The Almighty Dominance novel Chapter 572

Alex knew, these people here could kill him and call it justice.

He could die at the hands of Wan Junhao—a servant—or at the hands of the Outer Disciples who watched from the sidelines like vultures.

Either way, death was on the table.

So Alex made his choice.

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

At least there, he would have a chance.

The best a servant in Wudang could ever learn were scraps—some Wudang’s basic cultivation techniques, a handful of crude sword forms, simple movement arts.

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

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

The crowd shifted, hungry.

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

He lifted the iron wok in his hand like a sword. The metal caught the light. It looked ridiculous.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then someone burst out laughing.

“He’s fighting a life-and-death battle with a kitchen wok!” the man shouted. “I bet he dies in one move!”

The crowd exploded in laughter. Even Wan Junhao smirked, shaking his head.

Alex didn’t react.

Instead, he stepped down from the platform and walked straight toward the gambling table at the edge of the arena.

The man running the bets looked 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 turned and swept his gaze across the crowd. His eyes were steady. Hard.

“I’m betting that I win. If you want to laugh, fine. But put something valuable on the table. Or shut your mouths.”

A wave of jeers followed.

“Arrogant trash,” one Outer Disciple sneered. He flicked a spiritual stone onto the table. “I’ll bet one spiritual stone he dies.”

“Me too,” another said, untying his sword and slamming it down. “I’ll put my blade on it.”

“I’ll bet my shoes!”

“Add mine!”

Soon the table was crowded with items—stones, weapons, even clothing. Every single bet was placed on Alex losing.

No one believed he would survive.

Alex’s eyes drifted back to Wan Junhao.

He knew the truth.

Wan Junhao intended to kill him. Not cripple him. Not teach him a lesson. Kill him.

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

So he had no choice.

If he survived, he would walk away rich.

If he died, he would lose nothing more than his life—which was already on the line.

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

“Gaia,” he whispered under his breath. “Do you have a way to win this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A slow breath left Alex’s lungs.

They all trained in the same Wudang martial system.

Different ranks. Different levels. But the same roots.

“Which means what?” Alex asked under his breath.

Gaia answered calmly inside his mind. “Imagine planting a million identical trees. If one disease infects one tree, it can spread and destroy all of them because they share the same structure. It is always safer to plant different species in the same forest.”

Alex understood immediately.

Uniform training created uniform weakness.

“For this fight against the Wudang disciple,” Gaia continued, “I have mapped all probable movement patterns. There are only fifteen possible core transitions between their techniques. That makes prediction simple. I will activate pilot targeting and highlight the enemy’s projected movements during combat.”

Alex’s pulse slowed.

They were all trained in the same system. Same stances. Same footwork. Same angles of attack. For an artificial intelligence, that wasn’t complicated.

That was predictable.

Alex stepped back onto the platform.

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

“Finished playing gambler?” Wan Junhao mocked. “Good. I don’t want to wait too long before I break your bones can cut your neck.”

He lunged forward, blade flashing.

“Number Nine!” Wang Junhao roared. “You’re dead! I’ll take back my position today!”

In that split second, the world shifted.

Gaia linked directly to Alex’s vision.

A faint overlay flickered across his sight. Transparent lines traced through the air, projecting Wang Junhao’s likely path. A shadow of movement unfolded half a second ahead of reality—exact angles, exact steps.

Wan Junhao followed it perfectly.

Green markers flashed on the ground—precise points where Alex could step safely. Safe zones outside the predicted arc of the blade.

Alex moved.

He stepped onto the green mark without hesitation.

Wan Junhao executed ten rapid slashes in a tight sequence, his sword hissing through the air. The strikes were fast, aggressive, meant to overwhelm.

But every cut met empty space.

Alex stood just outside the blade’s trajectory.

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

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