The arena still sizzled with residual heat and violence from Dong Chen's last strike. The battle that had already shaken the hearts of countless spectators seemed to approach its final crescendo. Across the stage, Yun Lan stood upright, her tan skin marred with bruises and blood, her orange hair billowing wildly in the rising storm that twisted around her palms.
A faint hum pulsed through the air as wind began to concentrate between her hands. It started as a subtle breeze, but soon spiraled into a small violent cyclone, the condensed force shaping into a tightly spinning sphere. Its surface shimmered with razored air currents, each capable of slicing flesh and mountains alike.
Dong Chen, still scorched and battered from his earlier onslaught, narrowed his eyes. He bit down on his lower lip, drawing blood. The wind was growing too intense. He couldn't get close. Every time he even thought of advancing, the swirling vortex would push back with a deadly force. It wasn't just power, it was precision and control.
Above the arena, where the ten sect masters and the World Lord observed, Beast Chief Wen Tu let out a dramatic sigh. "A pity," he said, voice laced with faux sympathy. "The boy had talent, but this is the limit."
Behind the veil of his solemn expression, Wen Tu's eyes gleamed with smug satisfaction.
Most of the other sect leaders nodded with grim expressions. Dong Chen had already impressed them, but no one believed he could escape from this.
Except for one.
Xue Linghun, seated quietly with arms crossed, leaned further back in his chair. He said nothing, but his eyes gleamed with the faintest hint of intrigue.
Even the World Lord now leaned forward, a flicker of curiosity crossing his ancient gaze.
Back on the arena, Yun Lan's cyclone had condensed fully. The sphere of wind between her palms spun violently, a miniature storm cradled in her grasp. Now it floated on one palm as she held it aloft. Though the Grade 7 defensive array still enclosed the stage, a cool breeze spilled through its seams, brushing the skin of the audience and shaking the robes of the watching teams.
A wave of excited murmurs swept through the stands.
Then Yun Lan laughed, sharp and contemptuous.
"You should be honored, Dong Chen," she said, her voice laced with arrogance. "You'll die by the hands of a prodigy's ultimate strike."
She hurled the cyclone at Dong Chen.
It tore through the air with a scream, its speed dizzying, though not entirely beyond the grasp of Nirvana cultivators. The wind howled as it raced forward, the sheer pressure of it creating and warping air around it. Dong Chen barely had any time to react.
And then it struck.
The wind sphere exploded upon contact with him, engulfing his body in a shredding tempest. It tore at his robes, his skin, his muscles—ripping everything in its path. Even the reinforced arena stage, etched with protection inscriptions capable of enduring attacks from peak 9th Layer Nirvana experts, groaned under the pressure, cracking and quaking.
Dong Chen clenched his jaw, refusing to scream, but pain wracked his body with brutal insistence. Agonized grunts escaped his lips. Blood sprayed from his mouth as he sank to one knee.
Gasps erupted from the crowd. Sympathy flickered in some faces. Others only watched with fascination. Was this the end?
In the Twin Soul Sect's seating area, Tang Jiyan, Shi Meixiu, and the rest stood frozen, their hearts pounding. They had been urging him to concede since Yun Lan began forming that wind attack, but Dong Chen had not listened.
Why? Why risk it all?
They thought it was for Shen Yuan, but then they saw his eyes, burning not for duty, but for something deeper. For himself.
In the arena, Dong Chen's vision blurred. His consciousness at its edges. He hovered at the brink of collapse…
And then, clarity struck.
A memory. A voice.
Shen Yuan's voice, just before this competition began.
"Your role in the formation is key. You can counter and transform attack properties. And even alone, if used right, your segment of the formation can reverse even casual strikes from Elysian cultivators... but you must act swiftly and if you actually face an Elysian cultivator then just surrender until you reach that level."
Remembering that, Dong Chen's trembling legs steadied.
He stood up slowly.
Gasps swept the arena once more. Even Yun Lan blinked, stunned. That attack should've broken him, body and will to fight back.
"Why… are you still standing?" she hissed, disbelief flooding her features.
