Battle of the Arena

February 4th.

On this day, the imperial capital, Chiyan City, was completely deserted.

The eighty thousand seats in the arena had been sold out three days prior, and tens of thousands of spectators who couldn't get in gathered outside, a sea of people stretching as far as the eye could see. Every tavern, teahouse, and even the rooftops of residential buildings along the streets were packed, with everyone craning their necks to peer toward the arena. Peddlers wove through the crowds with their carts, hawking various snacks and drinks, their business ten times better than usual. The air was filled with the aroma of toasted bread and the mellow scent of ale.

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

This was more than just a duel. It was a head-on collision between two great geniuses, and the final verdict on the marriage of the Seventh Princess, Nina. Various versions of gossip circulated through the streets, and some had even bet their entire fortunes at the major gambling houses.

"They're here! They're here!"

Following a commotion, the crowd automatically parted to create a path.

Wharton, dressed in tight-fitting combat gear with the greatsword Slaughter strapped to his back, strode toward the arena with long, purposeful strides. He stood over two meters tall, his broad shoulders like mountains, each step steady and powerful. Behind him, Linley, Akes, Bebe, Delia, as well as Hillman, Hiri, and others lined up. Bebe crouched on Linley's shoulder, his little eyes darting around, sizing up the surging crowd.

"Is that Count Wharton? So tall!"

"Who is that next to him? He looks even more imposing."

"That's his big brother, Linley! Have you heard of the Dragonblood Warrior family?"

The murmurs rose like a tide, but Wharton turned a deaf ear, his gaze fixed on the arena ahead.

"Are you nervous?" Linley asked softly.

Wharton took a deep breath. "A little."

"That's normal." Linley patted his shoulder, his gaze steady and resolute. "Remember what I taught you: defend with all your might for the first three strikes. If you survive those, the victory is yours. Blumer's swordsmanship is known for its speed; the essence of his Light Shadow Sword lies in the explosive power of the first three moves. The longer you drag it out, the more advantageous it is for you."

"Mm." Wharton nodded heavily.

On the other side, Blumer arrived surrounded by his own entourage. He wore blue warrior's gear and carried the longsword Ice Dream on his back. His face was cold, his eyes sharp as blades. Unlike Wharton's steady, heavy presence, Blumer exuded a sharp, piercing aura, as if he were a drawn sword. He was followed by several senior brothers from the War God Sect and a group of imperial nobles—those young aristocrats were dressed in luxurious clothing, wearing arrogant smiles as if the outcome of this duel were already set in stone.

Blumer's gaze swept across the crowd and landed on Wharton's back in the distance; the corners of his mouth curled slightly into a cold arc.

The two met at the entrance of the arena, their eyes locking, sparks flying.

In that moment, all the surrounding noise seemed to go silent. Two young geniuses—one the rising star of the Dragonblood Warrior family, the other the personal disciple of the War God Sect leader—their gazes collided in mid-air, and the invisible clash of their auras caused those nearby to instinctively step back.

"Wharton, after today, you will know what a gap in strength truly is." Blumer sneered, his voice not loud, yet clearly reaching everyone's ears.

Wharton remained expressionless, not even lifting an eyelid. "Less talk. We'll see the truth on the stage."

True strength does not need to be proven with words.

The two brushed past each other, heading toward their respective rest areas.

Inside the arena, the eighty thousand seats were packed to capacity. The combat stage was three hundred meters wide and three hundred meters long, constructed from massive, sturdy stones. The surface was reinforced with large-scale magic arrays, with pale blue magic patterns flickering faintly on the stone, capable of withstanding any attack below the Saint level. Eight massive stone pillars stood around the stage, each embedded with magic crystals that could project the scene onto large magic screens outside, allowing the tens of thousands of spectators to see every detail of the duel.

On the east and west sides of the stage were the viewing areas for the families and friends of both parties. On the east side, Princess Nina had arrived early. She wore a pale purple gown with simple crystal hair accessories, her face delicate and haggard; she hadn't slept well for several nights. Her hands were tightly clasped, her knuckles white from the pressure. Beside her, several maids accompanied her cautiously, not daring to say a word.

On the west side sat Wharton's group.

Directly in front, on the main podium, the three judges had taken their seats—Kenyon, a personal disciple of the War God Sect; Emperor Joanne of the Empire; and the final judge, the Rock Saint Hedson.

