Chapter 208: The Challenge Letter
"I left him a formal... Challenge Letter," Doppo Orochi said with a casual,
knowing grin.
Inside the VIP ward, everyone blinked in unison. For a moment, they struggled to
process those two words. A "Challenge Letter"? In this day and age?
"Oho~?"
As a member of the Thai Royalty, Rama XIII was fascinated by foreign traditions.
He clapped his hands in delight. "I've heard of those! Is it like the ones in
the old samurai films? How poetic!"
In contrast, Katsumi Orochi looked entirely exasperated. He let out a dry
whistle of mockery. "Seriously, Pops? You're still playing the retro card?
That's so outdated it's painful."
Doppo didn't even look up from the beer he was sipping. "Shut it, brat. I like
the classics. You got a problem with that?"
Near a bustling commercial district, there was a secluded alleyway. At its dead
end sat a rusted manhole cover.
If one were to lift that cover, drop ten meters down, and follow the damp
labyrinth of the sewers for several hundred meters, they would arrive at a
"Secret Base." It was an abandoned fallout shelter from decades ago, now
repurposed into Dorian's hideout. It was well-stocked with beds, medical
supplies, clean water, and canned rations.
Today, however, when Dorian returned to his sanctuary, he found a white envelope
resting in the center of his bed. On the front, written in bold, traditional
calligraphy, were the words: CHALLENGE LETTER.
He opened it. The contents were blunt:
Mr. Dorian. Our grievances have gone on long enough. I wish to settle this once
and for all. Therefore, I formally invite you to a duel. —Doppo Orochi,
Shinshinkai.
Dorian couldn't help but let out a low, mocking chuckle. "What a childish
provocation. Has that Doppo Orochi finally lost his mind to rage?"
Dorian had absolutely no intention of accepting.
However, driven by a sliver of curiosity, he scanned the page to see where and
when Doppo intended to hold this "clash of legends." But as his eyes reached the
bottom of the paper, his expression froze.
Nothing.
There was no time. No location. There wasn't a single other word written on the
letter.
"?"
Dorian checked the back of the envelope. He held the paper up to his desk lamp.
He even ran a lighter under the page to check for invisible ink. Nothing.
"Wait—"
Back in the hospital, Ren Shiroki blinked. "You didn't write a time or a place?"
Doppo bared his teeth in a predatory grin. "If I had just written it down, a guy
like Dorian would never show up! He'd just run or set a trap."
Gaolang looked even more confused. "If you didn't give him the details, how can
a battle take place?"
Before Doppo could answer, Katsumi's eyes widened as the realization hit him. "I
see... so that's the game you're playing, Pops!"
"Of course!" Doppo's eyes glinted behind his glasses. "It's been too long since
someone had the balls to kick the front door of the Shinshinkai. I can't let
that slide. I founded a martial arts organization, after all!"
"Dorian likes to pick fights whenever he pleases? Fine. Then we'll give him
exactly what he wants—a fight that never ends until we say so."
Sunset.
Dorian had changed into a sharp Western suit, donning a wig and a pair of
glasses to disguise his features. He headed to a high-end French restaurant
nearby to enjoy a quiet dinner.
After he had finished his meal and was feeling quite satisfied, the restaurant
manager personally approached his table.
"Was the meal to your liking, monsieur?"
Dorian nodded. "Mm. Quite excellent."
The manager smiled broadly. "Your satisfaction is our greatest honor... Mr.
Dorian."
The mention of his name made Dorian freeze mid-sip. "How do you know who—?"
"Well, you did cause quite a scene at the Shinshinkai Headquarters, didn't you?
You even wounded several of the instructors who taught us everything we know. Do
you understand now?"
The manager remained perfectly polite, even bowing slightly. "I personally
admire your courage in challenging the Shinshinkai. Because of that, all one
million members of our organization are looking forward to your duel with great
anticipation."
"Disguises and hidden identities will be futile. Shinshinkai disciples are
everywhere—in every organization, every tier of society. There are eyes on you
in every corner of this country. Until the duel is concluded, there is nowhere
to run."
Dorian said nothing. He stood up and walked out.
The manager's voice followed him into the street. "We look forward to seeing
your peak performance during the duel."
Leaving the restaurant, Dorian didn't go straight back to his hideout. He took a
winding, circuitous route before stopping at a 24-hour convenience store to buy
some instant noodles.
At the checkout, the clerk scanned his items and then added a can of high-grade
air freshener to the bag.
"This one's on the house, Mr. Dorian. After all, you do live in the sewers."
The clerk bagged the items and handed them over with a professional nod. "Please
make sure you're in top condition. We want you to take this duel seriously."
Dorian: "..."
He remained silent. He took the bag, hesitated for a long moment, and then
offered a curt "Thank you."
The next day.
Dorian was crossing a major intersection. A traffic cop directing the flow of
cars leaned in as he passed and whispered, "How's the condition-tuning going,
Mr. Dorian?"
"..."
Dorian finally broke. He stopped and growled, "When is the duel?"
"Today is Tuesday," the officer replied with a smile. "The time is set for this
Sunday evening."
Before the officer could say more, Dorian turned and vanished into the crowd.
The cop watched him go, shaking his head. "Haha. Still looking for an escape, I
see..."
The third day.
Early in the morning, Dorian arrived at the Shinshinkai Headquarters. He hid in
a nearby shadows, intending to launch a preemptive sneak attack the moment the
doors opened.
But noon came and went, and the massive gates remained locked tight.
