Meanwhile, several other places erupted into action as well.
The tall, thin man lunged at a Fallen One in gray, flicking a short dagger into his hand and stabbing straight for the throat.
The gray-clad Fallen One reacted quickly too, twisting aside before throwing a punch at the tall man's ribs.
Bing Yekong remained where he was.
He was watching.
This was his first match. What he needed to learn was more than simply how to "kill eight people."
He needed to understand the rhythm of this arena, the way these people fought, and how those in the stands viewed the match.
A man in a headscarf set his sights on him.
The headscarfed man was of average build and carried a half-broken saber, its edge honed bright as snow.
Seeing Bing Yekong standing still, he took him for a frightened rookie and immediately charged over with a vicious grin, sweeping his broken saber toward Bing Yekong's waist.
Bing Yekong sidestepped.
The blade swept past an inch in front of his waist, stirring a gust of wind.
He extended his right hand, fingers pressed together as icy blue light condensed at their tips, then chopped his palm down on the headscarfed man's wrist.
With a crisp crack, the man's wrist bone snapped and the broken saber fell from his hand.
Before he could even cry out, Bing Yekong's left hand had already clamped around his throat.
Cold seeped in.
The headscarfed man's scream froze in his throat. His eyes rolled back, and after stiffening for an instant, his body went limp.
Bing Yekong released him and let the corpse slide to the ground.
From the first clash to the end, only two breaths had passed.
Someone in the stands noticed the commotion and let out an excited howl.
Bing Yekong