The Battle at the Martial Arena

February 4.

On this day, the Imperial Capital of Chiyan City was deserted.

The Martial Arena's eighty thousand seats had sold out three days earlier. Tens of thousands more, unable to get inside, gathered outside in a sea of people that stretched beyond sight. Every tavern and teahouse along the streets was packed, as were the rooftops of nearby homes. Everyone craned their necks toward the Martial Arena. Vendors pushed carts through the crowds, hawking all kinds of food and drink. Business was more than ten times better than usual. The air was thick with the aroma of freshly baked bread and the rich scent of ale.

Everyone was talking about the same thing—the duel between Earl Wharton and Marquis Blumer.

This was more than just a duel. It was a clash between two geniuses, and the final verdict on the Seventh Princess Nina's marriage. Gossip of every kind was circulating, and some people had even wagered their entire fortunes at the gambling dens.

"They're here!"

At the commotion, the crowd parted of its own accord, opening a path.

Wharton strode toward the Martial Arena in fitted fighting clothes, the battle-axe Slaughter on his back. He stood over two meters tall, with shoulders like a mountain, and every step he took was steady and powerful. Behind him walked Linley, Akes, Bebe, Delia, Hillman, Hiri, and the others in a neat line. Bebe crouched on Linley's shoulder, his little eyes darting about as he surveyed the surging crowd.

"That's Earl Wharton? He's huge!"

"Who's the one beside him? He looks even more imposing."

"That's his big brother, Linley! Ever heard of the Dragonblood Warrior Clan?"

The crowd's comments washed over them like a wave. Wharton paid them no heed, his gaze fixed straight ahead on the Martial Arena.

"Nervous?" Linley asked quietly.

Wharton took a deep breath. "A little."

"That's normal." Linley patted him on the shoulder, his gaze steady and sure. "Remember what I taught you. Focus on defense for the first three strikes. If you can get through them, the rest is yours. Blumer's known for his speed. The key to his Light Shadow Sword is the explosive power of its first three moves. The longer the fight goes on, the better your chances."

"Right." Wharton nodded firmly.

Blumer arrived at the same time, surrounded by his entourage. He wore a blue fighting outfit and carried the Ice Dream Sword on his back. His face was cold, his gaze sharp as a blade. Unlike Wharton's steady, weighty presence, Blumer radiated a keen, cutting aura, like a sword drawn from its sheath. Behind him followed several senior disciples of the War God Sect and a group of Imperial Capital nobles. Their sons, dressed in finery, wore arrogant smiles, as if the outcome of the duel had already been decided.

Blumer's gaze swept across the crowd and settled on Wharton's back in the distance. The corner of his mouth lifted in a cold smile.

The two met at the entrance to the Martial Arena. Their eyes locked, sparks flying between them.

For a moment, all the noise around them seemed to fall silent. One was a rising star of the Dragonblood Warrior Clan; the other, the War God Sect Master's personal disciple. Their gazes clashed in midair, and the invisible pressure of their auras made everyone nearby instinctively retreat a few steps.

"Wharton, after today, you'll know what it means to be outclassed," Blumer sneered. His voice wasn't loud, but everyone heard him clearly.

Wharton's expression didn't change. He didn't even raise his eyelids. "Save your breath. We'll settle it in the arena."

True strength didn't need to be proven with words.

They brushed past each other and headed to their respective waiting areas.

All eighty thousand seats inside the Martial Arena were full. The fighting platform was three hundred meters wide and three hundred meters long, its surface built from massive slabs of solid stone. A large-scale magic array had been laid over it, its pale blue runes faintly visible across the stone. It could withstand any attack below the Saint-level. Eight enormous pillars stood around the platform, each set with magic crystals that projected the fight onto huge screens outside the arena, letting the tens of thousands of spectators beyond the walls see every detail.

The friends and families of the two contestants sat on opposite sides of the platform. Princess Nina had arrived early at the eastern seats. She wore a pale purple gown and a simple crystal ornament in her hair. Her delicate face looked drawn and weary; she hadn't slept well for several nights. She clasped her hands tightly, her knuckles white from the pressure. Several maids stood carefully at her side, not daring to say a word.

Wharton's friends and family occupied the western seats.

Three judges sat on the dais directly in front of the platform: Kenyon, a personal disciple of the War God Sect; Emperor Joanne; and, as the final guest of honor, Rock Sword Saint Hederson.

