only long staff had already been taken by Karl; apart from short clubs, only wooden sticks and shields remained, none quite suitable. After all, this was still the dark ages—there were no “eighteen weapons of war” as seen in the movies.

Having chosen his weapon, Johnny strode to the center of the training ground and raised his hand to signal to Viktor that he was ready. Both contestants prepared, and Viktor, ever succinct, wasted no time.

“This is a friendly contest, not a fight to the death. Remember—no lethal strikes, and stop at a touch. Understood?”

“Understood!” Both nodded in agreement.

“Begin!”

With no further ado, Viktor signaled the start.

At once, the noisy training ground fell silent.

Karl gripped the staff with both hands and swiftly closed the distance. Johnny, meanwhile, reversed his grip on the short baton in his right hand, holding it as one might a dagger, his legs bent and back hunched into an irregular oval.

Karl struck first. His left hand held the center of the staff, while his right unleashed explosive force from the end, aiming the tip at Johnny’s brow.

But Johnny had anticipated this. The routines with a staff were few—whether it was a swipe or a thrust, the grip gave it away. A gust of wind swept past as Karl’s blow sliced through the air, missing Johnny’s cheek by a hair and whistling past his ear. Relying purely on experience and muscle memory, Johnny predicted every move.

He raised his short baton, still reversed in his grip, and slashed down on the staff, catching it near the wrist of Karl’s right hand. Karl, about to swing the staff sideways, suddenly found himself unable to move it. As he tried to pull it back, Johnny pressed down hard on the end with his right hand.

Then, with a swift kick, Johnny pinned the staff’s end under his foot.

The shock sent Karl’s heart racing—he hadn’t expected his opponent to be a beat ahead at every step.

The audience was stunned. Even Yang Jie hadn’t realized Johnny’s prowess until now. If not for this contest, such a “legend in the making” might have remained hidden for who knows how long. The thought filled Yang Jie with a pang of guilt.

On the field, Karl tried to wrench his staff free, but it was firmly pinned under Johnny’s foot. Quick to react, Karl lifted the other end of the staff and kicked hard at its center, forcing Johnny to stumble back several steps.

Johnny had meant to step on the middle of the staff next and disarm Karl, but he was a split-second too slow—his muscles lagging behind his mind.

Karl regained his staff and launched a furious assault, swinging it repeatedly at Johnny.

Johnny’s response was simple: he lightly deflected each blow with his short baton.

To the crowd, it looked as if Karl had the upper hand, but the truth was quite the opposite. Karl’s powerful swings took far more effort than Johnny’s light parries; with each clash, Karl’s stamina drained at several times Johnny’s rate.

Johnny flicked his baton upward, catching the staff as it came at him, but this time, instead of blocking, he dodged aside. Though deflecting required less effort, the repeated impacts soon left Johnny’s palm aching.

No sooner had he parried than Karl thrust again. But Johnny wasn’t about to prolong the exchange.

With a deft move, Johnny swept the staff aside with his baton, then shot out his left hand to grab the staff near its center. Simultaneously, he tossed aside his baton and seized the other end of the staff with his right.

Now, both ratfolk gripped opposite ends of the same staff.

When your opponent seizes the other end of your weapon, what’s your first instinct? Most would pull back hard—Karl was no exception. But Johnny was cunning.

Just as Karl yanked backward, Johnny suddenly let go. Karl, unprepared, toppled backward in disbelief.

Johnny immediately lunged forward, pinning Karl’s neck with the middle of the staff.

The match was over.

“The winner is Johnny!”

For a moment, the crowd of ratfolk was stunned. Then, thunderous applause erupted.

In the stands, Coger leapt over the fence in excitement, rushing toward his father.

This was but a contest of skill, not a fight to the death—there was no need to go further.

Johnny offered his hands and pulled Karl up from the ground, his scarred face no longer seeming so fearsome.

Karl accepted his defeat with grace. To some, it might have looked like he’d simply made a careless error. But Karl knew the truth: the gap between them was real—Johnny was a warrior whose strength had been gravely underestimated.

In some respects, he could even rival the supreme commander, One-Eye.

“You fought well!”

“So did you!”

There was no resentment between them. They shook hands warmly, patting each other on the back.

To Yang Jie, Karl’s defeat was no injustice. Others might see Karl as the genius of the younger generation, but only Yang Jie knew—his opponent, Scarface Johnny, was the true monster.

“To lose to a legend is no disgrace.”

Thus ended the captain’s selection match, and Johnny officially stepped onto a greater stage.

Meanwhile, as the Chakarq Prairie was locked in chaos, on the neighboring Northson Plain, Yang Jie’s tribe quietly entered an era of rapid development.

They focused on construction—irrigation, large-scale building, education and medical facilities, and the improvement of all functional buildings. In internal affairs, they promoted judicial awareness, cracked down on crime, selected the worthy and capable, and advanced both agricultural and military development in parallel.

Externally, they forged alliances far and wide, seeking to dominate development on the plain. Internally, they balanced power structures, planning for a clear and long-term division of authority.

In the southern part of the continent of Rox, the beginnings of a powerful monarchic empire were taking shape.