Published at 31st of December 2025 8:47 am

Chapter 803: Christmas Eve I: The First Bell

This chapter is updated by JustRead.pl

The weeks came and passed as Erich once more found himself settling into civilian life. He had until the new year to spend with his family before returning to his unit in Berlin. They were out of rotation, but that did not mean they were on long-term leave.

Replacements required thorough training, and despite their adaptation to pressure under live fire in the field, new weapons were constantly being pushed to the front lines. Erich and his men would need to become familiar with their use.

But for now, he spent time with his wife, Erika, and his children. Meanwhile, his father continued making the daily commute to Berlin, and his grandfather seemed content to lounge about with a glass of Eierlikor in hand.

If Erich was being honest with himself, he had seldom seen his grandfather take a day off simply to relax like this. But it was Christmas Eve, and for once Bruno was no longer responsible for ensuring that the family gathering ended precisely as planned.

Most of the family was arriving from across Eurasia to visit their old patriarch and take part in a large, eventful gathering scheduled for the following day.

Occasionally, Bruno would rise from his seat to greet a late-arriving daughter, son-in-law, or grandchild, only to return moments later to the television and the ongoing tournament.

Eventually, more of the men in the family gathered to watch the event unfold.

Every year, a national kickboxing tournament was held within the German Reich, a Grand Prix meant to determine the next title contender for a championship event later in the spring.

It was a thirty-two–man single-elimination tournament. Sixteen fights would take place across the day at open weight, with competitors from across the Empire gathering to stake their claim.

It was a brutal and arduous competition, commonly referred to by the public as the Last Man Standing tournament. Injuries were frequent, and every year at least one fighter was forced to withdraw due to fatigue or injury.

At present, the opening rounds were underway, and the underdog was a young fighter by the name of Maximilian Keller.

He was an Olympic kickboxing bronze medalist, a man who looked as though he had been chiseled from marble, and had been forged in the fires of hephaestus.

His opponent, however, was far more renowned, Oskar Schmidt, a former national champion with two separate, albeit brief, title reigns to his name.

As Schmidt bounced about the ring, light on his feet and brimming with confidence, the referee reminded both men of the rules.

Yet there was a look in Keller’s eyes that Bruno and Erich noticed immediately, even as wagers were placed around them.

Erich glanced at his grandfather, who nodded silently as Keller made his walkout beneath orchestral music and bursts of pyrotechnics.

With Bruno’s tacit approval, Erich turned to his uncle Josef, interrupting the man mid-boast.

"I’ll take that bet," Erich said. "A month’s salary on Keller winning by knockout in the first round."

Josef looked at his nephew with a smug smirk, clicking his tongue as he shook his head.

"Oh, my poor little nephew," Josef replied. "I’ll gladly take your money to teach you a lesson about the world of kickboxing. You may be a decorated soldier, but this is an entirely different arena. Oskar Schmidt is not a man to be taken lightly."

Erich said nothing. He merely smiled and returned his attention to the television as the fight began.

Schmidt opened with a probing jab, a standard attempt to gauge distance.

Keller did not come to play games.

He parried the jab with a light tap and stepped laterally, firing a sharp cross in response.

Schmidt narrowly evaded it by shifting his head off the center line, only to be met immediately by an outside kick to the lead leg. Keller dipped his shoulder and followed with a heavy overhand left.

The blow crashed into Schmidt’s jaw like a freight train.

The former champion hit the canvas hard, and the arena fell into stunned silence.

Even Bruno stared, momentarily caught off guard by the suddenness of the knockdown. Keller was ushered back to his corner as Schmidt struggled to rise during the referee’s count. Keller’s gaze never left him, tracking every movement with cold precision.

Schmidt assured the referee he could continue, drawing cheers from the crowd, but something had shifted.

Both Bruno and Erich saw it immediately. The confidence with which Schmidt had entered the ring was gone, replaced by caution and hesitation.

As Keller advanced, Schmidt retreated, his footwork tightening. He threw a jab, followed by a hook meant to halt Keller’s momentum, but Keller slipped just enough, the glove grazing the top of his hair.

Keller answered with a shovel hook to the body, stepping inside before Schmidt could recover. The distance closed instantly.

Keller seized Schmidt’s wrist with one hand while the other locked behind his neck, snapping his opponent downward as he drove a knee upward with brutal intent.

The impact sent Schmidt tumbling stiffly through the ropes.

The knockout came less than a minute into the first round.

Cheers erupted throughout the arena.

Bruno winced, not at the violence, but at the manner in which Schmidt fell. He turned away from the television to pour himself another glass of Eierlikor.

"I fear that may very well have been the end of Mr. Schmidt’s career," he said calmly. "Even if he is not yet aware of it."

Josef lamented the loss of his wager, while Erich grinned in quiet victory.

The rest of the room remained silent, watching as medics revived the fallen fighter with smelling salts and began their examination.

The opening round of the Reich’s annual national tournament had ended so quickly, and so spectacularly that even the commentators didn’t know how to respond.

They could only fumble together an improved statement about this year’s competition having a new dark horse, and a challenger who would need to be taken seriously as a professional.

One thing was certain, the tournament had only just begun, as had the year’s festivities.

Share