A Crushing Victory

More than twenty male students shouted in unison. Red, yellow, and purple Soul Ring lights interwove across the platform, surging toward Nezha like a multicolored tide.

The defense-type Soul Masters in front charged with shield-shaped Martial Souls raised, while the Power Attack System Soul Masters in the middle unleashed their attacks, blades, spears, and clubs striking together. Behind them, control-type Soul Masters tried to release binding Soul Skills, while the support types at the very rear poured everything into their boosts.

It was quite a show of force.

Facing more than twenty incoming attacks, Nezha remained unhurried.

He lifted the Fire-Tipped Spear from his shoulder and lightly planted its butt against the ground. Using the recoil, he drifted half a step backward, slipping just clear of the leading punches and flashing blades.

Then he swung the spear across his body. Its crimson shaft swept out an arc of light, like a red-hot iron whip lashing through the three feet around him.

His spear intent contracted with it, condensing from an all-encompassing pressure into a single line, fine as silk and sharp as a blade.

He used no Soul Skills, only pure spearmanship.

Nezha turned, and the Fire-Tipped Spear became a crimson dragon darting through his hands. Its butt tapped the wrist of the Power Attack System Soul Master who had charged farthest ahead, sending the iron club flying from his grip.

The shaft swept sideways and struck another defense-type Soul Master's shield, sending both man and shield flying thirty feet into the crowd and knocking three or four others down.

The spear tip flicked upward, deflecting a heavy saber slashing toward him. He followed through with a forward thrust, driving the shaft into the wielder's chest with a dull thud. The student staggered back several steps, clutching his chest, then fell seated on the ground, unable to get up.

His movements were clean and decisive, without a single unnecessary flourish. Every strike found an opponent's opening with perfect precision.

His spearmanship bore subtle traces of the ingenious follow-ups that Soul Douluo had taught him. Each seemingly simple thrust or flick concealed further variations. By the time his opponents reacted, the spear tip had already withdrawn, and they were already down.

Within just a few breaths, the seven or eight students at the front were lying on the ground.

The remaining male students' expressions changed completely.

They finally realized a brutal truth: the gulf between them and the Soul Elder before them was far greater than they had imagined.

So much for drowning him in one Soul Skill from each of them. He had not even used a Soul Skill, yet his spearmanship alone had felled every one of their front-line fighters.

"Don't scatter! Don't scatter! Hold formation!" The burly Soul Grandmaster was still roaring, but his voice now carried an unmistakable tremor.

He shook both fists, and two yellow Soul Rings lit up. His muscles swelled as he hurled a punch at Nezha, the wind howling behind his fist. It did carry some force.

Nezha tilted his head and flicked the Fire-Tipped Spear upward.

The spear tip struck the wrist joint of that fist with perfect accuracy. The blow was light, but precisely placed to rob the entire arm of its strength.

The burly Soul Grandmaster grunted. His fist slid past Nezha's ear, and his momentum carried him stumbling two steps forward.

Nezha swung the shaft across and struck him in the flank. His burly body toppled sideways like a felled tree, crashing to the ground hard enough to make the platform shudder twice.

"Who's next?"

Nezha stood among the fallen male students, the Fire-Tipped Spear angled toward the ground. Purple fire danced at its tip beneath the sunlight, illuminating his sharply defined face.

With his head tilted, he swept his fiery red eyes over the remaining male students, that same lazy smile still resting on his lips.

The remaining male students exchanged glances. Not one dared move again.

The courage they had mustered had been shattered in those few short breaths. Their prized Soul Skills, superior numbers, and coordinated formation were like flimsy paper before this boy. They had not even scratched his skin.

In the stands, the female students' screams rose in wave after wave.

"Our class monitor is invincible!!"

"So handsome, so handsome, so handsome!"

The match on the platform continued.

Nezha charged into them like a flaming lion plunging into a flock of lambs, striking left and right.

The Fire-Tipped Spear became a streak of crimson light in his hands. Its butt jabbed, its shaft swept, its tip flicked upward. Every blow was precise and crisp, without the slightest wasted movement.

The male students fell one after another. Some were struck behind the knees and dropped to the ground; others were sent flying by the shaft. Some never even saw Nezha strike before a gentle yet irresistible force pressed against their chests, sending them flat onto their backs on the platform.