The moment Hedson appeared, the entire arena erupted. This legendary figure, known as the strongest of the Saint level, was enough to make anyone's blood boil just by sitting there. He looked quite old, with graying hair and a face full of wrinkles, dressed in a dusty gray robe, appearing like an ordinary old man. He sat casually in his chair, hands resting on the armrests, eyes closed as if dozing off. Yet, no one dared to underestimate him.

"Everyone, quiet!"

The silver-haired old man presiding over the match spoke loudly, his voice amplified by battle qi, echoing throughout the arena and drowning out the noise of eighty thousand people. The crowd gradually quieted down, their eyes focused on the stage. The arena fell into a deathly silence, leaving only the sound of the wind and the snapping of flags.

"Today's battle is the most important duel in the arena recently. The two combatants are Marquis Blumer, personal disciple of the War God, and Count Wharton of the Dragonblood Warrior family. Between the two of them, who is the true genius?"

The silver-haired old man paused, raising his voice, his entire demeanor surging with energy. "Now, let us welcome the challenger—Marquis Blumer!"

Blumer tapped his toes, his body drifting onto the stage like a falling leaf. His posture was graceful, drawing a round of applause. His movements were light and elegant, as if he were performing an art piece rather than engaging in combat. The Ice Dream sword on his back trembled slightly, emitting a crisp humming sound, as if responding to its master's fighting spirit.

"And the challenged—Count Wharton!"

Wharton strode onto the stage, each step causing the platform to tremble slightly. He lacked Blumer's ethereal grace, but every step was filled with power, like a moving mountain. He reached the center, pulled off his top with one hand, and revealed his muscular upper body.

"Roar—"

A thunderous cheer erupted from the stands. Those muscles, as if cast from steel, and that body like a war god, drove countless people into a frenzy. Wharton's upper body was covered in scars from past battles, each one like a medal, telling the story of his history. His pectoral, abdominal, and shoulder muscles were as perfectly sculpted as a statue, gleaming with a bronze luster in the sunlight.

"Wharton! Wharton! Wharton!"...

The shouts of tens of thousands of people converged into a torrent, echoing over the arena.

Blumer snorted, his gaze cold. He despised this kind of scene the most; he was clearly the more elegant and powerful one, yet these ignorant masses were always drawn to that barbaric strength.

The silver-haired old man looked toward the podium, and Emperor Joanne nodded slightly. The Emperor was dressed in formal ceremonial robes today, his expression solemn and calm, but there was a hint of complexity in his eyes. After all, this duel concerned his daughter's future.

"The duel, begin!"

As soon as the words fell, Wharton's body underwent an instant transformation. Emerald-green dragon scales surged from beneath his skin, covering his entire body tightly and shimmering with a metallic luster in the sun. A curved, sharp dragon horn sprouted from his forehead, and a thick, muscular dragon tail whipped out from his tailbone, tipped with sharp bone spurs, swaying flexibly in the air. His pupils shifted from black to gold, with a golden light flashing within the vertical slits.

Dragonblood Warrior transformation!

"Oh—"

The entire arena gasped. For many, this was their first time seeing a legendary Dragonblood Warrior; that ferocious and powerful body left them shaken to their core.

Blumer's gaze tightened as he reached back with his right hand and drew the Ice Dream sword from his back.

"Light Shadow Sword!" he shouted, his entire body turning into a streak of light as he charged toward Wharton.

Fast! Fast to the extreme!

Blumer's figure left a trail of afterimages in the air, each one so lifelike that it seemed as if a dozen Blumers were attacking Wharton simultaneously. This was the essence of the Light and Shadow Sword Technique—using extreme speed to create illusions, making it impossible for the opponent to distinguish true from false, then finding a flaw in an instant to deliver a fatal blow.

Wharton only saw a flash of light before his eyes, and the Ice Dream Sword was already at his face. The frigid sword wind made his skin tighten; he could even feel the bone-chilling cold radiating from the tip of the blade. He had no time to think, his body instinctively side-stepping while his left arm rose to block.

"Pfft!"

The blade grazed the dragon scales, leaving a white mark. The sheer impact forced Wharton to retreat three steps, each one leaving deep footprints in the hard stone platform. A sharp pain surged through his left arm; although the dragon scales had blocked the cut, the force of the impact had traveled through the scales and into his bones.

First strike, he counted silently.

Blumer did not let up, his form shifting again, transforming into a sky full of illusions. Sixteen Blumers appeared on the battle stage at once, each holding an Ice Dream Sword, each performing different movements—some thrusting, some hacking, some lifting, some slashing—making it impossible to tell which was real. The sixteen sword lights wove together into a web of death, shrouding Wharton within.