But Dong Chen didn't answer. He reached into his storage bag and pulled out a sword—not a treasure weapon, just a low-grade iron blade, dull and unimpressive.
Scoffs rippled through the audience. Had he gone mad?
Even Yun Lan chuckled bitterly. "A normal weapon? Desperate, aren't we? You can't win. That was a Low grade Earth-rank martial technique, you should be dead."
Dong Chen still said nothing. Instead, a strange black aura began to seep from his body. It writhed like shadows, pushing back against the wind.
Then a mark appeared—on his forehead, a dark sword-shaped sigil flared to life.
And slowly, the impossible happened: the chaotic winds began to quiet. The black aura consumed them, bit by bit.
Above, the sect masters sat straight and were in awe.
Even Beast Chief Wen Tu stood in shock.
Xue Linghun smirked and spoke lazily. "Shen Yuan, you're quite something... to deduce this from a formation."
Wen Tu glared at him.
"I told you," Xue Linghun added, "Don't get worked up too early."
The World Lord remained silent, but the interest in his gaze deepened.
Back on the field, Dong Chen raised the iron sword and above him a giant sword came into existence made of his Qi. With a quick motion, he pricked his own finger, and splashed the blood onto the blade. The qi around him pulsed violently.
A giant sword of pure qi turned into light crimson.
The moment it turned crimson, it started to vibrate and shake, then the black aura surged and coiled around it. The qi sword now gleamed with an ominous red-and-black glow.
Dong Chen lifted his arm.
And the qi sword mimicked the motion.
With a single word, he gave the command.
"—Pierce."
The crimson-black sword shrieked through the air, faster than lightning.
Yun Lan widened her eyes and tried to move—but it was too late, the sword became faster mid-air.
The sword rammed through her body, passing through like a ghostly reaper.
She staggered.
Silence fell.
Everyone stared, stunned.
Then her body crumbled to the ground.
Her healing had stopped.
Her qi was gone.
The Grade 7 barrier dissipated in response to her defeat, and Steward Yan appeared instantly, raising his hand.
"Winner of this match—Dong Chen of the Twin Soul Sect!"
Cheers. Gasps. Cries of disbelief.
Some still refused to accept it. Others now looked at Dong Chen with awe.
He exhaled in relief. Tattered, bruised, and bloodied, he cupped his hands toward Steward Yan, bowed, and began walking away.
Up above, the sect masters watched, speechless. Beast Chief Wen Tu's fists trembled at his sides. Humiliation churned in his gut. He wanted nothing more than to rip Dong Chen apart with his own hands.
Xue Linghun, watching his fury, smirked with a glint of amusement.
But it wasn't over yet.
Behind Dong Chen, Yun Lan slowly stirred.
Her eyes opened.
She stared at his back, rage bubbling inside. Her soul burned with hatred. His final strike had shattered more than her pride—it had damaged her meridians, crippled her healing, and sealed her qi.
"Unforgivable…!" She spoke in her heart.
Her hands shook as she reached into her spatial ring and retrieved a small needle, it was no longer than five inches, glowing with a rainbow light.
Her eyes darkened.
With all her strength, she hurled it.
It cut through the air, almost invisible—silent and deadly.
None of the Nirvana cultivators could react in time. Even many Elysian Realm experts watched, unmoving, some sensing something was about to come out, as if waiting for a response.
Dong Chen turned, too late.
The needle was almost upon him, just an inch away.
Then—
CRACK.
Frost.
A chilling cold engulfed the arena.
The needle froze in midair, suspended by a sheath of glacial ice. The air turned bitter and sharp, and even Nirvana experts gasped as their skin began to sting from the cold. While some Elysian cultivators shifted uncomfortably.
And then… a voice came.
Chilling. Calm.
Each syllable like a frozen blade.
"Little girl… envy clouds reason. You should've known better, as the so-called genius."
The entire arena turned toward the source—
And saw the one they had all been waiting for.
A figure clad in flowing black-white robes, standing in the air, as if there was a floor underneath. His snow white hair fluttered in the wind.
Shen Yuan had returned.