The referee's voice still echoed across the square, while cheers from Spirit Hall's contingent rose in wave after wave.
Qin Chuan stood in the center of the arena. The glowing membrane of his domain slowly contracted, and the checkerboard squares vanished one by one, revealing the shattered bluestone tiles beneath.
The [Clown Dwarf] yawned on his shoulder, then withdrew into his palm.
Hu Liena got to her feet with Xie Yue's help. The wound at her waist was still seeping blood, but her face was all smiles.
Yan stood beside them, the corners of his mouth lifting a little too.
The cheers from the stands continued. Some people tossed their hats into the sky, some hugged the people beside them and jumped, and some kept shouting even after their voices had gone hoarse.
We won.
Spirit Hall won.
Qin Chuan listened to the shouts filling the square, but his mind was on something else.
The numbers on the Points Panel kept ticking upward. Emotion points were still pouring in; the wild joy of a hundred thousand people was no small haul.
He was just about to raise a hand and settle things down when his peripheral vision swept over the western stands.
Someone was sitting there.
A black robe. A hood pulled low, exposing only the lower half of his face. An unruly mess of stubble covered his chin, and an iron mask was strapped over his face.
He stood up.
His movements were slow. One hand braced against the armrest as he straightened his back. Compared with the excited spectators around him, who were practically bouncing out of their seats, every movement he made was half a beat slower, utterly out of place.
But a chill crept over the back of Qin Chuan's neck.
Something's wrong.
He had experienced this sensation once in the arena. When Tang San released the Clear Sky Hammer, the air around him grew heavy.
Now that same heaviness had increased more than tenfold.
The black-robed man took his first step.
His foot landed on a stone step in the stands, and the step cracked. It had not been smashed underfoot, but crushed by pressure. He had not unleashed a single Soul Skill. He merely stood there, yet every spectator within thirty feet slumped helplessly into their seats.
A second step.
He leaped down from the stands.
He dropped several dozen feet and landed without a sound.
But a ripple of Soul Power spread outward from beneath his feet. The nearest rows of spectators lurched backward together. Some slid straight out of their seats; others clutched their armrests, their faces flushed crimson, unable even to cry out.
With his third step, he was already at the edge of the arena.
The wind lifted half his hood. His face was sallow, his eyes deeply sunken, his cheekbones jutting outward. His untrimmed beard bristled in uneven lengths.
But the pressure radiating from him bore down on the entire square.
The cheers of a hundred thousand people stopped.
Spectators in the stands doubled over one after another. Some braced their hands on their knees and gasped for breath; others collapsed flat on the ground.
A few Soul Masters in the back rows could barely remain standing, but their legs were trembling.
The oppressive might of a Titled Douluo.
The black-robed man vaulted onto the arena and swept his eyes, hidden behind the iron mask, over the surroundings.
His gaze paused on Xiao Wu for less than half a heartbeat, then moved on, finally settling on Qin Chuan.
He turned his right hand over, and a massive black hammer appeared out of thin air.
The hammer was pitch-black from end to end, its head as large as a millstone and covered in densely etched patterns. Nine Soul Rings rose from beneath his feet-two yellow, two purple, four black, and one red-lighting up one after another.
On the Supreme Pontiff's dais, Chrysanthemum Douluo sprang to his feet, knocking his chair over backward.
"That's Tang Hao!"
Ghost Douluo tensed beneath his black cloak, his voice icy. "How dare he run wild here!"
Bibi Dong did not move. She glanced at the black-robed man in the arena, then at Qin Chuan.
"Even that boy hasn't panicked. Don't act yet."
Chrysanthemum Douluo and Ghost Douluo exchanged a glance.
"Yes."
At the edge of the arena, Tang San had remained sprawled where Xiao Wu's heavy blow had sent him crashing down earlier.
Now he propped himself up on his arms and struggled to his feet, his face covered in blood. The instant he saw the black-robed figure, his eyes lit up.
"Dad!"
Tang San scrambled toward the black-robed man, crawling and stumbling. His voice was hoarse, yet it rang out clearly enough for the entire square to hear. "Dad, kill him! Kill Qin Chuan!"
Someone in the stands sucked in a sharp breath.
"Dad? Tang Hao? The Clear Sky Douluo?"
"Tang San's father is here?"
"We're done for, we're done for! That's a Titled Douluo, a monster above rank ninety-five!"
Tang Hao's gaze swept past Xiao Wu without lingering, without warmth.
"Nobody move."
His voice was not loud, but every word struck people square in the chest. Those in the square still struggling to stay upright felt their legs give way at his words and sank into their seats.
Tang Hao turned and fixed his eyes on Qin Chuan.
"Qin Chuan." He repeated the name, the corners of his mouth pulling downward. "You humiliated my son in public? You must die today."
He spoke of killing, yet his tone remained flat, as though he were discussing something already decided.
Humiliated?
Qin Chuan glanced into Tang Hao's eyes.
There was no anger there, no bloodshot frenzy of murderous rage, only a layer of cold calculation.
This isn't about Tang San's dignity.
He's after my rule-based Martial Soul.
While I'm still rank fifty-one, before I've fully grown, he wants to crush me with one blow.
Hu Liena, Yan, and Xie Yue all stepped in front of Qin Chuan at once.
Dark red flames ignited over Yan's fists. Xie Yue drew the Moon Blades in both hands, and the spectral image of Hu Liena's Nine-Tailed Sky Fox rose behind her.
But even together, the three of them could not withstand a single attack from a Titled Douluo.
They knew it themselves.
Yan's fists trembled. Xie Yue's grip on his Moon Blades turned the webbing between his thumbs and forefingers white. Even Hu Liena's spectral nine-tailed fox was shaking.
But none of them retreated.
Tang Hao did not even glance at them. He lifted the Clear Sky Hammer, and all nine Soul Rings blazed at once. The patterns on the hammerhead lit up in concentric circles.
Qin Chuan spoke from behind the three of them.
"Tang Hao."
His voice was quiet, but steady.
"All this fighting and killing is so dull. How about a game?"
Tang Hao's movement paused.
He looked down at the youth in the long black robe before him, bloodstained and ragged. A rank fifty-one support-type Soul King stood before a rank ninety-five Titled Douluo and proposed playing a game.
"An ant."
That was all Tang Hao said.
The Clear Sky Hammer rose high, the light of its nine Soul Rings illuminating half the arena. The wind from the hammer pressed down, prying up the tiles beneath Qin Chuan's feet one after another. Shards of stone struck his legs, but he did not dodge.
Qin Chuan's fourth, purple Soul Ring lit up.
Purple mist surged up from beneath his feet and coiled around his arm. He reached into it, felt around, and pulled something out.
A [Revolver].
Six chambers, a gun body gleaming dark silver, and a smiling face engraved on the barrel.
Qin Chuan pressed the muzzle to his own temple.
A hundred thousand people's breathing stopped for a beat.
Tang Hao's raised hammer halted in midair.
Hu Liena turned and saw Qin Chuan pointing a strange object at his own head. All the color drained from her face.
"Qin Chuan! What are you doing!"
Qin Chuan did not answer her. He looked at Tang Hao, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly.
"Fourth Soul Skill, Destiny Roulette."
Qin Chuan's position changed in an instant, and he appeared directly in front of Tang Hao.
Purple mist rose beneath both of them at once, forming a round table and enclosing them within it.
Tang Hao tried to retreat.
His feet seemed rooted to the ground. He could not move at all.
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