"I am destroying this arena—let's see where you will hide then!" A faint smirk curled in Xiao Tianyang's heart as he drove his fist straight into the center of the stage.
Boom!
The arena shattered like a cake sliced into eight perfect pieces, the fractures smooth as if carved by a blade.
Zhu Zhuqing's expression changed.
Her footing was now reduced to a single palm-sized stone suspended in midair.
Whoosh!
The roar of wind pressure filled her ears. She turned—her cat-like pupils reflected an oncoming wall of compressed air!
Of course, it wasn't just air.
It was the shockwave of pure concussive force, a step beyond mere kinetic energy—its essence still rooted in space, yet elevated in potency.
No room to dodge. No chance to evade.
Zhu Zhuqing could only brace as the force hurled her backward. By the time her feet touched solid ground again, she was already outside the arena.
As the dust settled, the arena lay in ruins—save for a single stone pillar, half a meter in diameter, still standing tall.
And atop it stood Xiao Tianyang.
The crowd was stunned.
This was the first time they'd witnessed such a victory—not through direct combat, but by destroying the arena itself.
No tricks. No stalling.
Just sheer, overwhelming force—crushing the stage to splinters, compressing the opponent's space, and driving them out in one decisive move.
There were only two words to describe it: Utterly outrageous.
"This style of battle… truly lives up to that remark." On the high platform, Emperor Xue Ye blinked before a smirk tugged at his lips.
"What a savage beast."
The comment carried no malice. After all, which of the young prodigies present hadn't once been wild and untamed?
If anything, it made them see reflections of their younger selves—and beyond.
"But the arena is destroyed. Should the match continue?" Ning Fengzhi interjected thoughtfully, "Perhaps we should adjust the rules…"
"You mean, redefine the boundaries?" Emperor Xue Ye's eyes gleamed before he nodded. "Very well. Maintain the original ring's dimensions."
"I believe they should fight atop the ruins." Salas' voice cut in, icy and measured. "The outcome is already decided, regardless."
His words were a reluctant acknowledgment of Edward's strength—and that very acknowledgment darkened his expression further.
A genius like this… was a double-edged sword.
If Spirit Hall couldn't claim him, then letting him live would only breed future threats.
It was a dilemma.
Yet, in that hesitation, his resolve hardened.
It was like coveting a priceless jade—unable to possess it, yet unwilling to let another have it.
But Salas' stance, and by extension Spirit Hall's doctrine, was far more extreme: "If not ours, then kill them."
This was the philosophy Bibi Dong had instilled.
Ning Fengzhi and Emperor Xue Ye exchanged glances—one already understanding, the other deep in contemplation.
For a moment, silence hung over the platform.
But the match would go on.
After relaying the adjustments, the referees swiftly organized the arena while informing both teams of the revised rules.
Among them, Tang San remained the calmest.
"Xiao San, you seem even more confident than before." Dai Mubai raised an eyebrow. "Have you already devised a plan?"
"Victory is unlikely, but an honorable defeat isn't difficult." A cryptic smile played on Tang San's lips. "Though… our lineup and strategy will need adjustments."
With that, he gathered the team, murmuring a rapid plan.
Xiao Tianyang paid no mind.
Against Soul Emperors or Saints, caution would be warranted.
But Tang San and others?
They were just Soul Ancestors.
Hardly worth his full attention.
If anything, he was curious—what scheme had Tang San concocted this time?
They'd grown up together. Xiao Tianyang knew his old friend's temperament well.
Tang San never showed confidence without absolute certainty.
So beyond curiosity, Xiao Tianyang felt…anticipation.
Anticipation for the moment that confidence shattered.
A wicked grin curled beneath his mask.
'Xiao San, don't blame me. If you insist on overthinking, you'll only embarrass yourself.'
The discussion ended in two minutes.
The lineup shifted—Tai Long, the reserve member, stepped up as the second member.
But what followed left Xiao Tianyang baffled.
Instead of attacking, Tai Long began hurling rocks.
"Is this a joke?"
Three seconds of stunned silence later, Xiao Tianyang promptly kicked him offstage.
Next came Huang Yuan, Jing Ling, and Dai Mubai—all pelting rocks while evading.
The arena turned into a chaotic dust storm, their movements erratic.
Xiao Tianyang nearly laughed in exasperation.
"Are you mocking me? Or provoking me?"
Still, their hit-and-run tactics made them annoyingly hard to catch.
Dai Mubai endured the most, taking five brutal kicks before finally being launched out.
By then, Xiao Tianyang had pieced together their plan.
Yet he didn't interfere. Instead, his smirk deepened.
"Xiao San… I see now. You understand me just as well as I understand you." A dark chuckle sounded in his mind.
"Fine. Let me show you true despair."
The remaining Shrek members—Tang San, Xiao Wu, and Ma Hongjun—had yet to fight.
Oscar, Ning Rongrong, and Jiang Zhu sat out. Even with Xiao Tianyang's rigorous training, auxiliary Soul Masters couldn't match offensive types in direct combat.
Unless the gap was vast, victory was impossible—and revealing their strength prematurely was unwise.
Xiao Wu and Ma Hongjun continued the absurdity—smashing debris, kicking rubble, turning the arena into a makeshift construction site.
The audience was equal parts amused and bewildered.
But they waited patiently.
Tang San had now taken the stage.
…
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