The moment Hederson appeared, the entire Martial Arena erupted. The legendary figure known as the strongest Saint-level warrior could set people's blood racing just by sitting there. He looked quite old, with white hair and a deeply wrinkled face. Dressed in a plain gray robe, he could have been any ordinary old man. He sat casually in his chair, hands resting on the armrests, eyes closed as if dozing. Yet no one dared underestimate him.

"Everyone, quiet!"

The silver-haired old man hosting the match spoke in a booming voice. Amplified by Dou Qi, it rang through the entire arena, drowning out even the clamor of eighty thousand people. The audience gradually fell silent, all eyes fixed on the platform. Not a sound stirred in the Martial Arena except the wind and the flags snapping in the breeze.

"Today's battle is one of the most important matches at the Martial Arena in recent times. On one side is Marquis Blumer, a personal disciple of the War God. On the other is Earl Wharton of the Dragonblood Warrior Clan. Which of them is the true genius?"

The silver-haired man paused, then raised his voice, his presence surging. "Now, let us welcome the challenger—Marquis Blumer!"

Blumer pushed off lightly with his toes and floated onto the platform like a falling leaf, drawing a round of cheers with his graceful entrance. He moved with such lightness and elegance that it seemed less like a fight and more like an artistic performance. The Ice Dream Sword on his back trembled softly, giving off a clear hum as if answering its master's fighting spirit.

"Now, the one challenged—Earl Wharton!"

Wharton strode onto the platform, each step making the stone beneath him tremble slightly. He lacked Blumer's graceful, drifting movements, but every step was full of power, as if a moving mountain had taken the field. Reaching the center, he grabbed his shirt and tore it off, revealing his powerful upper body.

"Roar—"

The audience erupted in deafening cheers. His muscles looked forged from steel, his body like that of a war god. The sight drove countless spectators wild. Wharton's upper body was covered in scars from past battles. Each one was like a medal, a testament to the fights he had endured. His chest, abs, shoulders, and back were sculpted to perfection, gleaming bronze in the sunlight.

"Wharton!" "Wharton!" "Wharton!"...

The shouts of tens of thousands merged into a mighty torrent, echoing above the Martial Arena.

Blumer snorted, his gaze icy. He hated scenes like this most of all. He was the more elegant and powerful one, yet these ignorant people were always drawn to brute strength.

The silver-haired man looked toward the dais. His Majesty Joanne gave a slight nod. The Emperor wore formal robes and had a grave, composed expression, but a trace of conflicted emotion showed in his eyes. After all, the duel would determine his daughter's future.

"Begin!"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Wharton's body began to change. Emerald scales surged up from beneath his skin, one after another, covering him tightly and gleaming like metal in the sunlight. A curved, sharp dragon horn sprouted from his forehead. A thick tail lashed out from the base of his spine, its tip armed with a bony spike as it whipped nimbly through the air. His black pupils turned gold, and golden light flickered faintly in his slit eyes.

Dragonblood Warrior transformation!

"Oh—"

The entire arena gasped. Many were seeing a legendary Dragonblood Warrior for the first time. His fearsome, powerful form filled them with awe.

Blumer's gaze sharpened. He reached behind him with his right hand and drew the Ice Dream Sword.

"Light Shadow Sword!" he cried, transforming into a streak of light as he charged at Wharton.

Fast! Incredibly fast!

Blumer's figure left a string of lifelike afterimages in the air, as if a dozen Blumers were attacking Wharton at once. That was the essence of the Light and Shadow Sword Technique: using extreme speed to create illusions, making it impossible for an opponent to tell which was real, then finding an opening and striking a fatal blow in an instant.

Wharton saw a flash of light, and the Ice Dream Sword was already at his face. Its icy wind made his skin tighten; he could even feel the biting chill radiating from its tip. There was no time to think. His body twisted instinctively as he raised his left arm to block.

"Pfft!"

The blade scraped across his dragon scales, leaving a white mark. The tremendous force sent Wharton stumbling back three steps, each one gouging a deep footprint into the hard stone. A sharp pain shot through his left arm. The scales had stopped the blade from cutting through, but its impact had still traveled through them and into his bones.

"First strike," he counted silently.

Blumer pressed his advantage, darting forward and splitting into a host of afterimages. Sixteen Blumers appeared across the platform, each holding an Ice Dream Sword and moving differently. Some thrust, some chopped, some swept, and some slashed. It was impossible to tell the real ones from the illusions. Sixteen streams of sword light wove together into a deadly net and closed around Wharton.

