Zhao Yuanchong Battles Zhao Wen

"Next match."

The voice of the black-robed deacon rang out.

"Zhao Yuanchong, against, Zhao Wen."

The area below the stage fell silent instantly.

Zhao Wen stepped out from the shadows on the west side. His face was pale, his under-eyes bruised, and his gait unsteady, yet his eyes burned with a terrifying brightness.

Zhao Yuanchong stepped onto the stage with steady composure. He wore dark-colored martial attire embroidered with silver wolf-head patterns, and an ancient sword hung at his waist. His gaze fell upon Zhao Wen, and the slight look of disdain on his face faded a little.

"You've lasted longer than I thought," Zhao Yuanchong began, "you disaster."

Zhao Wen said nothing, staring at him fixedly, though the heaving of his chest betrayed the turmoil within.

"A pity," Zhao Yuanchong said, slowly drawing his sword, "this thing forged in fire is a curse, not a blessing."

As the words fell, Zhao Wen moved.

Without warning, his entire body launched forward like a snapped bowstring! His hands were shaped into claws, his fingertips glowing with a dark cyan hue. He tore through the air with a shrill whistle, lunging straight for Zhao Yuanchong's face!

Too fast!

A collective gasp rose from the crowd.

Zhao Yuanchong's pupils constricted; he retreated rapidly, his long sword held horizontally to block.

"Clang!"

Claws struck steel, erupting with the sound of clashing metal. Zhao Wen was knocked back half a step, the webbing between his thumb and forefinger splitting and blood spraying out, but the madness in his eyes only intensified as he roared and lunged at Zhao Yuanchong once more!

At this moment, Zhao Wen had completely abandoned defense, attacking without reserve. Every claw strike aimed for a vital point—it was a suicidal style of combat!

Zhao Yuanchong frowned. His swordsmanship was steady and his techniques exquisite; he was able to intercept every attack and leave wounds on Zhao Wen's body. But Zhao Wen seemed not to feel the pain. The more he bled, the fiercer his attacks became, and the brighter his eyes shone—a brightness laced with a madness on the verge of collapse.

This was no sparring match.

This was nothing more than a wild beast's final, dying struggle!

Blood splattered continuously across the stage. Seven or eight wounds had already been added to Zhao Wen's body, the deepest on his left shoulder, exposing bone, yet his movements did not slow; they only grew faster and more vicious.

Zhao Yuanchong's expression darkened.

He could feel it: the manic, destructive energy within Zhao Wen's body was surging wildly, stimulated by the blood, becoming stronger and more unstable by the second.

He could not drag this out any longer.

His eyes turned sharp, and his sword stance shifted abruptly.

No longer playing for time, his long sword transformed into a streak of black light, thrusting straight for Zhao Wen's heart! This strike condensed all his internal energy, fast as lightning and ruthless as a venomous dragon.

Zhao Wen did not dodge or evade!

He roared, his left hand grabbing the blade's edge, his five fingers locking onto the steel like iron pincers. His flesh was sliced open instantly, the sound of bone grinding against metal piercing the air. Simultaneously, his right hand formed a spear-hand, striking with desperate, tragic resolve straight for Zhao Yuanchong's throat!

Trading injury for injury, life for life!

Zhao Yuanchong seemed to have anticipated this. His left hand shot out like lightning, gripping Zhao Wen's right wrist, his fingers exerting force.

"Snap."

The wrist bone shattered.

Zhao Wen's body shuddered violently, yet a twisted smile appeared on his face. His left hand, still locked onto the blade, shoved forward with all his might!

The tip of the sword sank in another half-inch.

However, the distance between the two had closed rapidly during the struggle. Suddenly, Zhao Wen jerked his head to the side and bit viciously toward Zhao Yuanchong's neck!

How could Zhao Yuanchong let him succeed? He threw his head back, dodging in a flash.

Zhao Wen's bite missed, but his momentum did not stop. His stark white teeth continued downward, sinking into Zhao Yuanchong's shoulder with a sickening "crunch!"

Skin tore and flesh ripped as blood surged out instantly.

Zhao Yuanchong let out a muffled groan; the intense pain caused the murderous light in his eyes to flare up violently. His left hand clamped onto the back of Zhao Wen's neck like an iron vice, preventing him from pulling away, while his right hand shot out like lightning, seizing Zhao Wen's throat and squeezing with sudden, crushing force!

"Urgh...!"

Zhao Wen's throat bones emitted a sound of unbearable strain, and his entire face flushed a deep red from asphyxiation.

Zhao Yuanchong would not give him another chance.

He twisted his wrist sharply.

"Snap."

After the crisp sound, the struggling ceased abruptly.

The light in Zhao Wen's eyes extinguished, and his body went limp, hanging down—only his left hand, still locked onto the sword blade, refused to let go.

At the very moment his breath ceased.

The Samsara Mirror within Li Tui's body jolted violently!

A point of icy radiance erupted from the depths of his consciousness.

He "saw" it.

Within the reflection of the Precious Mirror's consciousness, a phantom shaped like a shattered war halberd was wailing and dissipating above the corpse of Zhao Wen.

At the same time, a deep, cold, dark red phantom shaped like a crouching lone wolf appeared on Zhao Yuanchong's chest, suddenly opening its eyes!

The dark red lone wolf phantom reached out, opened its invisible maw, and aimed it at the dissipating scarlet war halberd, inhaling violently!

The dissipating Army Breaker star power was forcibly pulled and torn apart, transforming into scarlet streamers that flowed endlessly into the wolf's mouth.

Devour!

A naked, unadulterated act of devouring!

The vision lasted only for an instant before it suddenly vanished.

Li Tui shuddered all over, his consciousness pulled back to the reality of the arena. Cold sweat soaked his undergarments, and his limbs felt icy.

He looked back at the stage.

Zhao Yuanchong's body swayed slightly, an unnatural flush passing over his face before it turned even paler. In the depths of his eyes, it was as if something had been completely ignited; the coldness and greed were almost tangible.

He slowly withdrew his long sword, trailing a line of blood droplets. He bent down and, one by one, slowly and firmly pried open the fingers of Zhao Wen, who was still clutching the blade tightly even in death.

He turned and walked off the stage, his footsteps steadier than when he had arrived, yet his back was shrouded in an invisible shadow.

The black-robed deacon was stunned for a moment before calling out loudly, "Zhao Yuanchong, winner."

The crowd below was silent for a moment before erupting into hushed discussions.

Zhao Yuanchong ignored them and walked straight into the shadows. On the arena, the servants went up to clean, wrapping Zhao Wen's corpse in a straw mat as the bloodstains were washed away.

On the viewing platform, the family head Zhao Shengshan sat upright, his gaze fixed on the arena.

When Zhao Yuanchong withdrew his sword and turned away, his back disappearing into the shadows, Zhao Shengshan's face remained calm.

However, the way he leaned slightly back into his chair and the subtle relaxation of his shoulder lines betrayed his satisfaction.

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