Tension crackled in the air among the seated patriarchs and matriarchs. The arena was still filled with the stench of blood, the last echoes of surrender ringing in the ears of the audience. The Rising Stone Sect's presence in this match had been obliterated.
Luo Shen, the patriarch of the Jade Lotus Sect, leaned forward, his expression neutral but his voice carrying a hint of unease. "This is rather troublesome… Patriarch Noel, do you have anything to say about this?"
All eyes turned to Noel, the man who had yet to utter a word amidst the massacre his son had wrought. He sat relaxed, utterly unbothered, arms resting against the armrests of his chair. A smirk tugged at his lips as his sharp eyes remained locked on Kazel.
"I do." His voice was casual, almost amused.
The room waited for an explanation.
Then, he grinned.
"He's not done."
A beat of silence.
Brows furrowed. Eyes widened. However, Weh was seething.
"Attack me now," Noel said, voice barely above a whisper, yet it carried across the space with the weight of a death sentence.
A chilling pause.
"I dare you."
Weh's breath hitched.
Noel tilted his head ever so slightly, his lips curling into something both amused and dangerous. "Or… would you rather make an urgent visit to your favorite physician?"
Weh's pupils shrank. (Old Fu?! So that's it.) He was wondering where the old fart went, but it turned out or most likely than not, he fell at Noel's hand.
He felt it then—the air itself shifting.
Noel's killing intent washed over him like a tidal wave, suffocating, heavy, sharp as a thousand blades pressing against his throat.
His body locked up.
Noel wasn't just angry.
He was ready to kill.
Noel leaned in slightly, lowering his voice so only Weh could hear. "This is just the beginning of the show, Weh." His smirk widened, eyes glinting with unspoken promises of ruin.
"You'd better keep watching."
Salma's breath hitched as her eyes locked onto the crimson stain spreading across the stone floor. It was the blood of her kin, her fellow sect disciple, and it was Kazel's blade that had spilled it. Her fingers twitched, but she could only watch, frozen in disbelief.
"Kazel!" she called out, her voice a mixture of shock and warning.
But Kazel? He was far from finished.
"Oh, I'm not done," he murmured, his voice dripping with dark amusement. His grip on his sword tightened, his body shifting like a prowling beast. His icy blue eyes scanned the remaining Rising Stone Sect disciples in his slice of the heptagon. The moment they met his gaze, their faces paled. Fear spread through them like wildfire.
The rules of the tournament had been clear—killing wasn't forbidden. And right now, no one could stop him.
A spear thrust came from behind. Kazel tilted his head ever so slightly, as if he had sensed it before it even left his opponent's grip. With a flick of his wrist, his sword deflected the attack in a shower of sparks. The disciple's stance faltered—an opening.
Kazel turned, swift as the wind, his blade carving through flesh in a single stroke. A gurgled gasp escaped the disciple's lips before he crumpled, hands clutching at the deep wound across his chest.
Another rushed at him with a war cry, desperation in his eyes. Kazel didn't even bother to look. He sidestepped just enough for the fool to stumble past him before driving his blade through his spine. The body went limp in an instant.
Still, they came.
One swung a saber at his head. Kazel raised his sword and met the strike, not with force, but precision. The moment the blades clashed, he twisted his grip, redirecting the attack with ease. The disciple staggered forward, his guard wide open. Kazel exhaled.
One clean slice—his throat was gone.
Another disciple took the chance to attack, thinking Kazel was occupied. He lunged in, a dagger aimed for Kazel's ribs.
But Kazel had already seen it.
His free hand snapped forward, grabbing the disciple's wrist mid-strike. Their eyes met—one filled with fear, the other with boredom.
"Too slow," Kazel whispered before twisting the wrist with a sickening crack!
The disciple screamed, dropping the dagger. Kazel didn't hesitate. His sword came down, and the man collapsed, never to move again.
The rest of the Rising Stone Sect disciples were paralyzed with fear. Some had their swords raised, but their hands trembled. Others had already started stepping backward.
Kazel smirked. "Come on," he taunted, his voice a velvet whisper of death. "You all agreed to take me down, didn't you? What's wrong?"
No response.
His eyes flickered to the others watching—the other prodigies, the patriarchs, the spectators in the stands. Some looked horrified, others enthralled. Pao Pao was laughing, utterly delighted. Nobu was watching with sharp interest. Wurong had his arms crossed, expression unreadable.
Salma, however, was glaring.
Kazel's smirk widened.
A sudden roar of desperation broke the silence. One of the Rising Stone Sect disciples, face twisted in rage and terror, charged forward with both hands gripping his sword.
Kazel didn't move until the very last second.
Just as the attack was about to land, Kazel tilted his body to the side, letting the sword pass harmlessly by. His foot shot forward, kicking the disciple's knee inward with a sickening pop! The man crumpled, screaming.
Kazel ended it swiftly, running his blade through his chest.
The echoes of pain and death filled the arena, merging with the roaring crowd. The last few disciples from the other sects, seeing no way out, started dropping their weapons one by one.
A hush fell over the coliseum.
Kazel turned to them, tilting his head. "That's it?"
A single voice shattered the silence.
"We surrender!"
Then another.
And another.
Swords clattered to the ground.
One by one, they kneeled, heads lowered, their will to fight crushed into dust.
Meanwhile, The Rising Stone Sect disciples on his side… were annihilated.
Yiren exhaled sharply, rubbing her temple as the chaotic scene unfolded before her. "After what I saw back at that bandit hideout, this was bound to happen… and here I was, wondering which unlucky woman was the one who had the arranged marriage dissolved. Turns out, it was that Snow Fox lady."
A scoff came from beside her. The cloaked figure, who had remained eerily quiet up until now, finally spoke, their voice dripping with venom.
"That's no lady. That's a bitch, that's what she is."
Yiren raised a brow, glancing at the stranger with mild curiosity. From the beginning, this person had seemed almost fanatical in their support of Kazel, their every comment laced with unwavering devotion.
(Just who the hell is this?)
Kazel sat atop a pile of corpses like a king on his throne, his blade resting lazily on his shoulder. His blue eyes gleamed as he regarded the defeated disciples kneeling before him—broken, bloodied, and stripped of their arrogance.
The air was thick with the scent of iron, the remnants of his ruthless efficiency staining the ground.
Across the arena, Salma's hands trembled with barely restrained fury. She had cut down her opponents, but nothing like this. She had to hold back, had to be mindful of her sect's reputation. Kazel? He had no such restraint. No one to hold him back for he is the only disciple of the Immortal Sect.
Ji Shui let out a low whistle, taking in the sheer destruction Kazel had left in his wake. "Damn… that's one hell of a statement."
Mei Rong watched in silence, her arms crossed. Her sharp eyes traced Kazel's movements in her mind—not a single wasted motion. Ruthless. Efficient. Flawless.
Xie Lian's expression darkened. He clenched his fists, unable to ignore the unease creeping up his spine.
Yuanggai, on the other hand, was frozen. (What… just happened?) His mind scrambled to process it. The match had barely begun, yet Kazel had butchered his opponents before anyone could even react.
Batu stroked his chin thoughtfully. He wasn't horrified, nor impressed—just… calculating. Observing.
The announcer swallowed hard, gripping his microphone as the weight of the moment settled over the coliseum. His voice wavered slightly before he composed himself.
"W-We have our first winner… Kazel from the Immortal Sect!"
The crowd erupted.
Cheers, roars, and even jeers clashed together in a deafening storm, but Kazel didn't move. He simply sat there, basking in the aftermath. His smirk widened.