Yu Xiaogang's Collapse, Bibi Dong Shows No Mercy! Severed Arm!

"Heh."

In the midst of this suffocating silence, a soft chuckle broke the stalemate.

Lin Qiu stood atop the Golden Lotus, looking down at Yu Xiaogang from his position of superiority.

His gaze was indifferent.

It was like a giant dragon looking at an ant baring its fangs and brandishing its claws at it.

There was no anger, no panic, not even the slightest ripple of emotion.

"I wondered who it might be."

Lin Qiu flicked a speck of non-existent dust from his sleeve, his tone lazy and casual. "So it's the 'Grandmaster' who tried to swindle passersby at the market the other day."

His voice was not loud, but bolstered by deep soul power, it carried clearly to every corner of the plaza.

"What? Were you so enraged by having your scam exposed by me on the spot that you've come all the way to this grand ceremony today to bite back?"

As soon as these words were spoken, an uproar erupted all around.

"What? A swindler?"

"I knew it! A level 29 Soul Grand Master—what kind of ability could he possibly have?"

"So he's a fraud seeking revenge after being exposed! His character is truly abysmal, isn't it?"

"To think he calls himself a Grandmaster; it's an absolute disgrace!"

The tide of public opinion instantly shifted toward Lin Qiu.

After all, one was the radiant and unfathomably powerful Holy Son, while the other was a notorious, level 29 waste.

Who to believe?

There was no need to even choose.

Furthermore, Yu Xiaogang's title of "Grandmaster" had always been controversial in the soul master world, with many believing his theories were nothing more than empty talk.

Now that the Holy Son had publicly pointed out his "fraud," everyone was even more convinced.

Listening to the harsh mockery and seeing the contemptuous gazes of the crowd, Yu Xiaogang's face turned the color of liver.

Shame, humiliation, anger...

Various emotions churned violently in his chest, making him feel as if he were about to vomit blood.

"You... you're spouting nonsense!"

The finger Yu Xiaogang pointed at Lin Qiu was trembling. "My theories are priceless treasures! You blind junior, it is clearly you who is slandering me, yet you dare to accuse me of fraud?!"

He turned his head abruptly to look at Bibi Dong and roared:

"Bibi Dong! What are you waiting for? Do you intend to watch this morally bankrupt brat ruin Martial Soul Hall?!"

"I order you! Immediately! Right now! Throw him out!"

"If you don't throw him out, I, Yu Xiaogang, will not let this matter rest!"

He had completely lost his reason.

All the repression and inferiority of so many years erupted in this moment.

He was certain that Bibi Dong would not ignore him.

He was certain that he held an irreplaceable position in Bibi Dong's heart.

He even fantasized that as long as he acted tough enough, Bibi Dong would soften her stance just like in the past, coaxing him and satisfying his every demand.

However.

The response he received was not Bibi Dong's comfort.

It was a beam of light.

A cold light, fast to the extreme and chilling to the bone.

There was no warning.

There was no pre-cast animation of soul power fluctuations.

It was as if a rift had suddenly torn open in the void.

"Pfft—"

Blood splattered.

A severed arm was tossed high into the air, tracing a harrowing arc before landing heavily on the red carpet.

The hand of that severed arm still held the posture of pointing a finger at someone.

"Ah—!!!"

It was only after the severed arm hit the ground that a shrill, agonizing scream erupted from Yu Xiaogang's throat.

Clutching his spurting right shoulder, he staggered backward, his face instantly turning as pale as paper as beads of sweat the size of peas rolled down his forehead.

The plaza fell into dead silence.

Everyone's eyes widened as they stared at the scene in horror.

No one had expected that at such a joyous ceremony, someone would actually dare to strike!

And to sever an arm with the very first move!

How ruthless?!

"Disrespect toward the Holy Son warrants punishment."

A voice, seductive to the bone yet laced with a bone-chilling coldness, rang out.

Beside Lin Qiu, a bewitching figure slowly materialized.

Hu Liena was dressed in the robes of the Martial Soul Hall Holy Maiden, her short golden hair fluttering in the wind.

Behind her, the phantom of a massive Demon Fox flickered in and out of existence, its five furry tails swaying gently, radiating a heart-stopping allure and danger.

She held no weapon in her hands.

Yet that strike just now had clearly come from her, or... had been authorized by someone behind her.

Hu Liena's peach-blossom eyes narrowed slightly as she looked coldly at Yu Xiaogang, who was rolling on the ground; her gaze was as if she were looking at a pile of trash.

"This is the Pope Palace, not a place for you to run wild."

"If you dare to utter another word, it will be your head that gets severed."

Yu Xiaogang convulsed in agony.

He clutched his wound tightly, blood staining his tattered cloth robes.

But he could not care about the pain, nor his severed arm.

He looked toward the woman on the high platform.

"No... this is impossible..."

Yu Xiaogang's lips trembled, his eyes filled with confusion and shock.

Why?

Why was it not the way I imagined?

Where is Bibi Dong?

Why hasn't she come to help me yet?

Why hasn't she killed those two people who hurt me?

"Dong'er... it's me, Xiaogang..."

Yu Xiaogang's voice was hoarse, crying out with a sob, "Look at me... they cut off my arm... save me... hurry and kill that little beast to avenge me..."

Until this very moment, he was still living in his own dream.

On the high platform.

Bibi Dong remained standing there, like a statue devoid of any emotion.

She did not even lift an eyelid, her gaze remaining fixed on Lin Qiu, as if checking to see if any of the blood from just now had splattered onto her precious son's clothes.

As for the man screaming incessantly below the stage, she chose to ignore him completely.

That kind of indifference was more hurtful than anger.

Because it meant—she did not care.

A complete, thorough indifference, as if looking at nothing but air.

Yu Xiaogang froze.

Looking into those purple eyes, cold to the extreme, an unprecedented chill surged from the soles of his feet straight to his skull.

The air in the plaza was thick enough to suffocate.

Yu Xiaogang curled up on the red carpet, the excruciating pain from his severed arm making his entire body twitch, cold sweat soaking his drab, dusty clothes.

He opened his mouth, originally intending to wail a few more times, attempting to evoke even the slightest shred of pity from Bibi Dong.

But when he looked up and met those temperatureless purple eyes, his throat felt as if it were being tightly gripped by an invisible hand.

He could not make a sound.

He dared not make a sound.

That was the look one gave a dead man.

Beneath the Pope's throne, in the shadows.

Bibi Dong shook her head slightly.

She was not heartless; if it had been anyone else, perhaps she might have remembered old feelings and left Yu Xiaogang with some shred of dignity.

But Yu Xiaogang should not have, must not have, dared to aim his spear at Lin Qiu.

He was the child she regarded as her own, the future hope of the Martial Soul Hall, and the only spiritual sustenance she had left in this world.