Ma Hongjun stood stunned on the stage. It was not until the referee announced for the third time, "Light Phoenix wins," that he finally came back to his senses.
He had won—cleanly and decisively—but he had not even seen how his opponent had fallen.
"How did it feel?"
Fu Wen asked him backstage.
"Too fast."
Ma Hongjun was still dazed.
"Before I could even react, he was down. This... this was completely different from training."
"Because during training, you never actually hit me."
Fu Wen said calmly.
"But opponents in the arena don't have the same margin for error as the training ground. If you hit them, they go down. That's the difference between real combat and training."
Ma Hongjun nodded as if he understood.
"My turn."
Oscar put on his iron badge and took a deep breath.
"One-on-one, Flying Sausage, entering the arena."
Oscar's opponent was a burly man in his thirties, codenamed Anvil. His Martial Soul was a large iron wok. He was a defense-type Soul Master with three rings—two yellow and one purple.
The moment he stepped onto the stage, he looked like a wall.
"Little brother, that codename of yours..."
Anvil looked at Oscar, the corner of his mouth twitching.
"Flying Sausage? Are you from the food system?"
Oscar did not answer, but his actions said everything.
Two yellow soul rings rose beneath his feet, and a sausage glowing blue appeared in his hand.
Flying Sausage. With one bite, blue Light Wings spread from his back.
"You really are from the food system."
Anvil froze for a moment, then laughed.
"A food-system Soul Master came to fight one-on-one? Are you tired of living?"
Oscar said nothing.
He did not attack. Instead, he rose into the air and hovered above the stage.
Anvil looked up at him