Victory

February 4, year 10008 of the Yulan Calendar. The Combat Arena, Chiyan City, the Imperial Capital.

All eighty thousand seats were filled, and the arena roared with voices. Today was the showdown between two prodigies: Blumer, a personal disciple of the War God, and Wharton of the Dragonblood Warrior Clan. This was more than a duel; it was a clash of two proud legacies. Between the Achisoren Family and the Baruch Clan, who was the strongest of the O'Brien Empire's younger generation? Eighty thousand pairs of eyes would witness the answer.

An sat in the friends-and-family section east of the platform, his expression calm. Beside him were Linley, Yale, and Barker Five Brothers.

"An, is Wharton confident?" Linley asked quietly.

An watched his younger brother on the platform. Wharton was taking off his shirt, baring a torso with muscles as perfectly sculpted as a statue.

"Don't worry, big brother. I've given Wharton plenty of pointers over these past seven years," An said. "He's far stronger than Blumer. Unless Blumer breaks through to the Saint level on the spot-but he clearly can't."

Linley nodded and said nothing more.

A silver-haired old man stepped onto the platform, his booming voice echoing throughout the arena. "Quiet, everyone! Today's battle is the most important match the Combat Arena has hosted recently. Our two contestants are Marquis Blumer, a personal disciple of the War God, and Earl Wharton of the Dragonblood Warrior Clan! Who is stronger? Let's find out!"

The eighty thousand spectators erupted in thunderous cheers.

"First to enter is the challenger, Blumer!"

With a longsword on his back and dressed in a fitted blue warrior's outfit, Blumer pushed off, leaped dozens of meters, and landed firmly on the platform. His crisp, clean movements drew a wave of applause.

"Next is Earl Wharton of the Dragonblood Warrior Clan!"

Holding his warblade, Slaughter, Wharton strode toward the platform.

"Hah!" Wharton gave a low shout.

Azure-green dragon scales instantly covered his body. Dragon horns emerged from his forehead, and his dragon tail lashed, gleaming like metal in the sunlight.

Gasps rose from the stands, followed by even more frenzied cheers.

Three people sat in the judges' seats: Kenyon, a personal disciple of the War God; Joanne, the empire's empress; and Rock Sword Saint Hederson. Kenyon was a Saint-level expert of the War God Sect; Joanne ruled the empire; and Haydson was the legendary, undefeated foremost expert of the Saint level.

Watching Wharton with interest, Haydson murmured to himself, "The Dragonblood Warriors, one of the Four Ultimate Warriors, truly have astonishing defenses. If he reaches the Saint-level, things will get interesting."

The silver-haired old man announced loudly, "Begin!"

Blumer drew his longsword, Ice Dream. Its translucent blade refracted the sunlight into seven colors. He moved with tremendous speed, vanishing from his position in an instant as a fierce wind sprang up over the platform.

Wharton stood where he was, motionless.

Blumer appeared on Wharton's left and thrust his sword. But Wharton seemed to have eyes in the back of his head. His dragon tail whipped out like a steel lash.

Crack!

Blumer was sent flying backward. He flipped in midair and landed on one knee at the edge of the platform. His clothes had torn across his chest, leaving a bloody welt.

"What incredible strength," Blumer said through clenched teeth.

Wharton turned, his black eyes fixed coldly on him. "Blumer, you're no match for me. Surrender."

"Surrender?" Blumer sneered. "We haven't even started yet."

He drew a deep breath, and a layer of golden sword light covered his blade. Then his figure began to shift-one became two, two became four, four became eight. In the blink of an eye, sixteen Blumers stood on the platform. Golden light shimmered, and every figure looked completely real.

"The Light and Shadow Sword," An said quietly. "Olivier's swordsmanship certainly has its merits. Only one of those sixteen figures is real, but he's moving too fast to tell which one with the naked eye."

Linley nodded, his gaze locked on the platform.

Wharton was not deceived. He closed his eyes, listening to the wind to locate his opponent. But Blumer was too fast. Golden light flashed, and the longsword was already in front of Wharton.

The thrust targeted Wharton's eyes.

Wharton's eyes snapped open. His left hand shot out and seized the blade of the Ice Dream Sword. His scale-covered palm stopped the tip cold; Blumer's attack could not advance another inch.

"Got you." The corners of Wharton's mouth lifted.

His dragon tail lashed out again. This time, Blumer was ready. He retreated at top speed, narrowly avoiding it, and stood at the edge of the platform, breathing a little heavily.

His defenses are too strong. Blumer's heart sank. Ordinary attacks could not hurt Wharton at all. Only an all-out strike with the Light and Shadow Sword had any chance of breaking through. But that move consumed so much energy that he could use it only once.

Wharton gave him no time to catch his breath. He drove off with both legs and hurtled toward Blumer like a cannonball, bringing Slaughter down with crushing force.

One strike to end his life!

Blumer dared not take it head-on and dodged again. But when Wharton's strike missed, he redirected the blade into a sweeping slash at Blumer's waist.

Blumer had no choice but to leap out of the way.