"Cheap tricks." Wharton closed his eyes, no longer trying to capture the scene with his sight, but feeling it with his heart.

Wind, airflow, killing intent...

This was another lesson Linley had taught him—eyes can deceive, but intuition cannot. When your opponent is fast enough to create illusions, your eyes become your most unreliable sense. You must use your skin to feel the flow of the air, your ears to catch the sound of the blade breaking the wind, and your instincts to perceive the killing intent directed at you.

Left!

He snapped his eyes open, a terrifying light erupting from his golden pupils. His dragon tail whipped out like a steel lash, accompanied by a whistling wind, precisely sweeping toward the third illusion on the left.

"Snap!"

The power of this tail strike was astonishing, even causing a sonic boom in the air. Blumer was sent flying backward, flipping in mid-air before landing on one knee. A bloody gash appeared on his left arm, his clothes torn, and blood dripped from his fingers onto the stone platform. Had he not blocked at the last second with his Ice Dream Sword, that tail strike would have shattered his bones.

"Such immense power!" Blumer felt a chill in his heart, a flicker of apprehension in his eyes. He knew the Dragonblood Warrior was strong, but he hadn't expected it to reach this level.

In the spectator stands, Linley nodded slightly. "Not bad, the reaction is fast enough."

Akes, however, frowned, his gaze deep. "Blumer hasn't used his full strength yet. Those previous strikes were just probes; the real killing move is yet to come."

Sure enough, Blumer stood up, his gaze becoming even sharper. He slowly raised the Ice Dream Sword, and the golden light on the blade began to circulate, growing more intense, as if a small sun were contained within the steel. His momentum climbed steadily; his robes fluttered without wind, and his long hair danced behind him.

"Light and Shadow Sword—Phantom Dream Sword!"

His figure split once more, but this time it wasn't sixteen—it was thirty-two illusions! Thirty-two Blumers surrounded Wharton, each radiating an astonishing aura, each filled with lethal intent. Thirty-two Blumers struck at once, thirty-two golden sword beams thrusting toward Wharton from all directions, sealing off every path of retreat. Above, below, front, back, left, right—there was nowhere to run.

Wharton had nowhere to hide.

"Then I'll take it head-on!" He roared, his voice echoing like a dragon's cry across the arena. The dragonblood battle qi within his body surged wildly, the emerald-green energy erupting from the gaps in his dragon scales to form a protective film over his skin. He gripped his greatsword, Slaughter, with both hands and swung it out—

"One Blade Fatal!"

This strike condensed all his power and battle qi, carrying an indomitable momentum as it slashed downward. The blade of Slaughter erupted with a blinding emerald-green light, colliding violently with Blumer's golden sword beams in mid-air.

"Boom!"

The stage shook violently, the magic array flashing wildly as it barely managed to block the shockwaves of the strike. Yet, fine cracks appeared on the platform, spreading from the center like a spiderweb. The magic crystals on the eight stone pillars lit up simultaneously, desperately struggling to maintain the stability of the array, with tiny fissures even appearing on the surfaces of the crystals.

The thirty-two illusions vanished simultaneously, and Blumer's true body was sent flying backward, tumbling several times in the air before barely stabilizing his form, landing on one knee with a trickle of blood spilling from the corner of his mouth. The web between his thumb and forefinger had been torn, blood staining the hilt of the Ice Dream Sword.

"Good!" A thunderous cheer erupted from the stands. Tens of thousands of people stood up at once, waving flags and scarves, their shouts nearly blowing the roof off the arena.

Blumer landed on one knee, looking up at Wharton with a flicker of madness in his eyes. He knew that if the fight continued like this, he would likely lose. And what did losing mean to him? It meant losing Nina, and it meant losing all face for the War God Sect in front of everyone.

No, he absolutely could not lose.

He whispered, gripping his sword with both hands as the golden light on the blade began to mix with white. This was the mutation that occurred when light battle qi was compressed to the extreme; the deeper the white, the higher the compression and the greater the power. But at the same time, the burden on his body increased exponentially.

Linley's expression changed, and he stood up abruptly from his seat. "Wharton, watch out!"

"Light and Shadow Sword—Aurora Sword!" Blumer roared, his entire body transforming into a dazzling white light, thrusting toward Wharton at an incredible speed.

Too fast!

The speed of that white light had surpassed the limits of what a ninth-rank warrior could achieve; a piercing shriek echoed through the air—the sonic boom created as the blade broke the sound barrier. Wherever the white light passed, the air was torn asunder, leaving a deep trench in the ground.

Wharton only had time to raise his greatsword to block.

