Chapter Six: The Giant Quasimodo

I took a deep breath, steadying my nerves and calming my mind. I knew that a head-on clash was foolish; victory required cunning. I began to observe Quasimodo’s movements, searching for a weakness.

“You’re big and strong, but you might not be as fast as me,” I taunted, leaning slightly forward in a poised stance. “Let’s see who’s really more agile.”

Quasimodo seemed enraged by my words. With a furious roar, he charged heavily toward me. I nimbly sidestepped, using his momentum to gently push him from behind, throwing him off balance. Though the shove caused no real harm, it left him looking clumsy.

Gasps and murmurs rose from the crowd. Seizing the moment, I added, “Looks like being big isn’t always an advantage.”

A faint, bitter smile tugged at my lips. This scene was oddly reminiscent of a farce, yet I had no time to play.

Quasimodo’s face darkened like iron. He launched himself at me again, fiercer this time—but I was ready.

As his fist came down, I ducked swiftly, slipping past his blow. My counterpunch struck hard against his armored abdomen. The impact sent a tremor through the air, but he barely flinched, expressionless as he stared down at me, his eyes devoid of emotion.

I gritted my teeth, unwilling to yield. With a leap forward, my knee shot like a dawn arrow straight at his chest. I poured all my strength into that strike, yet Quasimodo stood unmoved, his face serene as still water.

Then he raised his leg—a swift, thunderous kick like a violent storm. I crossed my arms to shield my chest, but the force slammed me back like a leaf caught in a gale. I flew several meters, rolling across the dusty ground.

Struggling to rise, a ripping pain in my chest nearly suffocated me. Shock seized my heart: “This strength… if it keeps up, I won’t stand again…”

Quasimodo steadied himself, brushing dust from his chest with a deep, rhythmic growl—like ancient war drums pounding in my soul. His heavy steps threatened to shatter the earth beneath as he closed in once more.

I inhaled deeply, stifling the agony, knowing every moment ahead was a fight for survival. I had to find his flaw—otherwise, I was lost.

Fixing my gaze on his mountain-like figure, my heart hammered, but I kept calm. A cold smile crept onto my lips. As his fist aimed for my head, I remained unruffled, lightly lowering my body to evade the powerful strike.

He seemed to sense my slyness. Quasimodo’s eyes sharpened; changing tactics, his fist swooped down with whistling wind, aiming to trap me. I smirked inwardly, prepared. Just as his fist neared, I leapt, planting my left foot precisely on his forearm to leverage his force. Twisting midair, I unleashed a fierce flying kick to his head.

“Thud!” My foot connected solidly. Pride flickered within me.

“Surely that’ll bring you down,” I thought. Yet Quasimodo only shook his head slightly, steadying himself. A faint streak of blood marked his face, seeming only to enrage him further.

Alarm rose in my chest. “This is nothing? What’s the point then? I want to go home!”

In a moment of distraction, Quasimodo suddenly caught my ankle with terrifying strength. My face paled. “Damn!”

He swung me like a ragdoll, slamming me to the ground. Agonizing pain exploded through me; I groaned, a trickle of blood at my lips.

Quasimodo touched his own wound; his eyes flared crimson with rage, glaring as if to devour me whole.

With a roar, he charged, lifting a massive foot to crush me completely. Gritting my teeth, I rolled aside just in time, narrowly avoiding death. Gasping, I forced myself up again.

Quasimodo stomped in frustration, beating his chest and growling “Ughka... Ughka...” like a foolish beast.

I inhaled deeply, closing my eyes to steady my heart. When I opened them, my gaze pierced through Quasimodo’s immense frame, seeing his true essence. Since I couldn’t fell him outright, I’d have to strip his fighting ability first.

A confident smile curled my lips as I shouted, “Fool, come at me!”

Quasimodo, seemingly provoked beyond measure, bellowed “Ughka... Ughka...” and lunged fiercely once more.

I breathed in deeply, a cold thought in my mind: “This fight is finally coming to an end.”

With a furious roar, Quasimodo charged like a wild beast, his right fist cutting through the air with a howl. I smiled coldly, slipping swiftly into his armpit blind spot. My palm clenched like a sharp blade, striking fiercely at his vital spot. Quasimodo let out a gut-wrenching scream, disbelief flashing in his eyes.

He spun, his left fist filled with anger and unwillingness swinging back. As it came rushing with a howl, I repeated my trick—ghostlike, I slipped again beneath his arm, my hand striking with unerring precision. These two blows left Quasimodo’s armpits aching unbearably; his arms hung weak and powerless.

Panic flickered in his eyes. “Hmph, it’s not over yet,” I thought with a secret smirk, masking calmness.

Sensing something, Quasimodo shifted tactics, whipping his leg like a whip toward my face, desperate to turn the tide.

A faint smile played on my lips, inwardly delighted: “He’s fallen for it, just as I planned.”

His right foot rose high, his weight all on his left leg—exactly the opening I sought.

I rolled lightly aside, evading his kick with ease. Turning my body, my leg muscles coiled like springs and snapped forth a brutal kick to his left knee.

A sharp crack rang out as my strike landed perfectly. Under immense force, Quasimodo’s knee bent backward painfully. He screamed in torment, staggering forward before crashing heavily to the ground, dust billowing—the match was decided.

The stands fell silent, stunned by the sudden turn. Only when the overseer’s voice boomed, “Winner—Tyler!” did cheers erupt like a tidal wave, deafening in their intensity.

I turned slowly, about to enter the waiting hall. Then, a cold gaze seemed to pierce through the crowd, sharp as a blade. I glanced sideways, scanning the sea of faces, but could not catch the owner of those icy eyes. Still, the feeling set off alarm bells deep within me.

Dragging my weary frame, I walked slowly back to the waiting area. Sunlight streamed from above, casting my long shadow—a silent tribute to this extraordinary victory.

As I stepped inside, all eyes flooded toward me—some wide with shock, others wary, as if I were an alien who had invaded their realm.

“Hey, look! The kid’s back!” a rough voice called out amid whispers and chuckles.

In a corner, a man scratched his head in frustration, muttering, “I bet on that big oaf and he got knocked out in the first round. What a ripoff!” His face twisted in a mixture of disbelief and bitter laughter.