"Fourth match—Sky Abyss Academy's Ling Shuang versus Shrek Academy's Zhu Zhuqing!"
The commentator's voice still carried an undigested tremor.
He no longer dared make any predictions.
Deep in the stands, a bookie with a face full of flesh tore the odds sheet in his hand into a blizzard of scraps.
Before the match, he had set Sky Abyss Academy's odds at seventeen to one.
Now, he only wanted to find an empty corner and cry for a while over his life.
Zhu Zhuqing stepped onto the arena, her footsteps silent.
Whenever the soles of her feet touched the ground, she instinctively shed all their weight.
It was a habit engraved into her bones by the Hell Spirit Cat martial soul.
Even without summoning her martial soul, she moved like Gui Mei in the night, slipping through the shadows without a trace.
On the other side, Ling Shuang stepped onto the stage.
She wore a pale green dress, her hair loosely tied in a low ponytail, with several stray strands falling along her cheeks.
Her gait was slow and leisurely. She looked less like she had come for a duel watched by the entire continent and more like she was visiting a neighbor.
The two stood facing one another at the center of the arena.
Zhu Zhuqing sized up her opponent.
Ling Shuang was half a head taller than her, slender in build, with skin so pale it was nearly translucent. A faint smile rested at the corners of her lips.
That smile was gentle and warm.
But Zhu Zhuqing did not relax in the slightest.
The bloody lessons of the first three matches had proven one thing—no one from Sky Abyss Academy could be judged by appearances.
"Hello." Ling Shuang spoke first, her tone so friendly it felt unreal.
Zhu Zhuqing did not respond.
She was waiting.
Waiting for that one word.
"Begin!"
The instant the referee's voice tore through the air, Zhu Zhuqing vanished from where she stood.
It was not a metaphor.
Before more than twenty thousand pairs of eyes, her very existence was erased from thin air, cleanly and completely.
Hell Spirit Cat, second soul skill—Netherworld Invisibility.
Throughout the entire arena, not a single gaze could catch her trail.
Ling Shuang stood still.
The earth beneath her feet bulged slightly as several emerald-green vines tentatively emerged from the ground, spreading leisurely in every direction.
Heavenly Net Immortal Vine.
Her martial soul.
At that moment, the vines' growth speed seemed almost laughable, like an old man taking a stroll at dusk. They could not even extend half a meter in one second.
Zhu Zhuqing, meanwhile, was twice as fast as sound.
The first strike descended.
A line of blood burst across Ling Shuang's left shoulder. Her sleeve was ripped apart by sharp cat claws, revealing a fair forearm.
The moment the droplets of blood scattered, Zhu Zhuqing had already withdrawn from another direction.
The entire attack took less than 0.2 seconds.
In the stands, stunned silence replaced the cries of surprise.
Too fast.
So fast that even thought could not keep up. There was no way Ling Shuang could have reacted!
Ling Shuang lowered her head and glanced at the wound on her shoulder, her brows knitting slightly.
She did not look pained.
It was more as if she were assessing the quality of an object.
Then she raised her head and continued standing where she was, the smile on her lips unchanged.
The second strike.
It came from behind.
A Netherworld Claw swept across Ling Shuang's waist, raising a brilliant yet deadly mist of blood.
Ling Shuang staggered a step but still did not fall.
The vines beneath her feet continued to grow slowly, covering only a radius of three meters.
Three meters.
Before Zhu Zhuqing's absolute speed, three meters was no different from nothing at all.
The third strike, her right arm.
The fourth strike, her left leg.
The fifth strike, the center of her back.
The seventh strike.
Zhu Zhuqing's attacks were precise and restrained. Every claw tore through flesh at exactly the right point, yet cleverly avoided all vital tendons and bones.
This was not mercy.
It was an assassin's pride.
She wanted to toy with her opponent like a cat with a mouse, making her experience the difference between them while fully conscious, then surrender voluntarily in despair.
At this moment, Ling Shuang had seven additional wounds on her body.
Her pale green dress had been soaked in blood, like an eerie map in dark colors.
Her face was somewhat pale, but the gentle smile on her lips had never faded.
"Why don't you surrender?"
Zhu Zhuqing's voice came from the northeast corner of the arena, cold and direct, without a trace of unnecessary emotion.
"Your vines can't touch me. You can't even determine where I am."
"There's no point in continuing."
Ling Shuang tilted her head as if seriously considering this philosophical question.
"You're right."
Her tone was utterly sincere, as though she were discussing the price of vegetables with a neighbor.
"I really can't touch you."