Before long, fallen figures littered the vast Soul Fighting Arena.

Of the twenty-odd male students, only one remained standing.

That last male student stood frozen, his mind utterly blank.

His legs trembled slightly as he stared at Nezha with vacant eyes. His lips quivered, as though he wanted to say something but could not force out a single word.

Dragging the Fire-Tipped Spear behind him, Nezha slowly approached the male student.

The spear tip scored a shallow white line across the ground with a faint sizzling sound. Purple fire danced, and waves of heat washed forward.

He walked at an easy, leisurely pace, but with every step, the male student's face grew a shade paler.

Before Nezha could reach him, the student's knees buckled, and he dropped to the ground with a thump. He raised both hands high, his voice ringing clearly throughout the Soul Fighting Arena:

"I surrender!"

At that moment, the world fell silent.

The four referees stood at the edge of the arena, all eight eyes fixed on the figure in the center of the platform. Their lips moved, but for a long while, none could utter a word.

Mu Jin stood beside the arena, his long, chestnut waves falling over his shoulders, his narrow phoenix eyes slightly widened. The little signaling flag in his hand had fallen to the ground at some point, but he had not noticed.

The girls in the audience covered their mouths. Some still held the poses they had struck while screaming, their mouths open, yet their voices seemed to have been plucked from their throats.

They were shocked beyond measure.

One against twenty. A crushing victory.

At that moment, everyone stared dumbfounded at the handsome, commanding boy in the Soul Fighting Arena. He stood among the fallen figures, the Fire-Tipped Spear angled toward the ground, his black hair drifting loose. The lingering crimson flames around him framed his sharply defined face, making him look like a god of war who had stepped out of a blazing inferno.

Ning Tian sat in the stands, her lips curved, the fiery red figure in the arena reflected in her azure eyes. Her gaze was as soft as thawed spring waters. Wu Feng sprang to her feet, shouting and jumping, her fiery red ponytail whipping with sharp snaps as she waved both fists wildly in the air. Nanmen Yun'er cupped her cheeks in both hands, her eyes shining. Utterly entranced, she kept murmuring, "Dear class monitor."

Nezha stood where he was, feeling the Great Firmament Celestial Art rapidly replenish the Soul Power he had expended. Deep within his dantian, a warm current circulated slowly, like a tireless spring, restoring his spent Soul Power little by little.

He looked down at his hands, then glanced over the male students sprawled across the ground and shook his head speechlessly. They looked impressive but were utterly useless.

He had not used his Soul Skills, Three Heads and Six Arms, or the Universe Ring. He had not used his second Martial Soul, the Sky-Mending Silk, or even revealed the Wind Fire Wheels beneath his feet. From beginning to end, he had taken down more than twenty people with nothing but the Fire-Tipped Spear and a layer of spear intent.

All I can say is, they couldn't take a beating as well as Wu Feng.

Nezha silently added that thought, then raised his head toward the homeroom teacher, who was still standing in a daze at the edge of the arena. He lifted his chin, his tone as casual as though he were reporting something utterly trivial.

"Teacher, yours truly won."

As Nezha said, "I won," the world abruptly regained its clamor.

Mu Jin snapped back to his senses and drew a deep breath. His voice, infused with Soul Power, carried far and drowned out the noise filling the arena:

"Nezha wins!!"

Then everyone recovered from their shock.

Cheers, shouts, and the female students' adoring screams surged from the stands like a tide, each wave higher than the last, almost lifting the roof off the Soul Fighting Arena. A few bolder girls even leaned over the railing and shouted toward the arena, "Dear class monitor, I love you!"

Meanwhile, the male students lying in the Soul Fighting Arena sat up one after another, rubbing their aching arms and legs. They raised their heads toward the figure in the center of the platform. The defiance and resentment in their eyes had vanished, leaving only pure awe.

Nezha's overwhelming strength had beaten them into complete submission.

They simply could not imagine how someone their own age could be so powerful.

The purple fire at the Fire-Tipped Spear's tip gradually subsided. Nezha rested the spear on his shoulder, tilted his head, and looked toward the white-and-gold figure in the stands, the corners of his mouth lifting.

Ning Tian met his gaze, her azure eyes curving slightly as she gave him a silent nod.

Beside her, Wu Feng was still shouting and jumping. "See that? He's mine!"