Shangguan Xian did not care about Liu Huohuo's thanks.
She looked at Xu Zimo and smiled. "You were right. In life, what one seeks is pain.
Just as you men say.
Eat great chunks of meat and drink deep draughts of wine.
Die beneath peony blossoms, and even as a ghost, remain a romantic.
The time we have in this life is fleeting. Do whatever makes you happy."
"You suddenly figured it out?" Xu Zimo asked with amusement.
"Not exactly suddenly. I used to think violence could not solve problems.
But when I killed Luo Ji just now, I felt utterly exhilarated. Some matters can only be solved with violence."
Shangguan Xian smiled. "You're up next.
Po Jun is the Soldier Sect's Holy Son. His strength cannot be underestimated.
Don't stumble and fall flat on your face."
"Don't worry," Xu Zimo said with a smile.
"Xu Zimo versus Po Jun!"
The referee's shout rang out.
Xu Zimo walked toward the arena step by step.
The entire venue fell silent. On the opposite side of the arena, a burly man in a red robe also stepped forward.
"Po Jun."
His gaze was like a sword as he calmly watched Xu Zimo.
A powerful martial intent radiated from him at every moment.
It was as if he were the leader of all weapons.
His eyes were like swords, his arms like blades, his legs like staffs, and his body like an axe.
The martial intent of all eighteen kinds of weapons surged around him.
It was as though what stood before Xu Zimo was not a person, but a weapon.
Forge weapons with one's body, temper oneself a hundred times until one became divine.
That was the Soldier Sect's creed.
As the Soldier Sect's Holy Son, Po Jun embodied this principle perfectly.