The Almighty Dominance novel Chapter 573

Hearing that, Alex broke into a wide grin.

A thunderous voice ripped through the courtyard.

“Who the hell thinks they can mess with our Number Nine?”

Heads snapped toward the corner. Eight enormous figures pushed through the crowd. The Fatty brothers. Massive bodies. Heavy steps. Faces burning with fury.

They stormed straight toward Alex and formed a tight circle around him, sealing him off from the world.

The outer disciples from the Tiger Group and the Dragon Group froze for a second when they saw who had arrived.

One of the outer disciples sneered. “You bunch of oversized pigs. We’re about to teach this kitchen servant a lesson, and you dare stand in our way? Do you all have a death wish?”

The First Fatty stepped forward, his belly shaking with each step, eyes blazing.

“He is our brother,” he said coldly. “Touch him, and next time you eat, you might find my shit special mixed into your food pill.”

A wave of disgust swept through the crowd. Faces twisted. A few even gagged.

Everyone knew the kitchen staff prepared the food pills. If they wanted to slip something in, no one would ever know. And once swallowed, it was too late.

“You’re asking for it!” the outer disciple roared.

Steel flashed. He drew his sword in one smooth motion, blade gleaming under the sun.

The First Fatty didn’t back down. He stepped forward again, fists clenched, jaw set. The other seven Fatty brothers moved with him, forming a wall of flesh and loyalty.

“We’re ready to fight to the death for our Number Nine!” they shouted as one.

The air tightened. Killing intent flooded the courtyard.

“Wait, brothers,” Alex said suddenly.

“Don’t stop us, Nine,” the Third Fatty said, his voice low and serious. “We live together. We die together. If you fall, we fall.”

“Yeah!” the others echoed, eyes burning. They looked ready to tear someone apart.

“Please,” Alex said firmly. “Listen to me. I’m serious.”

The Fatty brothers paused. One by one, they turned to him.

Alex glanced at the outer disciples, then leaned closer to his brothers.

“Form a ring.”

They didn’t hesitate. They huddled together instantly, blocking him from sight.

The outer disciples frowned. “What are they doing?”

From inside the circle, muffled voices whispered urgently.

“Are you serious?” one of the Fatty brothers blurted out.

“Shhh! Lower your voice,” Alex hissed.

More whispers. Low. Intense. Focused.

The outer disciples grew impatient.

“Are you idiots done yet?” one of them shouted.

At last, the Fatty brothers broke their huddle.

Moments ago, their faces were twisted with rage.

Now?

They were smiling.

Wide. Bright. Almost cheerful.

The sudden shift sent a strange chill through the crowd.

Alex stepped onto the empty platform.

The courtyard went quiet.

The eight Fatty brothers moved with surprising coordination. Each one took a side of the platform, claiming it like a fortress. Each one of them threw a large cloth onto the ground at the center, smoothing it out with both hands.

It looked like a battlefield.

Or a gambling table.

The fattest of them all stepped forward and roared, his voice echoing across the courtyard.

“We’re from the kitchen! We don’t care if you’re from the Dragon Group or the Tiger Group. You mess with us, we’ll fry you, boil you, and eat you!”

Gasps rippled through the crowd.

A kitchen servant challenging outer disciples?

It had never happened before.

Not here. Not in the Wudang Sect.

“Our Number Nine is our brother,” another Fatty bellowed. “He’ll duel all of you to the death. One by one. Send them up—Dragon or Tiger, we don’t care. Our Number Nine will take you down one at a time!”

Murmurs exploded around the courtyard.

The First Fatty jabbed a thick finger toward the cloth on the ground.

“Listen up! If you think our Number Nine will lose, then bet against him!”

He pointed at the cloth.

“Put your wager down right here. If our brother loses, we’ll pay you back ten times!”

He paused, then lifted his chin proudly.

“No. Twenty times!”

The entire courtyard went silent.

Had these kitchen servants lost their minds?

How could a servant fight an outer disciple?

Most of outer disciple were already at the Fifth to Eighth Level of Qi Condensation. They were real cultivators. Trained. Hardened.

While the servant was, at best, only at the Third Level of Qi Condensation.

That was the ceiling of Servant’s strength. Everyone knew it.

The gap between them wasn’t small—it was a cliff. In the world of cultivation, a difference of two or three levels was enough to decide life and death.

One of the disciples suddenly stepped forward and tossed something onto the cloth.

“I bet that servant dies,” he said sharply.

What hit the cloth wasn’t gold or silver.

It was a spirit stone.

In the Wudang Sect, and among cultivators everywhere, money meant nothing. Gold was useless. Silver was worthless.

Only spirit stones mattered.

They looked like chunks of emerald, glowing faintly green. Over countless years, they absorbed the essence of heaven and earth, storing pure spiritual energy inside.

Cultivators could draw that energy directly into their bodies. It strengthened their cultivation. It was life itself.

More disciples stepped forward.

“I’ll bet my food pills,” another outer disciple said, throwing down a small pouch.

Every month, outer disciples received about thirty food pills. They were packed with condensed nutrients and spiritual essence. They sustained cultivation and, over time, had become a form of currency within the sect.

“My sword,” another disciple shouted, tossing it onto the cloth.

“My rare herbs!”

“My ring!”

The crowd surged forward. Disciples shoved and elbowed their way toward the Fatty brothers, eager to place their bets. The pile on the cloth grew higher—spirit stones, weapons, herbs, pills, even personal treasures.

To them, this was easy money.

A kitchen servant fighting an outer disciple?

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