Fifth level of the Celestial Ladder, White River Valley, blood-colored altar.
When Yue Yang proposed a wager duel, neither the Black Terror Tribe, the Heavenly Dragon Clan, nor the Nine-Headed Clan responded at once. Being first to step forward did not mean being the first to taste the crab; on the contrary, the first to act was often a stepping stone for others. The bird that stuck its head out got shot. Though neither the Heaven-Piercing Tower nor the Heaven Realm had such a saying, everyone understood the principle.
Just as everyone tilted their heads skyward at a forty-five-degree angle, pretending not to have heard Yue Yang, someone stepped forward.
He had been sitting atop the blood-colored altar all along.
Silent and still.
Whether they knew him or not, no one had expected that this man—who ought to have waited until the end to seize the fruits of victory—would be the first to act.
Why?
Not only were they baffled, even Yue Yang, who had prepared himself mentally, and the middle-aged scholar, who held the whole field in the palm of his hand, were deeply puzzled.
The person least likely, least supposed to make a move, had instead risen first.
He volunteered himself for a battle against Yue Yang.
Why?
Everyone present turned to look at him.
The man was dignified and imposing, and no matter how one looked at him, he did not seem like an idiot.
With thick brows, large eyes, a square face, and a head full of short hair standing stiffly upright like steel needles that would not stir even in the wind, he struck the eye with tremendous force. His sharply defined features looked as though they had been carved by blades and axes, rough and rugged, brimming with masculine presence. If time turned back