In this battle, Yan Wuji died, and Xiao Xuan fell.
The Chaos Ancient Clan claimed victory.
"Well done. We won."
"He was honorable, at least. Before he died, he repaid the kindness our Chaos Ancient Clan showed him. Not everyone on the Origin Continent is an ungrateful wretch."
"He deserves our respect. If he'd surrendered in the Arena, there wouldn't have been a thing we could do to him."
"That was a true powerhouse. That was someone worthy of our respect."
"Why did he kill himself? Could he not face the Origin Continent, or could he not face us? Or was it himself he couldn't face?"
"Ever since he came to us, all he did was practice his swordsmanship. He never said a word. He practiced for a full thirty thousand years."
"I think he simply couldn't face himself. That hurdle in his heart trapped him for thirty thousand years."
"Dying in the Arena was a kind of release."
"I understand."
On the Chaos Ancient Clan's side, some of its powerhouses cheered in excitement.
Others watched the Arena with complicated expressions.
They had always thought poorly of the beings of the Origin Continent.
Cunning, false to their word, ungrateful, ants—there were so many things they called them.
But this was the first time they had admired and respected one of them.
Xiao Xuan could have survived. He could have surrendered the moment he entered the Arena.
Then Xiao Xuan would have returned to the Origin Continent, and its powerhouses would not have made things difficult for him. In time, he could still have reached the pinnacle of the Great Dao in peace.
But he had not.
He had chosen another way.
He fought Yan Wuji to repay their kindness.
He killed himself in the Arena to set himself free.
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