One month later.
Slaughter Arena.
The referee's voice echoed through the empty arena, carrying a mechanical numbness: "Seventy-eighth match—winner—Frost Cloud King."
A sparse handful of people sat in the stands. They couldn't even be bothered to cheer.
It wasn't that the matches weren't exciting. They were just numb to it.
For the past month, they had watched that six-year-old child win match after match, without a single exception.
No matter who his opponent was—a ruthless killer who thought nothing of taking lives or a powerful Soul Master—they were dealt with in a single stroke when they faced Luo Yun.
One stroke.
No more, no less.
Someone had counted: in Luo Yun's seventy-eight matches, he had killed his opponent with one stroke in seventy-one of them. He'd used two strokes in the remaining seven, not because his opponents were too strong, but because he had deliberately held back with his first strike to see how they would react.
After watching them, he ended the fight with his second stroke.
Someone in the stands yawned and got up to leave.
No point watching. It was boring.
The result was always the same anyway.
Luo Yun walked down from the arena. The Moon Eclipse Sword had already been put away, and not a drop of blood stained his robes.
His face was expressionless.
As he passed the registration desk, the short, stout man hurriedly stood up, bowed, and held out a bronze medal in both hands.
"Lord Frost Cloud King, this is your victory medal for your seventy-eighth match."
Luo Yun took the medal without even looking at it, tucked it into his robe, and walked away without a backward glance.
The short, stout man watched him go, wiped the sweat from his forehead, then sank back into his chair and let out a long sigh.
He had worked here for twenty years and had never seen a monster like this.
No, it wasn't that he'd never seen one. He hadn't even heard of one.
The Slaughter City had produced countless experts over the past century, but none had been like this child.
From beginning to end, he won with such ease. He had never been injured, and his opponents hadn't even had time to react.
The man flipped through the Frost Cloud King's record in the register. His finger paused on the line marked "78-0," then he closed the book and shut his eyes.
Twenty-two matches left.
Once he finished those twenty-two matches, this God of Slaughter would leave.
He longed for that day to come soon, yet he also felt that once it did, the Slaughter Arena might never be lively again.
At the exit on the other side of the arena, a golden figure emerged as well.
Qian Renxue wore a white fitted outfit, her long golden hair tied back to reveal her smooth forehead and delicate features.
Fifty-six matches.
Her record stood at fifty-six matches, without a single defeat.
The people of Slaughter City had given Qian Renxue a title.
Angel King.
A golden longsword, holy radiance, ruthless in battle, never sparing a single life.
Some said she was an envoy of the Divine Realm sent down to the mortal world. Others said she wasn't human at all, but an angel reborn.
All sorts of rumors spread through Slaughter City. Not one was true, and not one was false.
Qian Renxue left the arena and swept her azure eyes over the street. She searched the crowd for a moment, then looked away.
She didn't see that little fellow.
The corners of her mouth curved ever so slightly. Then she turned and headed in another direction.
Two pieces of news spread through the streets of Slaughter City as if they had grown wings.
"Frost Cloud King has won seventy-eight matches in a row!"
"Angel King has won fifty-six in a row, too!"
"Where did those two Gods of Slaughter come from, anyway?"
"I heard Frost Cloud King is only six years old."
"Six? Are you kidding me?"
"I swear I'm telling the truth. I saw him with my own eyes. He's about this tall, dressed all in black, and carries a purplish-black sword. One stroke, one kill. He never needs a second."
"...Damn it, are we even allowed to live in this place anymore?"
No one dared go to the Slaughter Arena anymore.
It wasn't that they didn't want to. They were afraid.
With those two Gods of Slaughter, Frost Cloud King and Angel King, holding court there, anyone who went up was as good as dead.
Before, there had still been people who clung to wishful thinking.
What if?
What if the child was having an off day?
What if I could withstand his first stroke?
What if he made a mistake?
But after seventy-eight matches, no one clung to such hopes anymore.
Seventy-eight matches, seven hundred and two people, seven hundred and two corpses.
There were no what-ifs.
The Slaughter Arena began to stand empty.
Fewer and fewer people signed up. One day, not a single person registered.
The short, stout man sat at the registration desk, staring blankly at the empty register for quite a while. Then he sighed, got up, and went to find the arena's manager.
That night, Slaughter City's enforcement squad began rounding people up.
Those wandering the streets, drinking in taverns, gambling in dens, or scraping by in some corner.
As long as they weren't Frost Cloud King or Angel King, the enforcers dragged them out from every nook and cranny, hauled them to the arena's registration desk, and forced them to sign up.
"What are you arresting me for? I'm not signing up!"
"Not signing up? Fine, then go tell the King of Slaughter that."
"...I'll sign up."
"What's your name?"
"...Zhang San."
"Martial Soul?"
"...A hoe."
"A hoe Martial Soul, and you think you belong in Slaughter City? How dare you lie to me, you bastard!"
All of Slaughter City seethed with complaints, but no one dared resist.
The enforcement squad represented the will of the King of Slaughter. Here, the King of Slaughter was heaven itself.
Another month later.
Slaughter Arena.
The referee's voice echoed through the empty arena, full of relief: "Winner of the hundredth match—Frost Cloud King!"
The stands fell silent for an instant, then erupted in cheers like a tidal wave.
They weren't cheering for Luo Yun. They were cheering for themselves.
It was over.
Finally, it was over.
The God of Slaughter had finally completed his hundred matches.
Starting today, they no longer had to worry about being dragged off by the enforcers to their deaths.
They no longer had to take a detour whenever they spotted that small figure in black on the street.
They no longer had to dream every night about that purplish-black sword.
Some people in the stands cried. Some laughed. Some embraced each other, laughing and crying at once. Others fell to their knees and howled at the sky.
The scene looked less like a match and more like some grand holiday.
Luo Yun stood in the center of the arena, the Moon Eclipse Sword hanging at his side. Blood dripped from its tip onto the dark red stone slabs, one drop at a time.
He watched the celebrating crowd in the stands, his face expressionless.
One hundred matches. It was over.
The two voices in his mind did not sound.
That meant the Third Trial was not yet complete.
Hell Road was the true test.
Luo Yun put away the Moon Eclipse Sword and turned to leave the arena.
As he passed the registration desk, the short, stout man held out a golden medal with both hands and offered it to him respectfully.
"Lord Frost Cloud King, this is your Hundred Victory Gold Medal. The King of Slaughter will personally open Hell Road for you within three days."
Luo Yun took the medal, glanced at it, tucked it into his robe, and walked away without a backward glance.
He had only taken a few steps when Qian Renxue emerged from the exit on the other side of the arena.
She had finished her hundred victories two matches after Luo Yun, but she had completed them within this month as well.
Before you continue