"Fellow cultivators, wait for my good news. Victory is certain."
Murong Zhuangning's voice brimmed with absolute confidence. She did not smile; in fact, her face held no expression at all.
Yet confidence was what everyone felt from her—overwhelming confidence, confidence beyond all reason.
She took one step, and her figure vanished from where she stood.
The next moment, she was standing at the center of the Arena.
She said nothing, merely watched in silence.
At that moment, Ye Lin opened his eyes as well.
Because she was a sword cultivator.
It had been a long time since a sword cultivator had appeared in the Arena. He wanted to watch closely.
Anyone who had made it here possessed considerable mastery of the sword.
Perhaps not as much as he did, but there was still value in watching.
That belief in his own superiority was Ye Lin's confidence.
No emotion stirred in Ye Lin's eyes. He simply watched ahead.
"My turn."
"Let's finish this quickly so I can get home."
"There's still a mountain of things to deal with when I get back."
A low voice came from the Chaos Ferry Ancient Clan's side.
The next moment, a figure walked slowly toward the Arena.
He was not tall—short, even—standing only a little over five feet.
Yet the pressure he exuded weighed on every heart like an invisible mountain.
The space around him began to warp the instant he stepped forward, like thin paper kneaded by an unseen giant hand.
Ripples spread through the air, radiating outward from him in every direction.
Where they passed, even light bent, blurring and distorting everything around him.
Dense scales covered his entire body, dark gray verging on black.
Each was no bigger than a fingernail, layered and tightly arranged like a suit of armor formed by