"Cheap tricks." Wharton closed his eyes and stopped trying to track Blumer with his sight. Instead, he focused on what he could feel.

The wind, the airflow, the killing intent...

This was another lesson Linley had taught him: the eyes could be deceived, but instinct could not. When an opponent moved so fast that he could create illusions, sight became the least reliable sense. You had to feel the air shift against your skin, listen for the blade cutting through the wind, and sense the killing intent directed at you.

Left!

He opened his eyes sharply, golden pupils blazing with a fearsome light. His tail lashed out like a steel whip, sweeping toward the third illusion on the left with a howl of wind.

"Crack!"

The strike was so powerful that it produced a sharp report in the air. Blumer was sent flying. He flipped in midair and landed on one knee. A bloody gash appeared on his left arm, his clothes torn by the blow. Blood dripped from his fingers onto the stone. If he hadn't blocked with the Ice Dream Sword at the last moment, that tail would have snapped his bones.

"What incredible strength!" Blumer thought, his heart tightening. A flicker of apprehension crossed his eyes. He knew Dragonblood Warriors were strong, but he hadn't expected this level of power.

In the stands, Linley nodded slightly. "Good. He reacted quickly enough."

Akes frowned, his gaze deep and thoughtful. "Blumer hasn't shown his full strength. Those first few strikes were just a test. His real killing move is still to come."

Sure enough, Blumer got to his feet, his gaze turning even sharper. He slowly raised the Ice Dream Sword. Golden light began to flow along its blade, growing stronger and stronger, until it seemed to contain a small sun. His aura climbed steadily. His robes fluttered in the still air, and his long hair streamed behind him.

"Light Shadow Sword—Phantom Dream Sword!"

His figure split apart once more. This time, there were not sixteen illusions but thirty-two! They surrounded Wharton, every one of them radiating a fearsome presence and murderous intent. All thirty-two Blumers struck at once, thirty-two streaks of golden sword light stabbing at Wharton from every direction and blocking every escape route. Above and below, front and back, left and right—there was nowhere to run.

Wharton had nowhere to dodge.

"Then I'll take it head-on!" he roared, his voice like a dragon's cry reverberating above the Martial Arena. Dragonblood Battle Qi surged wildly through his body. Emerald Dou Qi poured from between his scales and formed a protective layer over his skin. He gripped the battle-axe Slaughter in both hands and swung it with all his might—

"One Blade Fatal!"

The strike gathered all his strength and Dou Qi, carrying the momentum of an unstoppable charge as it came crashing down. Blinding emerald light burst from Slaughter's blade, meeting Blumer's golden sword light in a violent midair collision.

"Boom!"

The platform shook violently. The magic array flashed wildly, barely containing the shockwave. Fine cracks still spread across the surface from the center like a web. The magic crystals atop all eight pillars lit up at once, struggling to keep the array stable. Tiny cracks even appeared across the crystals.

The thirty-two illusions vanished at once. Blumer's real body was blasted backward. He tumbled through the air several times before managing to steady himself, then landed on one knee with blood already trickling from the corner of his mouth. The web between his right thumb and forefinger had split, and blood stained the hilt of the Ice Dream Sword.

"Good!" The audience erupted into thunderous cheers. Tens of thousands of people rose to their feet, waving flags and scarves. Their shouts nearly lifted the roof off the Martial Arena.

Blumer landed on one knee and looked up at Wharton, a flash of madness in his eyes. He knew that if the fight continued like this, he might well lose. And what would losing mean to him? Losing Nina. Bringing shame upon the War God Sect in front of everyone.

No. He absolutely could not lose.

He spoke in a low voice and gripped his sword with both hands. White began to mingle with the golden light along the blade. It was a transformation brought about by compressing Radiant Battle Qi to the limit. The purer the white, the more extreme the compression—and the greater the power. But the strain on the body also increased exponentially.

Linley's expression changed. He shot to his feet. "Wharton, watch out!"

"Light Shadow Sword—Aurora Sword!" Blumer roared, turning into a blinding streak of white light as he stabbed toward Wharton at an unbelievable speed.

Too fast!

The white light moved beyond the limits of a ninth-rank warrior. A piercing shriek rang through the air as the blade broke the sound barrier. Everywhere the light passed, the air tore apart and a deep trench gouged into the ground.

Wharton had only just enough time to raise his battle-axe to block.

"Clang!"