"But—"
Her gaze passed through the flowing blood and landed precisely at the edge of the arena, on a spot where no one stood.
More precisely, it fell upon a string of gravel Zhu Zhuqing had accidentally crushed beneath her shoes as she passed by.
"Have you counted how many times you attacked me?"
For the first time, Zhu Zhuqing's breathing paused.
Seven times.
"Every time, your claw tips came into contact with my blood." Ling Shuang raised a hand and spread her palm toward the air.
There was a shallow cut in her palm.
The liquid seeping from it was not red.
It was pale green.
"That isn't blood." For the first time, Zhu Zhuqing's voice shook violently.
Ling Shuang smiled.
Gentle and sincere, yet enough to send a chill down the spine of everyone watching her.
"The sap of the Heavenly Net Immortal Vine is colorless and odorless."
"Mixed into my blood, how could you tell the difference?"
Zhu Zhuqing abruptly lowered her head and looked at her right hand.
Within the dark-red fluid staining her poison-dipped blade-like claws were tiny emerald particles, nearly impossible to notice.
Those particles... were wriggling.
"Every time you attack me—"
Ling Shuang's voice slowed, every word crisp and clear, as if she were reciting a beautiful poem.
"—you personally plant a seed in your own body."
Zhu Zhuqing violently shook her hand!
Too late.
A green thread as thin as spider silk broke through the skin of her right wrist.
Then came a second, a third...
Her left hand as well.
Her ankles as well.
At her waist, where she had personally inflicted the wound and where the most "blood" had splashed—emerald vines had already coiled around her three times!
Zhu Zhuqing tried to activate her invisibility. Her figure had only begun to blur before it was instantly interrupted.
The vines were living creatures.
They possessed independent life auras.
As long as they grew on her body, she could never complete her invisibility.
It was like tying a string of bells that would never stop ringing onto a top-tier invisible assassin.
"Don't pull."
Ling Shuang kindly reminded her, her voice soft.
"The more you pull, the tighter they'll get."
Zhu Zhuqing refused to believe it.
She forcefully tore at the vine around her right wrist—its roots had long since seeped deep into the fibers of her clothes. When she snapped one vine, two new ones erupted wildly from the break.
Three seconds.
In only three seconds, Zhu Zhuqing's hands were completely bound, unable to move.
Ling Shuang slowly walked over to her.
She did not activate any offensive soul skill. She merely crouched down and pulled a clean handkerchief from her sleeve.
Then she carefully and gently wiped away the cold sweat beading on Zhu Zhuqing's forehead.
The movement was like an older sister caring for an ill younger sister.
"You're fast," Ling Shuang said.
"Truly fast. I've never seen anyone as fast as you."
Zhu Zhuqing stared at her fiercely, teeth clenched, without saying a word.
"But a hunter never needs to catch up to the prey."
Ling Shuang stood and gracefully brushed dust that did not exist from her skirt.
"A hunter only needs to—"
"—make the prey step into the trap on its own."
A deathly silence fell over the arena.
Zhu Zhuqing closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, all the killing intent and unwillingness had faded from those cat-like pupils, leaving only clean tranquility.
"I lost."
The head referee raised his hand.
This time, his arm did not tremble.
Not because he was calm, but because he had already gone numb.
"Fourth match—Sky Abyss Academy's Ling Shuang wins!"
Four to zero.
Sky Abyss Academy, four to zero.
The entire arena fell silent for three full seconds before an unusual wave of sound erupted.
It was neither cheering nor booing, but the suppressed murmuring of more than twenty thousand people all at once.
Like a pot of water about to boil, its lid held down with all possible force.
Everyone was asking the same question—asking the people beside them and asking themselves.
Just what hell had this Sky Abyss Academy crawled out of?
At the contestants' seats, Su Chen finally changed his posture.
He straightened from the back of his chair, picked up the teacup on the table that had long gone cold, and took a sip.
He set down the cup, his gaze crossing the entire noisy arena to settle on the person opposite him.
Tang San.
Tang San was looking at him as well.
Within those deep-blue eyes was no anger, no anxiety, not the slightest wavering.
There was only something Su Chen knew very well.
Calculation.
Calculation that was icy to the extreme, absolutely rational.
Using every piece of information gathered from the first four crushing defeats, Tang San was rapidly assembling a complete picture of Sky Abyss Academy in his mind.
Su Chen understood.
So he smiled.
It was a smile that carried appreciation, along with a trace of anticipation.
He turned to the person beside him and softly said one sentence.
"Fifth match, you're up."
Before you continue