Read The Almighty Dominance Novel (Alexander Leonhart and Sophia Lancaster) by Sunshine Updated 2025 -26 - The Almighty Dominance Chapter 572

The Almighty Dominance Chapter 572

Alex knew everyone here could kill him—and call it justice afterward.

He could die at Wan Junhao’s hands—a fellow servant—or be torn apart by the Outer Disciples circling like vultures.

Either way, death was very real.

So Alex made his choice.

If he had to die, he would die fighting Wan Junhao on the platform.

At least there, he’d have a chance.

A servant at Wudang learned scraps at best—basic cultivation methods, a few crude sword forms, simple movement techniques.

Wan Junhao leapt onto the platform with the confidence of a man who’d already won. He pointed at Alex, finger sharp as a blade.

“Number Nine,” he called coldly. “You’re dead. Get up here.”

The crowd shifted, hungry for blood.

Alex didn’t rush. He bent down, picked up his battered soup pot, and settled it over his head like a helmet. Then he climbed onto the platform.

He raised the iron wok in his hand like a sword. The metal caught the light.

It looked absurd.

For a brief moment, silence.

Then someone burst out laughing.

“He’s fighting a life-and-death match with a kitchen wok!” the man shouted. “He won’t last one move!”

The crowd roared. Even Wan Junhao smirked, shaking his head.

Alex didn’t react.

Instead, he stepped off the platform and walked straight to the gambling table at the edge of the arena.

The bookie glanced up lazily—then froze.

Alex dumped a pile of food pills onto the table. At least a hundred.

“I’m betting all of this,” he said calmly, his voice carrying across the square. “On myself.”

The murmurs shifted.

He swept his gaze across the crowd. His eyes were steady. Hard.

“I’m betting that I win. Laugh all you want. But put something valuable on the table—or shut your mouths.”

Jeers rolled in.

“Arrogant trash,” one Outer Disciple sneered, flicking a spiritual stone onto the pile. “One stone says he dies.”

“Me too.” Another untied his sword and slammed it down. “I’ll wager my blade.”

“I’ll bet my shoes!”

“Add mine!”

Within moments, the table overflowed—stones, weapons, even clothing. Every bet was against Alex.

No one thought he’d survive.

Alex’s gaze drifted back to Wan Junhao.

He knew the truth.

Wan Junhao wasn’t aiming to cripple him. Or teach him a lesson.

He planned to kill him.

And if Alex died, everything he owned would belong to Wan Junhao.

So there was no alternative.

If he survived, he’d walk away rich.

If he died, he’d lose nothing but his life—which was already on the line.

He reached back and lightly touched the nape of his neck.

“Gaia,” he murmured. “Do you have a way to win this?”

“Yes, Master,” a calm voice answered in his mind.

“I have recorded all combat patterns in this arena. They rely on repetitive structures. The Wudang system here consists of approximately fifteen martial forms.”

“Eight basic techniques taught to servants—cultivation, sword arts, and movement skills. The Outer Disciples employ seven additional advanced variations.”

Alex kept his eyes forward, lips barely moving. “And?”

“They all derive from the same foundational framework. Their patterns are predictable. Reaction timing, angle shifts, and energy circulation follow standard sequences. I can calculate probable movements before they occur.”

Alex’s pulse steadied. “You can read him.”

“Yes, Master. As long as he uses Wudang forms, his next move is statistically predictable.”

A slow breath left Alex’s lungs.

Different ranks. Different levels.

Same roots.

“What does that mean?” he asked quietly.

Gaia replied evenly, “Imagine planting a million identical trees. If a disease infects one, it can spread and destroy them all because they share the same structure. A forest with diverse species is safer.”

Alex understood instantly.

Uniform training meant uniform weakness.

“For this fight,” Gaia continued, “I have mapped all probable transitions between their techniques. There are only fifteen core sequences. Prediction is straightforward. I will activate pilot targeting and highlight projected enemy movements during combat.”

Alex’s heartbeat slowed.

Same stances. Same footwork. Same angles.

For an artificial intelligence, that wasn’t complex.

It was predictable.

He stepped back onto the platform.

Across from him, Wan Junhao rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, grinning like a butcher sharpening his knife.

“Done playing gambler?” Wan Junhao mocked. “Good. I don’t want to wait long before I break your bones—and cut your throat.”

He lunged, blade flashing.

“Number Nine!” he roared. “You’re dead! I’m taking back my position today!”

In that split second, the world changed.

Gaia linked directly to Alex’s vision.

