Unmasking Mrs. Newton's Secret Identities novel Chapter 879

Despite the makeshift setup of the black market, the arena was grand in scale. It was no different from a professional wrestling venue.

Helen's eyes were immediately drawn to the daylilies placed beside the trophy, their vibrant petals tempting her to reach out.

Two robust fighters were engaged in a fierce duel on the stage. They delivered lethal blows without hesitation, each move aimed at their opponent's vulnerable spots.

Jim led Helen and the others through the arena, explaining as they walked, "The rules are straightforward here—two fighters enter and engage in a face-off. After 10 minutes, the last one standing is declared the winner."

"So, does that mean one has to be beaten so badly that they can't get up?" Jenson asked innocently.

As soon as his words faded away, a sharp thud echoed from the stage.

With one fighter down, the victorious one raised his hands in triumph.

"Who's next? Any takers?" The man's frantic shouts reverberated, his body pulsating with seemingly limitless strength. It seemed that anyone daring to challenge him would risk being utterly dismantled.

Meanwhile, Ambrose became intrigued. He flexed his muscles and eagerly proposed, "My lady, should I step forward and give it a shot?"

Helen remained silent, tacitly giving her consent.

Ambrose began removing his jacket, ready to step onto the stage. Suddenly, Jim intervened, stopping him in his tracks. "Sir, you need to sign the waiver before going up there."

"Is that really necessary? Doesn't the fight end when someone is knocked down?" Ambrose asked, his tone serious.

As Ambrose spoke, the confident victor on the stage swiftly removed his boxing gloves.

He walked up to his defenseless opponent lying on the ground and squatted beside him. Without hesitation, he began striking his face with punches, one after another.

Initially, the man on the ground could still muster a slight movement in his hand. But as the relentless assault continued, he gradually became limp and helpless.

Witnessing this, Ambrose nervously swallowed. "Damn, this is too brutal. Isn't anyone going to step in and stop this?"

"Hey, pretty face! Don't cry for your mommy when your suit gets dirty, haha!"

Despite the relentless taunting from the audience, Chandler remained unfazed. His gaze was unfocused as he stared at the imposing figure before him.

The man towered a head taller and was twice as broad as Chandler, his face twisted with rage.

Before the match bell rang, the man discarded his gloves and hurled his massive fists, charging straight at Chandler.

Reacting swiftly, the referee immediately rang the bell.

As its echo filled the arena, the man's fist began to descend. But before it could land, Chandler swiftly raised his leg and delivered a sharp kick to the man's stomach.

The man stood motionless for a moment, his fist hanging in midair from the incomplete strike.

After what felt like an eternity, he eventually dropped his hand and slumped heavily to the floor, clutching his injured abdomen.