Defeating the Hell White Tiger

He was all too familiar with this sensation. Every night, when he practiced fusion cultivation with Wang Dong, the convergence of their two soul powers felt exactly like this.

However, the fusion between the two people before him was far more direct and violent.

The figures of Dai Huabin and Zhu Lu blurred within the radiance of their fusion.

Then, a tiger's roar shook the entire arena.

Hell White Tiger.

The ancestral Martial Soul Fusion Skill of the White Tiger Duke Family was renowned throughout the entire Douluo Continent.

A massive phantom of a white tiger leaped from the light of the fusion. Its body exceeded five meters in length, and its white fur was patterned with the dark markings characteristic of the Hell Spirit Cat. One of its tiger eyes shone with golden light, while the other was as dark as an abyss.

Below the arena, Zhou Yi's brows furrowed slightly as her fingers tapped unconsciously against the match schedule in her hand.

Mu Chen watched the massive Hell White Tiger, his expression remaining calm.

He turned his head to glance at Wang Dong. She had already stood up, the damage to her left wing slowly recovering under the nourishment of her soul power. She was looking at him too, her powder-blue eyes filled with a restless, eager light.

"Big Brother," she said, "shall we do it too?"

Mu Chen shook his head.

It wasn't that he didn't want to. It was just not the right time yet. The things behind that door were too powerful—so powerful that once pushed open, there would be no turning back.

Moreover, he did not want his and Wang Dong's first public display of their Martial Soul Fusion Skill to be on an occasion like this, used to deal with an opponent like this.

It wasn't worth it.

"Protect Yuhao," Mu Chen said. "I will handle this alone."

Wang Dong paused for a moment, then smiled. That smile held understanding, trust, and a kind of indescribable pride—pride in the fact that her partner could stand alone under the gaze of the masses.

The Hell White Tiger launched its attack.

The massive white tiger phantom soared into the air, pouncing toward Mu Chen with the momentum of Mount Tai crashing down.

The tiger's claws carved five dark light blades into the air, each one sharp enough to tear through refined steel. Some in the spectator stands gasped, while others instinctively leaned back.

Mu Chen took a deep breath.

The scent of the Ocean filled the air, and the entire arena seemed to be shrouded in a faint sea mist.

The Trident spun in his hand, its blue-gold shaft refracting shimmering light within the mist, as if the entire Ocean had been contained within the three-foot blade.

Third Soul Skill, Deep Sea Storm.

This was a soul skill he had used when battling Song Teng, but this time, it was different.

Three months of high-intensity training and fusion cultivation had elevated the purity of his soul power to a new level. When the same soul skill was executed by him now, its power was no longer what it once was.

Phantoms of sea waves erupted from the Trident.

Not just one, but three overlapping waves.

The first wave struck head-on, colliding with the Hell White Tiger's claws and shattering all five light blades.

The second wave tore from the sides, the undercurrents squeezing from both left and right, forcing the Hell White Tiger's mid-air trajectory to twist at an awkward angle.

The third wave delivered an upward surge of dark force, precisely striking the Hell White Tiger's abdomen—the weak point of all tiger-type Martial Souls and the node where Dai Huabin and Zhu Lu's soul power circulation was weakest during their fusion.

Even more fatal was the mental dizziness that accompanied the Deep Sea Storm.

The individual mental strength of both Dai Huabin and Zhu Lu was not weak, but the mental load of a Martial Soul Fusion Skill was immense, and their consciousnesses were already in a delicate state of balance while in their fused state.

The mental impact of the Deep Sea Storm was like a stone thrown into this balanced scale; the momentary tremor was enough to cause cracks throughout the entire fusion structure.

The Hell White Tiger let out a painful roar.

That sound contained the agony of two people.

Then, the massive white tiger phantom split down the middle.

It did not slowly dissipate; it was torn apart by force. The figures of Dai Huabin and Zhu Lu were ejected from the white tiger phantom, flying in opposite directions before crashing heavily onto the arena floor.

The pain of the fusion backlash turned their faces as pale as paper. Zhu Lu fainted instantly, while Dai Huabin struggled to prop up his upper body with his tiger claws, a mouthful of blood spraying onto the bluestone surface.

Mu Chen landed on the arena, his Trident retracting into his body.

He walked toward Dai Huabin, his pace neither fast nor slow, each step landing in rhythm with the other's heartbeat.

Dai Huabin raised his head. The fear was gone from his evil eyes, replaced by a hollow bewilderment—the kind of confusion that only arises when one is struck down from a peak of pride into the dust in a very short span of time.

Mu Chen stopped before him and looked down at him.

The entire arena was deathly silent.

Dai Huabin's lips trembled. He knew what awaited him next: the bet, those three kowtows, in front of the entire academy. He wanted to say something, but only a hoarse, unwilling whimper escaped his throat.

"Mu Chen." Below the arena, Zhou Yi's voice suddenly rang out.

Mu Chen turned his head.

Zhou Yi pushed up her glasses, her gaze lingering on him for two seconds before shifting away. She did not continue. Calling his name seemed only to confirm his state, to ensure he was not injured.

She had no intention of stopping him.

Mu Chen looked back at Dai Huabin.

"You don't have to kneel," his voice was calm, "but you must say three sentences to Huo Yuhao in front of everyone."

Dai Huabin's lips trembled.

"The first sentence: Huo Yuhao is not a burden. The second sentence: I am the one who is ridiculous. The third sentence: I'm sorry."

With every sentence Mu Chen spoke, Dai Huabin's face turned a shade paler.

Each of these three sentences was more brutal than a slap to the face.

To admit one's mistakes in public and apologize to someone one had humiliated was harder for a noble scion to accept than kneeling and kowtowing.

But he had no choice.

Mu Chen's blue eyes watched him, devoid of anger or mockery, holding only a calm expectation.

To him, whether or not Dai Huabin kowtowed was irrelevant; he figured this method might be more satisfying for Huo Yuhao, so he simply made these demands.

Dai Huabin lowered his head.

"Huo Yuhao... is not a burden."

The voice was faint, but on the silent arena where a pin drop could be heard, everyone caught it.

Mu Chen stepped aside, clearing a path so Dai Huabin could see Huo Yuhao standing behind him.

Huo Yuhao's expression remained calm, but his fingertips were trembling slightly; this time, it was not out of resentment.

It was because someone was willing to go this far for him.

"I am the one who is ridiculous," Dai Huabin's voice was even lower, as if squeezed out from his throat.

"I'm sorry."

Once the three words were finished, Dai Huabin's knuckles turned white from clenching his fists.

He jerked his head up, his golden eyes burning with an emotion too complex to describe—humiliation, rage, and resentment, but above all, a sense of powerlessness after being thoroughly crushed.

Mu Chen nodded, not saying another word, and turned to walk toward Wang Dong and Huo Yuhao.

"Let's go," he said, "to Snack Street."

Huo Yuhao looked at him, his lips moving, "Brother Mu, you..."

"Don't be sentimental," Mu Chen patted his shoulder, the corners of his mouth curving slightly, "grilled fish should be eaten while it's hot."

The three of them walked off the arena, and the crowd automatically parted to make way for them.