"Clang!"

The sound of metal striking metal pierced the eardrums, sparks flying everywhere. Wharton was sent flying backward, his greatsword Slaughter slipping from his grasp and clattering to the ground after tumbling through the air. His left palm had been pierced by the sword tip, blood splattering as white bone fragments protruded from the wound.

"Wharton!" Nina cried out, springing from her seat, her face deathly pale.

Just as the sword tip was about to pierce his chest, Wharton lunged to the side, using his dragon tail to whip against the ground for leverage, while his right leg, carrying the weight and momentum of his entire body, kicked out fiercely.

"Thud!"

Blumer was kicked sideways, slamming heavily into the edge of the stage. His left arm was twisted at an unnatural angle, clearly broken, with white bone fragments piercing through the skin and blood flowing freely. The Ice Dream Sword fell from his hand, hitting the ground with a crisp sound, the light on the blade instantly dimming.

Wharton knelt on one knee, a deep wound on his chest bleeding profusely, staining the stone platform beneath him red. Although he had twisted his body to avoid a fatal blow, the sword had still left a wound deep enough to expose bone. He gritted his teeth and stood up, his right leg trembling slightly, but his gaze remained as firm as iron.

"Admit defeat," he said in a low voice, his tone raspy from blood loss, yet every word carried weight. "Your arm is broken."

Blumer struggled to stand, his face as pale as paper, his left arm hanging limply at his side as blood dripped from his fingers. But his eyes were filled with unwillingness, a near-maniacal obsession. "I haven't lost yet!"

His right hand, gripping the sword, trembled violently, yet he still raised the Ice Dream Sword. The tip was pointed at Wharton, but anyone could see that he no longer had the strength to launch another attack.

"Enough!" A cold voice came from the VIP stand, like a basin of ice water in the dead of winter, instantly extinguishing Blumer's final fighting spirit.

Everyone looked over to see the Rock Saint, Hedson. He had opened his eyes at some point, and those murky, aged eyes were now flashing with sharp light. He looked at Blumer indifferently, his tone as calm as if he were stating a fact. "You have already lost. To continue fighting is merely to throw your life away."

Blumer's face turned ashen, his lips trembling, but he dared not refute. His hand holding the sword slowly dropped, and the Ice Dream Sword clattered to the ground.

"I..." He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but finally lowered his head, his voice raspy and bitter. "I concede."

The entire arena fell silent for a moment, then erupted into a deafening roar of cheers.

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

The shouts of tens of thousands converged into a torrent, causing the very walls of the arena to tremble. Those who had bet on Wharton to win jumped up in excitement, while those who had bet on Blumer hung their heads in dejection, tearing their betting slips to shreds.

Wharton stood on the arena stage, his body covered in blood. He turned his head toward the spectator stands, his gaze passing over the crowd to land on a familiar figure.

Nina was already streaming with tears, her hands covering her mouth, yet she was smiling with immense happiness.

Just as Wharton was about to step off the stage, a figure suddenly soared from the spectator stands, landing lightly upon the stage.

It was Olivier.

He wore simple linen robes, his graying hair fluttering in the wind. His gaze was as calm as still water, yet everyone felt an invisible pressure radiating from him.

"Linley." He spoke, his voice not loud, yet it reached every person's ears clearly. "Come out."

The entire arena fell silent once more.

Every eye turned toward Linley in the spectator stands.

Linley stood up, his expression calm. He had long expected this moment to come.

"I'll be back shortly." He smiled at Delia, then tapped his toes, his entire body floating onto the stage as if weightless.

The two peerless geniuses stood facing each other in the air.

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

Olivier shook his head. "He lost because his skills were inferior."

Olivier was silent for a moment, then suddenly smiled. "Your brother won today. Another day, let us find a place to have a proper fight."

"I am ready at any time." Linley nodded.

Olivier turned, helped his brother Blumer up, and walked off the stage without looking back. As he reached the exit, he suddenly turned to glance at Akes.

That gaze was pensive.

Akes met his eyes calmly and smiled slightly.

Olivier said nothing more, disappearing into the crowd with his brother.

"Everyone!" The silver-haired elder stepped onto the stage at the perfect moment and announced loudly, "The result of today's great battle is clear. The winner is—Count Wharton!"

Cheers erupted once again, long and unending. Tens of thousands of people cheered in unison, the sound rising in wave after wave, spreading throughout the entire Chiyan City.

Wharton jumped off the stage and pulled Nina into an embrace as she ran toward him, the two of them weeping in each other's arms.