Temple of the Demon Lord of Wishes-Chapter 66: Underdog’s Mocking Technique

The air in the arena crackled with tension as the announcer stepped back, and the fight began. Ivaim’s feet shifted lightly in the dirt, his baton resting in his hands.

Garath, on the other hand, stood still, his hulking form unyielding as he gripped his axe with a deadly focus.

The crowd quieted in anticipation, eyes locked on the two fighters.

Garath moved first, swinging his massive axe in a wide arc, aiming to cleave Ivaim in two with a single strike.

The force behind it was enough to stir the air, but Ivaim was already gone.

With a swift activation of [Lucky Leap], Ivaim shot to the side.

His body twisting effortlessly through the air as if gravity itself had forgotten to pull him down.

He landed lightly on his feet, just outside Garath’s reach.

The crowd gasped in awe as Garath’s axe struck the ground with a deafening thud, sending a shockwave through the arena.

"Really? Is that all you’ve got?" Ivaim called out, voice dripping with mockery. "Come on, even my grandmother swings harder than that!"

Garath’s expression didn’t change. His focus was singular, intense, his stance unshaken.

But as he raised his axe once more, his eyes narrowed, searching for any hint of weakness. He swung downward with a brutal, controlled motion.

This time, the air around Ivaim seemed to bend, the gravity suddenly pressing down with a force that should have sent him crashing to the ground.

Ivaim felt the weight pushing against him, but the [Coin of Fortune] flickered to life in his chest, its subtle magic guiding him to his luckiest path.

His body shifted just in time, bending his knees to absorb the extra pressure before launching himself sideways in another [Lucky Leap].

He soared, the ground below him suddenly feeling weightless, and landed behind Garath, just out of the path of the axe.

"Wow, you’re really giving me a workout here," Ivaim drawled, stretching his arms like he was preparing for a nap.

"You’d think a guy your size would have more to offer."

The man’s jaw clenched, but he made no move to respond. Instead, his focus tightened, his grip on the axe becoming even more pronounced.

He swung again, faster this time, trying to catch Ivaim off guard.

But Ivaim was already moving.

With another well-timed [Lucky Leap], he evaded the attack, landing behind Garath once again. The crowd’s murmurs grew louder, as though they couldn’t believe what they were witnessing.

"Okay, now you’re just embarrassing yourself," Ivaim called, genuinely amused.

"I’m starting to think you’re not even trying. I mean, I’ve seen more precision from a drunk cat!"

Garath, now visibly frustrated, swung his axe in a series of rapid strikes, each one more powerful than the last.

But every time he swung, Ivaim was already one step ahead, dancing around him with uncanny precision. The crowd began to laugh, some in disbelief, others simply enjoying the spectacle.

"How many times do I have to dodge before you get it?" Ivaim shouted, spinning out of another attempted slash.

"Maybe you should try reading a book on ’How to Fight 101’—might help you catch up."

Garath’s lips pressed into a tight line, his movements growing more aggressive. He focused his gravity manipulation again, this time attempting to pin Ivaim to the ground with a crushing force.

The air seemed to shift around them, and the dirt beneath Ivaim’s feet seemed to press up with an almost suffocating intensity.

For a moment, Ivaim felt the familiar tug of gravity on his body, but the [Coin of Fortune] flared once more, and he broke free with an ease that only added to the crowd’s growing excitement.

"Nice try, though," Ivaim called out, casually dodging.

"It’s a bit like trying to trap air in your hands—doesn’t really work. You sure you’re not squeezing too hard? Might be why you keep missing."

The crowd roared with laughter, and even Garath’s focus slipped for a split second, his frustration evident in his furrowed brows.

Ivaim’s eyes sparkled with amusement.

"Come on, man, you’ve got all that muscle, but you can’t seem to shake a little guy like me. I’m starting to feel bad for you—maybe try a running start next time?"

Garath let out a deep, frustrated growl, swinging his axe wildly, but Ivaim was already several feet away, taunting him once more.

"Are we done yet?" Ivaim shouted, grinning. "This is getting so easy, I could probably do it with my eyes closed!"

Finally, Garath paused, his chest heaving with anger and exertion. His eyes burned with determination, but there was a flicker of doubt there too.

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Ivaim’s ability to dodge every attack, taunt him, and keep the crowd laughing had made the fight seem like a game. Enjoy exclusive chapters from novelbuddy

"Come on!" Ivaim shouted, bouncing lightly on his feet. "You’ve got all that rage, and I’ve got all the moves—let’s see if you can even land one!"

Garath’s lips curled into a grimace, but he swung his axe one last time, desperate to end it.

And this time, Ivaim didn’t move. He let the attack come toward him, the heavy weight of the axe in motion.

The crowd gasped, but just as the blade neared him, Ivaim’s luck seemed to shift.

He wasn’t pushed away, and he didn’t leap. Instead, he darted forward at the last possible second, ducking under the attack and reaching for Garath’s arm.

The move was sharp, quick, and entirely unexpected.

In a flash, Ivaim had Garath’s arm locked, twisting it with a deft movement.

The giant’s axe fell to the ground with a loud clatter, and the crowd went silent for a brief moment before erupting into applause.

Ivaim straightened, a sly grin spreading across his face as he released Garath’s arm.

"Now that," Ivaim said, raising his hands, "is what I call a real move. Maybe you should try it next time, but hey, don’t strain yourself. You wouldn’t want to pull a muscle."

Garath stood still, his chest heaving, his face flushed with a mix of fury and surprise. He knew he had been bested, and he didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

Without warning, Ivaim’s hand flicked, the baton darting forward like a striking snake. His movements were precise, a blur of practiced skill.

The baton made contact with Garath’s throat in a swift, sharp jab.

The impact was like a thunderclap in the sudden silence.

Garath’s head snapped back, his hand instinctively reaching for his neck as his breath hitched. His body staggered for a moment, the force of the blow cutting off his air supply.

His knees buckled slightly, his grip on his throat faltering.

Before Garath could fully recover, Ivaim was already on the move again, his baton extending outward in a clean arc, catching Garath just beneath the jaw.

The strike wasn’t brutal, but it was perfectly timed, sending a shockwave through Garath’s system, disorienting him.

The giant’s legs gave way then. He stumbled, his vision swimming, and as his consciousness flickered, he collapsed to the ground with a thunderous crash.

Ivaim stood over him, eyes sparkling with a hint of playful satisfaction. He adjusted his baton in hand, his stance unbothered.

Ivaim, however, couldn’t help himself. He winked at the crowd and gave a dramatic bow.

"Thank you, thank you!" he called. "I’ll be here all week—just remember, if you want to see a real fighter, you’ve got to bet on the underdog!"

The crowd roared again, their cheers echoing through the arena as Ivaim casually walked away, his baton still resting lightly in his hand, his victory sealed with a playful smile.