I'll Take This Fight for the Northern Frontier

"Did you hear that? Withdraw! Withdraw immediately!"

Hu Dahai's voice had already changed pitch.

"Martial Sect and Martial Spirit are separated by an entire major realm. It's not like Half-step Martial Sect, where you're just toeing the line. A Martial Sect's Qi-Blood Domain and the qualitative transformation of Astral Qi—either one alone can crush those of the same rank. You swept through thirty-four people with one spear in the Mimetic Battlefield? Useless. Those thirty-four were all Martial Spirits. A Martial Sect is different!"

His eyes had reddened.

He had only known Li Zhengyang for a few days, but what the kid had done in the Mimetic Battlefield today made him feel that Fortress No. 13 had finally produced someone remarkable.

He could not stand by and watch someone walk to their death.

"Old Hu."

"Huh?"

Li Zhengyang stood up and picked up the weapons scattered across the ground one by one, packing them back into the bundles. His movements were neither hurried nor slow. After tying the knots, he carried one bundle in each hand.

"Let's go."

"Go? Where?"

"Back."

Hu Dahai froze for a breath.

Then he was overjoyed.

"Right, right, right! Let's go! Forget the prize money! Your life matters more!"

"I still want the prize money. Later, ask the committee whether there's money for second place."

"Fine, fine, second place works too. Let's get out of here!"

Li Zhengyang carried the two bundles toward the exit.

From the First Fortress section of the stands came unrestrained sneers.

"He's running?"

"Wasn't he acting pretty damn tough just now? Swept thirty-four people with one spear, even set up a stall to rob people. Why's he chickening out now?"

"A rookie is still a rookie. Teasing Martial Spirits is one thing, but the moment he hears the words Martial Sect, his legs go weak."

Several officers close to Lin Zhenshan laughed the loudest.

One of them even slapped the shoulder of the person beside him, his voice loud enough for half the stands to hear.

"Alright, alright, stop laughing. You can't blame him either. Knowing to run when you can't win means his brain's working fine."

The laughter grew even louder.

Li Zhengyang reached the mouth of the passageway.

Three more steps ahead lay the exit.

Then the air before him suddenly turned thick.

It was not wind.

Something was pressing down within the air.

A man stood in the middle of the passageway.

He was in his fifties, with graying short hair and a wrinkled old military uniform. Four general's stars rested on his shoulders.

Xiao Ding.

Li Zhengyang had no idea when he had appeared there.

The main stand had been at least a hundred meters from the passageway just now. Had this man walked over, or floated over?

The foot he had stepped out with withdrew on its own.

Not from fear.

Every instinct in his body was dragging him back.

"Young man, why are you in such a hurry to leave?"

Xiao Ding's tone was casual, yet it carried unquestionable authority.

"You don't want the prize money?"

Li Zhengyang set the two bundles on the ground.

"Commander Xiao."

"Mm, you know me."

"Your photograph hangs in the center of the command hall at Fortress No. 13. It would be hard to justify not recognizing you."

Xiao Ding chuckled and sized him up for several seconds.

"Your spearwork is good. A Ninth-Rank Martial Spirit at twenty years old is rare even across the entire Northern Frontier."

"Thank you for the praise, Commander. But I can't beat a Martial Sect. Going up there would just mean taking a beating for nothing."

"If you can't beat him, you won't fight?"

"If you can't win and fight anyway, that's just throwing your life away."

Li Zhengyang answered cleanly and decisively.

Xiao Ding laughed.

The laughter echoed back and forth through the passageway, making even the overhead lights sway.

"Fine. An honest man."

The laughter stopped.

Xiao Ding raised one finger.

"Then I'll change the terms. Go up and fight Lu Chen. Win or lose, you'll still get two million."

Li Zhengyang said nothing.

"Last ten minutes, and I'll add another million."

Li Zhengyang's breathing paused for half a beat.

Three million.

Thirty thousand points of Blood Qi.

"If you win."

Xiao Ding paused and looked at him.

"I'll give you a spot in the Marrow-Washing Pool of the Military District Secret Realm."

"Plus the prize money, five million."

The passageway fell silent.

Even the distant clamor of the stadium became a blurred background noise.

Five million.

Fifty thousand points of Blood Qi.

Enough to let him charge directly from Ninth-Rank Martial Spirit toward the Martial Sect realm.

Li Zhengyang stood where he was, the two bundles still at his feet, his expression barely changing.

Three seconds.

He bent down, picked up the bundles, and stuffed them beside a trash can in the corner of the passageway.

He then turned around and strode back into the stadium.

He did not take the bundles.

The spear was in his hand.

He walked to the center of the arena and stopped.

The hundred-thousand-person stands were still in chaos. The people from Fortress No. 13 were cursing, the other stands were buzzing with discussion, and First Fortress was still laughing.

Li Zhengyang drew in a breath.

"For the honor of Fortress No. 13—"

His voice pierced through the entire stadium.

All sound was instantly suppressed.

"This battle, I, Li Zhengyang, accept."

Silence fell for a beat.

The Fortress No. 13 section erupted first.

"Good!"

"Zhengyang! Zhengyang! Zhengyang!"

The old soldiers slammed the railings and roared, their voices trembling.

Applause gradually rose from the other stands as well, scattered at first, then growing denser and denser.

The laughter from First Fortress stopped.

Amid the applause, Li Zhengyang took two steps back and leaned sideways toward the passageway entrance.

Xiao Ding was still standing there, hands clasped behind his back, a smile on his face.

Li Zhengyang lowered his voice.

"Commander Xiao."

"Mm?"

"Can the basic two-million prize be paid in advance?"

Xiao Ding's expression stiffened for a moment.

"???"

He had fought for thirty years and commanded hundreds of thousands of soldiers. This was the first time anyone had asked before a battle whether the prize money could be paid in advance.

"Yes. I'll apply for the basic prize right now. Two million."

Li Zhengyang turned back toward the center of the arena.

On the massive holographic screen, the final-round countdown had already appeared.

Fifteen minutes.

The ground in the center of the arena rumbled and split apart, and an alloy fighting platform rose from underground.

It was on an entirely different level from the wooden stage used during the preliminaries. The platform was silver-white from end to end, its surface densely engraved with formation patterns, designed specifically to withstand the combat shockwaves of high-rank Martial Warriors.

Its construction cost was no less than ten million.

Li Zhengyang leaped onto the platform with his spear in hand.

The moment his feet touched it, he could feel the formation patterns humming and sending faint waves of spiritual energy through the soles of his shoes.

A good platform.

Sturdy.

Wait.

After the battle, could this platform be dismantled and sold?

As he was pondering it, something heavy suddenly pressed down from ahead.

It was not Astral Qi.

No matter how strong Astral Qi was, it was still a line, a wall.

This was all-encompassing, blotting out the sky and covering the earth.

A man stepped down through the air from the direction of the dome.

Thirty-two years old, lean in build, with cool, sharp features.

There was no saber at his waist, and his hands were empty.

Within three meters of him, the air twisted into translucent ripples. He stepped upon empty space, descending one step at a time before landing steadily at the other end of the platform.

Lu Chen.