The metallic impact pierced their ears, and sparks flew. Wharton was blasted backward, the battle-axe Slaughter knocked from his grasp. It spun through the air several times before clattering to the ground. The tip of the blade had pierced his left palm, spraying blood and exposing a white splinter of bone. Ice...

"Wharton!" Nina cried. She sprang to her feet, her face deathly pale.

At the instant the sword tip was about to pierce his chest, Wharton twisted violently. He lashed his tail against the ground to propel himself, then kicked out with all the weight and momentum of his body.

"Thump!"

Blumer was kicked sideways and slammed into the edge of the platform. His left arm bent at a grotesque angle, clearly broken. White bone protruded through the skin, and blood poured from the wound. The Ice Dream Sword slipped from his grasp and struck the ground with a clear clang. The light along its blade instantly dimmed.

Wharton dropped to one knee. A deep wound gaped across his chest, blood pouring from it and staining the stone beneath him. Though he had twisted aside to avoid the vital spots, the sword had still left a wound deep enough to expose bone. Gritting his teeth, he got back to his feet. His right leg trembled, but his gaze remained as firm as iron.

"Give up," he said solemnly. His voice was hoarse from blood loss, but every word rang with conviction. "Your arm's broken."

Blumer struggled to his feet, his face as pale as paper. His left arm hung limp at his side, blood dripping from his fingers. Yet his eyes were full of unwillingness, filled with an almost fanatical obsession. "I haven't lost yet!"

His right hand, the one holding the sword, trembled violently, but he still raised the Ice Dream Sword. Its tip pointed at Wharton, though anyone could see he no longer had the strength to launch another attack.

"Enough!" A cold voice rang out from the dais, like a basin of ice water in the dead of winter, extinguishing the last of Blumer's fighting spirit.

Everyone looked over. It was Rock Sword Saint Hederson. At some point, he had opened his eyes, and now they gleamed with piercing light. He regarded Blumer calmly, his voice as even as if he were stating a fact. "You've already lost. If you keep fighting, you'll only get yourself killed."

Blumer's face turned ashen. His lips quivered, but he didn't dare argue. His hand slowly lowered, and the Ice Dream Sword clattered to the ground.

"I..." He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but in the end he only lowered his head. His voice was hoarse and bitter. "I concede."

The entire arena fell silent for a moment. Then a deafening cheer erupted.

"Wharton!" "Wharton!" "Wharton!"...

The shouts of tens of thousands merged into a mighty torrent, making the walls of the Martial Arena tremble. Those who had bet on Wharton leaped for joy, while those who had wagered on Blumer hung their heads and tore up their betting slips.

Wharton stood on the platform, covered in blood. He turned toward the stands and looked past the crowd, his gaze settling on a familiar figure.

Nina was already in tears, both hands covering her mouth, but she was smiling with overwhelming happiness.

Wharton was about to leave the platform when a figure suddenly rose from the stands and floated lightly down onto it.

It was Olivier.

He wore plain hemp clothes, his white-flecked hair fluttering in the wind. His gaze was as calm as still water, yet everyone felt an invisible pressure.

"Linley," he said. His voice wasn't loud, but everyone heard him clearly. "Come out."

The arena fell silent again.

Every gaze turned toward Linley in the stands.

Linley stood up, his expression calm. He had known this moment would come.

"I'll be right back." He smiled at Delia, then pushed off lightly with his toes and floated onto the platform as if he weighed nothing.

Two peerless geniuses faced each other in midair.

"Olivier, are you here to stand up for your younger brother?" Linley asked.

Olivier shook his head. "He lost. He wasn't good enough."

Olivier fell silent for a moment, then suddenly smiled. "Your younger brother won today. Another time, let's find somewhere and have a proper fight."

"Anytime." Linley nodded.

Olivier turned, helped his younger brother Blumer to his feet, and walked off the platform without looking back. As he reached the exit, he suddenly glanced at Akes.

There was something thoughtful in that look.

Akes met his gaze calmly and smiled.

Olivier said nothing more. He took his younger brother and disappeared into the crowd.

"Everyone!" The silver-haired man stepped onto the platform at the right moment and spoke in a booming voice. "The result of today's battle is clear. The winner is—Earl Wharton!"

The cheers rang out again, lasting without end. Tens of thousands shouted as the sound rose in wave after wave, spreading throughout Chiyan City.

Wharton leaped down from the platform and wrapped Nina in his arms as she rushed to meet him. They held each other and wept.