Confused and frustrated, Dorian eventually hailed a taxi. The driver looked at
him through the rearview mirror and explained, "The Shinshinkai Main House is
currently away on a retreat. They won't be back until Monday."
"You came here for an ambush, but it looks like you wasted your trip, Mr.
Dorian."
Dorian's face darkened. He reached into his pocket for his lighter, intending to
pull the fiber wire and murder the driver right then and there.
But the driver seemed to read his mind. "Mr. Dorian... you shouldn't waste your
stamina on us."
"—Us?"
Dorian froze. He looked out the window. In the surrounding traffic, dozens of
vehicles—trucks, sedans, motorcycles, buses, and even a fire engine—were all
traveling in the same direction, boxing the taxi in.
Are they all Shinshinkai disciples?!
Faced with an army of eyes, Dorian had no choice but to retract the wire and sit
back.
"A wise choice. You started this duel. You can't use petty tricks to avoid the
consequences." The driver relaxed. "Let me take you home. You need to stay in
top form for the weekend."
Dorian let out a long, weary sigh. "If I ask for the location, you won't tell
me, will you?"
The driver laughed. "I don't even know it! Besides, we know you wouldn't be able
to help yourself from setting up some 'dishonorable' traps beforehand, right?"
"...Indeed."
Dorian realized his situation was hopeless. His expression was a complex map of
frustration and realization. Eventually, he leaned his head back against the
seat and fell into a deep sleep.
Days passed. Finally, the weekend arrived.
Sunday Evening.
Dorian climbed out of the manhole near his hideout. Resting on the pavement was
a single envelope—the second half of the proclamation.
LOCATION: BORDER OF BUNKYO AND TOSHIMA WARD. THE SOUL COMBAT HUB.
It had been exactly one week since Yanagi Ryuko's ambush. The wounded masters
had all been discharged from the hospital and had returned home to recover.
Inside the Soul Combat Hub, Ren Shiroki began unwrapping the bandages from his
torso. He poked the wound on his back—it had closed perfectly, leaving only a
fresh scar. The chemical burns on his left side had also healed into faint
marks, thanks to the specialized treatment.
He stripped off his shirt and stood before the mirror. His muscles looked
denser, the functional lines of his physique more pronounced than ever.
Height: 187cm. Weight: 101kg.
This was his "Battle Weight." At this level, he felt perfectly balanced, capable
of unleashing the full technical repertoire of his styles.
Ren threw a high kick, his toes pointing vertically toward the ceiling with
perfect stability. He bent his knee and lowered the leg slowly, controlling
every millimeter of the motion.
"Phew—"
With every breath, Ren could feel the dormant power in his muscles. He could
feel the "Urge" within the techniques he had mastered—the Satsui no Hado. These
moves weren't just for sport; they were "designed" and "hungry" to end a life.
How to face that resolve was something no master could teach him. He had to
examine himself, pressure himself, and find his own truth.
Ren settled into his most natural stance: bladed posture, lead arm low, right
arm tucked against his ribs, feet bouncing with a light, rhythmic hop.
He maintained this state until the first visitor arrived—Katsumi Orochi.
"Haha! Am I the first one here? I guess I couldn't sit still either—"
Katsumi looked around the facility. "Nice place, Ren-san. I'm actually a bit
jealous. But why change the duel location to here?"
Ren put his hands on his hips. "Compared to the formal Shinshinkai Dojo... don't
you think this place has a better 'Street' vibe?"
"Hm. Good point." Katsumi sat on the steps of the courtyard, cracking open a
canned tea. The peaceful atmosphere relaxed him, and he began to murmur his
thoughts aloud.
"I originally wanted you guys to help me absorb the essence of Kenpo and other
styles to complete my vision of 'Modern Karate'. But after fighting Dorian... I
realized there's a massive gap between a 'Match' and a 'Real Battle'."
"A Karate athlete is not the same as a Karateka." Katsumi looked at Ren. "I
don't know if I'm right yet. I guess I'll find out tonight."
Ren didn't offer an answer. He knew Katsumi wasn't looking for one—not from just
one person, anyway.
The group began to assemble. One by one, the legends arrived at the Hub: Retsu
Kaioh, The God of War Gaolang, Rama XIII, Doppo Orochi, and Fusui Kure.
Arisa had gone to stay the night at Karura's place, with Marco acting as her
bodyguard.
There were also a few unexpected guests: Metsudo Katahara, Sayaka Katahara, a
small squad of bodyguards, and finally—a brooding Lihito.
"..."
Metsudo patted Lihito on the shoulder. "Shhh. I found this one moping in an
alley. It seems he's been losing a lot of fights lately, so I brought him along
for the show!"
Lihito nodded, maintaining his usual boisterous grin, but his eyes showed he was
deep in thought.
Ren had already contacted the Metropolitan Police, asking them to temporarily
cordon off the surrounding streets under the guise of "Road Maintenance" to
prevent civilians from wandering into a war zone.
Inside the courtyard of the Hub, the group laid out mats and sat in a wide
circle.
Metsudo asked curiously, "I hear you've all tasted the methods of these Death
Row Convicts. How does it feel?"
"..."
The group was silent. They all felt the same lingering sensation, but it was
hard to put into words.
They waited in that heavy silence as the sun dipped below the horizon and night
claimed the courtyard.
At the end of the street, a massive silhouette emerged from the shadows. Dorian
walked with heavy, deliberate steps, arriving to answer the call of the Duel.
(End of Chapter)
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