That was exactly the opening Wharton had been waiting for. He spun, his legs kicking like the blades of a windmill at the airborne Blumer. Blumer blocked with his sword, but Wharton's strength was overwhelming. The kick sent him crashing toward the stands.

Boom! The stands shattered, and dust billowed.

The spectators cried out in alarm.

Blumer crawled out of the rubble, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His eyes turned wild. I can't lose. I absolutely can't lose!

"I'll have to use that move," Blumer said through gritted teeth.

His face flushed crimson, faintly glowing red before turning gold. A thread of white light appeared within the golden sword light covering the Ice Dream Sword, and its aura grew even sharper.

Watching from below, An frowned slightly.

"Wharton, be careful!" An shouted.

Wharton heard An's warning, but he trusted his defenses.

Blumer moved.

Sixteen illusions appeared again. Golden light threaded with white flashed, and the longsword reached Wharton in an instant. This time, it was nearly twice as fast as before.

Wharton had no time to catch it with his left hand. He could only turn slightly and take the blow with his shoulder.

Shhk!

The Ice Dream Sword pierced the scales on Wharton's shoulder and sank into his muscle. Blood spurted out. But his muscles were extraordinarily tough. After penetrating a short distance, the tip was clamped in place and could go no deeper.

"Hah!" Wharton roared. Ignoring the sword in his shoulder, he swung Slaughter down at Blumer's head with his right hand.

Shocked, Blumer tried to pull his sword free and retreat, but Wharton's muscles held the blade fast. He could not wrench it out in time and had to abandon it as he backed away.

But Wharton's dragon tail was already sweeping toward him.

Crack!

This time, the tail struck Blumer squarely in the chest. His Battle Qi shield shattered instantly. He spat blood and flew backward, crashing into a pillar at the edge of the platform. The pillar snapped, and he fell to the ground once more.

Wharton pulled the Ice Dream Sword out of his shoulder and threw it onto the ground. Blood flowed from the wound, staining his azure-green scales red. But his fighting spirit burned even fiercer.

"Blumer, here's your sword back," Wharton said coldly.

Blumer struggled to his feet. He could no longer lift his left arm; the tail strike had broken it. His face was deathly pale, but he still gritted his teeth and said, "I haven't lost! I can still fight!"

He staggered toward Wharton.

Wharton gave him no further opportunity. He stepped forward and brought Slaughter down with a heavy rush of air. Blumer barely managed to block with his right hand, but the warblade's force was too great. He was blasted off the platform and slammed onto the ground below.

The entire arena fell silent.

The silver-haired old man froze for a moment, then announced loudly, "Blumer has fallen off the platform. Wharton wins!"

Thunderous cheers erupted from the spectators. Cries of "Wharton! Wharton! Wharton!" rose from every direction.

Wharton stood on the platform, raised Slaughter high, and threw back his head with a long roar. His azure-green scales glittered in the sunlight. His shoulder was still bleeding, but he paid it no mind.

In the friends-and-family section, Linley rose excitedly and applauded hard. An stood as well, a smile on his lips. Seven years of sparring had not gone to waste. Wharton was indeed far stronger than he had been in the original story.

At the judges' table, Empress Joanne nodded in satisfaction. She looked toward Seventh Princess Nina, who was already weeping with excitement.

Kenyon, however, seated on the left side of the judges' table, wore an ugly expression. Blumer was a personal disciple of the War God. His public defeat had disgraced the War God Sect. As a fellow personal disciple and one of today's judges, Kenyon could not allow this to happen.

"Wait." Kenyon stood, his voice icy. "This match isn't over yet."

The arena fell quiet.

Her Majesty Joanne frowned. "Mr. Kenyon, Blumer has already fallen off the platform. Under the rules, Wharton wins."

Kenyon shook his head. "Before Blumer fell off the platform, his sword had already pierced Wharton's lung. That strike was enough to render him incapable of fighting. According to the rules, a contestant who can no longer fight loses. Therefore, this match should be a draw."

Wharton's expression changed. His shoulder wound was certainly not trivial, but it was his shoulder, not his lung. Kenyon was lying through his teeth.

"Mr. Kenyon, my shoulder was injured, not my lung," Wharton said clearly.

Kenyon sneered. "You don't get to decide. I'm a judge. My judgment is the rule."

The spectators began whispering among themselves. Everyone could see that Kenyon was favoring Blumer.

Linley's fists clenched.

An rose from his seat and walked toward the platform, step by step.

Kenyon spotted An, and a trace of disdain flashed through his eyes. "Who are you? You have no business being here."

An did not answer. He walked to Wharton's side and examined the wound on his shoulder. It was shallow, merely a flesh wound. A Dragonblood Warrior's regenerative ability would soon heal it.

"Wharton, go down and rest," An said.

Wharton nodded and jumped off the platform.

An turned to face Kenyon. His voice carried clearly throughout the arena. "Mr. Kenyon, I reject your judgment."

Kenyon's expression darkened. "Who the hell do you think you are, questioning me?"

An did not get angry. He merely smiled, then removed his shirt, revealing his lean, muscular torso.

