The ballroom transformed into an arena of fate. The eight leaders of the Major Provinces stood in a semi-circle, their piercing eyes locking onto Ochieng like predators sizing up prey. The golden chandeliers above bathed the room in an eerie glow, reflecting off the polished marble floor now stained with Xavier Ren's defeat.
Lucien Zhao took his seat on the elevated throne, swirling a glass of aged whiskey in his hand. His smirk was one of intrigue, anticipation, and amusement.
"Let's see if you're truly worthy of the throne," he mused.
Ochieng stood at the center, rolling his shoulders, his muscles rippling beneath the black silk of his shirt. His mind was sharp, calculating the strengths and weaknesses of each opponent. These weren't ordinary fighters. Each of them had built their own empire—weapons, drugs, finance, intelligence, underground assassins, military, tech warfare, media control, and real estate dominance.
Winning wasn't just about brute strength. It was about strategy.
The first opponent stepped forward. Jin Wei, master of the underground fight rings and an expert in Tiger Fist martial arts. A brute of a man, his arms alone were thick as tree trunks.
"I'll break you in half," Jin sneered, cracking his knuckles.
Ochieng smirked. "You can try."
The fight began in a flash—Jin lunged forward, his fists like cannonballs. Ochieng dodged, weaving like a shadow. His counterattack was precise—a swift kick to the knee, a strike to the ribs, and a devastating elbow to the temple.
Jin staggered.
Ochieng didn't stop. He grabbed Jin's collar, lifting him off the ground before slamming him down with a thundering impact that cracked the marble beneath them.
Silence.
Jin was out cold.
Lucien chuckled, impressed. "One down. Seven to go."
The next opponent wasted no time. Amara Li, the Queen of the Black Market, an expert in Eagle Claw techniques and knife combat. A stunning yet deadly woman in a crimson silk dress, she unsheathed two razor-sharp daggers, twirling them with an unsettling elegance.
"I don't go easy on pretty faces," she purred.
Ochieng smiled. "Neither do I."
Amara struck first, her blades singing through the air. Ochieng dodged and countered, his footwork impeccable. They danced around the room—steel clashing, silk swaying, the air thick with tension. Amara's speed was unmatched, but Ochieng was relentless.
Then, in a split second, he caught her wrist mid-strike and twisted. The dagger clattered to the floor. With a swift motion, he spun her around and pinned her against a marble pillar, his breath hot against her ear.
"Yield," he whispered.
Amara's chest rose and fell rapidly, her lips parting slightly. Then, with a smirk, she dropped her other dagger. "Interesting…"
She stepped back, conceding.
Lucien grinned. "Two down."
Ochieng exhaled slowly, his pulse steady.
The gauntlet had only just begun.
And he would take them all down—one by one.