Spear Intent

At Mu Jin's announcement that the match had begun, Nezha's aura suddenly surged.

He stood in the center of the Soul Fighting Arena, the Fire-Tipped Spear angled toward the ground, his black hair lifting slightly in an invisible rush of air.

The Soul Power around him erupted like a furnace set ablaze. A searing spear intent burst from his body almost instantly, sweeping over the twenty-odd male students opposite him without restraint like a tangible storm of blazing fire.

Indeed, over these six years, Nezha had not only raised his Soul Power to rank thirty-seven and mastered Three Heads and Six Arms, but also grasped spear intent.

The Soul Douluo who taught him spear techniques had once said that when spear mastery reached its pinnacle, what mattered was no longer the spear in one's hands, but the spear in one's heart.

With a spear in one's heart, anything could become a spear: every blade of grass, every tree, every grain of sand, every stone-even a glance or a breath could become a keen edge that pierced an enemy. It had taken Nezha three whole years to truly reach the threshold of spear intent.

For the next three years, through countless nights of solitary training, he had honed and tempered this wisp of fiery spear intent little by little. What had initially reached only three feet around him could now blot out the sky and sweep across the entire Soul Fighting Arena.

Now that his spear intent had emerged, the temperature throughout the Soul Fighting Arena began to rise.

The twenty-odd male students opposite him felt their vision blur. It was as though an invisible crimson beast had leaped from Nezha's body, opened its cavernous, blood-red maw, and swallowed them all in a single gulp.

That scorching, razor-sharp pressure pierced their flesh and reached straight into their marrow. It weighed on their chests, hampered their breathing, and even slowed the circulation of their Soul Power by half a beat.

"This is... spear intent?!"

The pupils of one referee standing at the edge of the arena contracted. His long crimson hair billowed in the heat as he instinctively took half a step forward.

He was a Battle Soul Master and knew this sensation all too well. It was something forged through countless thrusts of a spear and countless brushes with death-the soul of spear mastery, the threshold a Battle Soul Master had to cross to truly join the ranks of the strong.

A twelve-year-old boy had already reached the threshold of spear intent? He had lived for more than half a lifetime and seen countless exceptionally gifted youths, but this was the first he had ever seen comprehend spear intent at such an age.

The other referee's expression changed as well. He clenched his fists and quietly released his Soul Power, ready to intervene and save someone at any moment.

Using spear intent to suppress an entire arena was something he rarely saw even among upper-year students, let alone freshmen who had only just enrolled.

If the children opposite Nezha could not withstand this pressure and their Soul Power dispersed-or their minds broke-he would have to intervene immediately.

Mu Jin stood at the edge of the arena, his narrow, phoenix-shaped eyes slightly narrowed.

As he watched the figure wreathed in crimson spear intent, then the pale-faced male students pinned motionless opposite him, he suddenly recalled what Ning Tian had whispered into his ear.

"Teacher, let them fight. Nezha will win."

At the time, he had taken it as nothing more than Ning Tian's faith in Nezha. Now he understood: she had simply been stating a fact.

Nezha held the Fire-Tipped Spear with its tip angled downward and its butt lightly touching the ground, his posture as straight as a spear. Crimson spear intent churned and coiled around him, making him look like a god of war who had stepped out of blazing flames.

He tilted his head toward the pale-faced male students struggling to maintain their formation, a hint of a lazy smile in his fiery red eyes.

"Well? Didn't you say you were going to put me in my place?"

He took a step forward.

His spear intent pressed forward with him, crashing into their formation like a tangible tidal wave.

The Soul Power barriers raised by the defense-type Soul Masters in the front row creaked like glass struck by a heavy hammer, cracks spreading outward from their centers.

Dangerous! Terrifying! Crushing pressure!

That was how Nezha felt to them at that moment.

His spear intent surged like a tide, filling heaven and earth, as though an invisible edge had sliced through every inch of air.

The twenty-odd male students huddled together, each face paler than the next. Under the pressure of his spear intent, the Soul Power barriers raised by the defense-type Soul Masters in front teetered on the verge of collapse. Cracks spread like spiderwebs, accompanied by teeth-grating creaks.

In their eyes, the boy holding the Fire-Tipped Spear seemed utterly invincible. Crimson flames churned around him, his spear intent surged like a dragon, and even his breathing carried a scorching edge.

The female students of Freshman Class Nine cried out in astonishment at the sight, their screams nearly lifting the roof off the Soul Fighting Arena.

"Ah, class monitor, you're so strong! What Soul Skill is that? It's incredible!"

"Class monitor, you're so handsome!!"

"One person pinning down more than twenty opponents! I've never seen anything like this in my life!"

Ning Tian sat in the front row of the stands, her platinum-blond hair falling over her shoulders. Her azure eyes sparkled, and a slight smile curved her lips as she watched the fiery red figure in the arena without blinking.

Wu Feng sat beside her, her fiery red ponytail swishing back and forth and both fists clenched tight. Her crimson eyes blazed with undisguised fervor as she kept muttering, "Beat them, Nezha! Come on!"

On Ning Tian's other side sat a pretty young girl with delicate features: Nanmen Yun'er.

Back in the classroom, Nezha's face had already captivated her so thoroughly that she could not look away. Now, seeing him single-handedly pressure every male student in the class until they could barely breathe, her lively eyes shimmered. Her hands unconsciously tightened around the hem of her clothes, and her heart raced as though it might leap out of her throat.

On the arena floor.

The male students of Class Nine swallowed, their foreheads covered in cold sweat, but their refusal to admit defeat still remained.

A burly male student at the Soul Grandmaster level suddenly roared. His voice trembled slightly, but he forced himself to shout:

"Brothers, don't let Nezha scare you! No matter how strong his aura is, it doesn't change the fact that he's only a Soul Elder! Don't be afraid, brothers! One Soul Skill from each of us will drown him!"

His words immediately lifted the spirits of the male students of Freshman Class Nine. Right, so what if he was a Soul Elder? There were more than twenty of them. With one Soul Skill each, they could bury Nezha under sheer numbers.

That thought washed away some of their fear, and they began bolstering their courage:

"That's right! No matter how strong his aura is, he's still just a Soul Elder!!"

"Brothers, don't panic! We can win!"

"Support-type Soul Masters, give us support!!"

The support-type Soul Masters in the back gritted their teeth, forcing their sluggish Soul Power to move despite the pressure of the spear intent, and unleashed their enhancement Soul Skills.

Streak after streak of yellow light fell upon their companions in the front row. Strength, speed, defense-various enhancements overlapped, and the male students' morale visibly recovered.

Standing opposite them, Nezha watched them scramble to apply their enhancements, in no hurry to attack. He rested the Fire-Tipped Spear on his shoulder and tilted his head, the lazy smile on his lips deepening.

"Ready?" he asked.

The burly Soul Grandmaster in the front row gritted his teeth and clenched both fists. His Soul Rings suddenly lit up, and he roared, "Brothers, charge with me!!"

The twenty-odd male students shouted in unison and lunged at Nezha with bloodshot eyes, like a pack of wolves driven into a corner.