Golden scales emerged from beneath his skin and swiftly covered his entire body. Wings unfurled, dragon horns sprouted, and sharp spikes lined his back. In the sunlight, An looked like a war god cast in gold, radiating suffocating pressure.

The Saint-level Peak.

Gasps erupted throughout the arena once more. Today's spectators were truly fortunate. First, they had witnessed the Dragonblood Warrior Wharton's transformation. Now, they were seeing an even more terrifying Dragonblood Warrior.

"Saint level!" Haydson's eyes lit up, and he rose to his feet. "A Saint-level Dragonblood Warrior!"

Kenyon's expression grew ugly. Of course he could feel An's pressure. This was the Saint-level Peak, far above his own strength.

An spread his wings and flew above the platform, hovering in midair. Looking down at Kenyon, he spoke calmly. "Mr. Kenyon, you said Wharton had lost the ability to fight. Fine. Fight me. If you can withstand one move from me, I'll acknowledge that your judgment was correct."

The entire arena burst into an uproar.

One move? This young man actually claimed he could defeat the Saint-level expert Kenyon in one move? How arrogant!

Kenyon's face flushed crimson. He was a personal disciple of the War God. When had he ever suffered such humiliation? Even if his opponent was at the Saint-level Peak, he could not back down.

"Fine!" Kenyon said through clenched teeth. "Let's see what you're capable of."

He flew up from the judges' table and hovered above the platform. Turning his hand over, he produced a long black-and-gold staff. As he poured Battle Qi into it, the staff began to shine brilliantly.

An drew no weapon. He simply extended his right hand, his golden claws gleaming coldly in the sunlight.

"Are you ready?" An asked.

"Enough talk!" Kenyon shouted furiously.

He became a streak of light, smashing his staff toward An with crushing force. He poured all his strength into the blow. Even if he could not defeat his opponent, he would make him understand that a personal disciple of the War God was not to be bullied.

An met him head-on. His golden figure appeared before Kenyon as though he had teleported. His claws shot out and seized the shaft of the staff. An effortlessly neutralized Kenyon's attack, holding the staff completely still.

"I'll return that move to you."

An's right leg snapped out so quickly that Kenyon had no time to react. A golden blur slammed into Kenyon's chest.

Bang!

The Battle Qi shield covering Kenyon's body shattered instantly. He spat blood and shot backward like a meteor, flying across the entire platform and crashing heavily into the stone wall of the stands. The wall shattered, burying Kenyon beneath the rubble.

The arena was deathly silent.

One move. It really had taken only one move. Kenyon, a Saint-level expert and personal disciple of the War God, had been defeated by this golden Dragonblood Warrior in a single move.

An reversed his Dragon Transformation, resumed his human form, and slowly descended. Standing in the center of the platform, he swept his gaze across the arena before finally settling on Haydson at the judges' table.

"Mr. Haydson, you're the foremost Saint-level expert. Please judge for us. Who won this match?"

Haydson stood and looked at An, his eyes filled with admiration and eagerness for battle. He laughed heartily. "Wharton won. That's obvious. That fool Kenyon brought this humiliation on himself."

Empress Joanne also stood and announced clearly, "I hereby declare Earl Wharton the victor!"

Only then did the spectators come to their senses, erupting in earth-shaking cheers. In today's duel, they had not only witnessed Wharton's victory but also seen the terrifying power of a Dragonblood Warrior at the Saint-level Peak. This trip had been well worth it!

Blumer stood below the platform, his face ashen. He had lost, utterly and completely. And his senior fellow disciple Kenyon had suffered an even greater disgrace, defeated by their opponent in a single move.

He glanced at An on the platform, bitterness filling his heart. Is this the true strength of a Dragonblood Warrior? The gap is far too great.

An jumped off the platform and walked to Wharton's side. The wound on Wharton's shoulder had already begun to heal. A Dragonblood Warrior's regenerative ability was truly astonishing.

"Second brother, thank you," Wharton said.

An patted his shoulder. "Focus on recovering. In a few days, Her Majesty should announce your marriage to Nina."

Wharton smiled, looking just like a child.

In the distance, Haydson was walking toward An. The foremost Saint-level expert regarded him with a profound gaze.

"Young man, what's your name?" Haydson asked.

"An Baruch."

"An Baruch." Haydson repeated the name. "You're excellent. Come visit me on Rock Mountain sometime."

An bowed slightly. "I certainly will."

Haydson smiled, then turned and left.

Her Majesty Joanne approached An, her manner even warmer than last time. "Mr. An, would you and Mr. Linley be interested in taking positions in the empire?"

An shook his head. "Your Majesty, we brothers only wish to train in peace and spend time with our father. As for Wharton's marriage to Nina, we hope Your Majesty will grant your approval."

Joanne laughed heartily. "Of course! Wharton won the match, and I keep my word. Once his injury has healed, I'll marry Nina to him!"

Overjoyed, Wharton dropped to one knee. "Thank you, Your Majesty!"

Watching this scene, An finally felt a weight lift from his heart. Wharton's affairs had come to a happy conclusion.