A faint overlay flickered across his sight. Transparent lines traced through the air, projecting Wan Junhao’s path half a second into the future—precise angles, exact steps.

Wan Junhao followed it perfectly.

Green markers appeared on the ground—precise spots where Alex could step safely.

Outside the blade’s predicted arc.

Alex moved.

He stepped onto the green marker without hesitation.

Wan Junhao unleashed ten rapid slashes, fast and aggressive, meant to overwhelm.

Every strike hit nothing but air.

Alex stood just outside the blade’s path.

To the crowd, it looked like luck. Like desperate, last-second dodging.

Gasps rippled through the arena.

“Looks like you’ve been hiding something!” Wan Junhao snarled, irritation flashing across his face. He adjusted his footing and charged again.

Gaia recalculated instantly.

New lines. New projections.

Alex could see where the sword would go before it moved.

He pivoted lightly.

Another flurry of precise, deadly strikes sliced through the air.

Again—nothing.

The blade missed by inches.

Color codes flickered across Alex’s vision. Green for safe movement. Red for danger.

Then, for the first time, yellow appeared—a narrow window cutting through Wan Junhao’s defense.

Attack opportunity.

A strange calm settled over Alex.

It felt like the virtual combat games he used to play back in Prussia—predictive targeting, movement tracking, reaction timing.

Only this time, the stakes were real.

“Stop running!” Wan Junhao snarled. “Fight me like a man!”

Alex smirked.

Wan Junhao roared and poured his full strength into the next strike.

And then Alex saw it.

A large yellow marker flashed directly in front of Wan Junhao’s face.

An opening.

Alex stepped in without hesitation.

The iron wok sliced through the air with shocking speed.

He swung.

Wan Junhao tried to move—

But his eyes widened in shock.

The wok was already there, exactly where his head was about to be.

Metal slammed into bone.

The crack echoed across the arena.

Alex felt the impact surge up his arm—solid, clean, direct.

Another yellow indicator flashed.

Combo ready.

A savage grin spread across Alex’s face.

“Hell yeah.”

He swung again.

Right. Left. Up. Down.

The iron wok blurred.

Wan Junhao tried to fall—but couldn’t. Every time his body tilted, the wok struck from the opposite side.

He staggered left—Alex smashed him back.

He pitched forward—Alex struck from behind, snapping his head upright and dragging him back into range.

Brutal.

Relentless.

To the crowd, it looked unreal. Wan Junhao—one of the strongest servants—was being battered like a training dummy. His sword never found its mark. His techniques never completed. Every movement failed.

Fifteen hits.

Hard. Fast. Precise.

Then Wan Junhao’s legs gave out.

He crashed onto the platform like a sack of grain.

Silence fell.

The Outer Disciples stared in disbelief.

“Did… did he just win with an iron wok?”

“It looks like it…”

Alex didn’t hesitate. He jumped down and walked straight to the gambling table.

“I’m taking my winnings now,” he said, smiling openly.

The dealer swallowed and pushed the pile toward him without argument.

“Wait.”

An Outer Disciple stepped forward.

Alex turned. “What?”

The man studied him. “You’ve got skill. Real skill. Leave the servant quarters. Join the Tiger Group.”

Before Alex could answer, another Outer Disciple scoffed.

“Tiger Group? Don’t insult him. A talent like that belongs in the Dragon Group. We know how to treat strength properly.”

The first disciple glared. “Watch your mouth.”

Tension crackled between them.

Alex raised his hands slightly. “Sorry. I just want to go back to my kitchen.”

Several disciples frowned.

One from the Tiger Group stepped forward, expression hardening. “You think you can refuse us? Just because you beat that useless trash?”

He jerked his chin toward the unconscious Wan Junhao. “Get back on the platform. I’ll show you why you should accept my offer while I’m being polite.”

“Yeah!” someone from the Dragon Group shouted. “Iron wok man—break that arrogant bastard first. Then fight me!”

The crowd stirred again, excitement rising.

Sweat broke across Alex’s back.

They weren’t going to let him leave.

They were dragging him back onto the platform.

His victory had painted a target on his chest.

In his mind, Gaia spoke calmly.

“Master. In a forest of identical trees, you are the disease.”

Alex blinked once.

“They are trained under the same system,” Gaia continued. “Same forms. Same reactions. Same limitations. You are their natural predator. You can dismantle any of them. One by one.”

There was no arrogance in her tone. Only analysis.

“With predictive modeling active,” she concluded, “you are statistically undefeated in this arena.”