The Hunting Hour

This nation, exiled overseas from its continental homeland, carried a warped fondness for fighting and war in its very bones.

Thousands of years of exile, thousands of years of pressure to survive, and tens of thousands of years of survival of the fittest had carved those traits into the flesh and blood of every Star Luo citizen.

Even ordinary civilians without Soul Power seemed like different people in the Spirit Fighting Arena—they would leap from their seats over a heavy punch, erupt in deafening cheers over a graceful dodge, and clap their palms red with excitement when someone was knocked off the stage.

In previous competitions, deaths in individual matches had not been uncommon.

The tournament committee explicitly stipulated that competitors should stop at the appropriate point, but in the Star Luo Empire, that rule might as well not have existed.

Killing someone was wrong.

But in the Spirit Fighting Arenas of the Star Luo Empire, killing someone was merely synonymous with "intense."

So when Situ Xuan entered the stadium's waiting area, everyone looked at him.

The waiting area was located on the first underground level of the venue, a vast open space with grayish-white paint on all four walls, exposed steel framework overhead, and rows of Soul Guidance Lamps.

Dozens of rows of benches filled the space for contestants to rest and wait.

At this moment, the waiting area was already packed—young Soul Masters from various academies and factions. Some spoke quietly, some rested with their eyes closed, and some checked their Soul Tools and Battle Armor.

Situ Xuan's arrival did not cause a commotion.

He merely walked in quietly, like a blade being sheathed. There was no sound, no movement; even the air was barely disturbed.

Yet everyone sensed something.

The feeling was subtle, like something passing by