The arena roared like a living beast.
Tens of thousands of voices rged into a single thunderous cry—"Victory to Huang Tian! Victory to the diamond spear!"
The man himself stood tall at the center, holding the spear that glead like a fragnt of the heavens, his entire form exuding majesty. Every gambler, every spectator, every hopeful rival waited for one thing: Kent King's bloody, humiliating defeat.
But amidst the eruption of chants, a strange tremor ran through the air. Huang Tian, once basking in the glory, suddenly narrowed his eyes. Above the stadium, the perfect blue sky cracked with streaks of black clouds.
Darkness rolled in waves, swallowing the sunlight until the arena itself seed like a pit of hell. A crimson hue shimred faintly through the cracks in the sky, as though the gods themselves had decided to bear witness. The chants of Huang Tian's na faltered, confusion and unease creeping across the faces of the spectators.
And there stood Kent.
Unmoving. Calm. Heavenly Sword resting over his shoulder like an executioner's blade waiting to descend. His figure looked ordinary, but his presence crushed down on the battlefield with a predator's patience. His stillness made Huang Tian's earlier grandeur look like re playacting.
Sky orbs floated into the air like fireflies, recording every second of what was about to unfold. Dozens of rchants licked their lips, already imagining the fortune they would make selling replays of Kent's grueso death. The mob's cry sharpened into one unanimous demand:
"Finish him! Kill Kent King!"
At the elder's signal, the battle began.
Huang Tian moved first, confidence radiating from his every step. He smiled, snapped his fingers, and his body blurred. In an instant, he split—his form appearing simultaneously in another spot while a clone still faced Kent head-on.
"Agni Pralaya Vilaya Vispotanam"
With no delay, he unleashed a devastating Fire ball spell.
A roaring fireball golem, taller than three n, materialized behind Kent and slamd into his back with crushing force. The explosion lit up the arena with a searing flash, heat blasting into the stands. Dust and smoke swallowed Kent whole. The crowd leapt to their feet, cheering wildly.
"It's over!" one man shouted.
"He's dead! That idiot was nothing against Huang Tian!" another cried, shaking his fists in triumph.
But then silence.
As the smoke cleared, there was no charred corpse, no blood splatter, nothing.
A murmur ran through the spectators.
"Did his body vaporize?" one gambler whispered, eyes wide with confusion.
"No… look—look there!" another shouted, pointing frantically.
Every head turned behind Huang Tian. Kent actually used the space to move similar to Huang Tian.
And there, not far away, stood Kent. His posture unchanged, his sword still resting on his shoulder, lips curled into a faint, mocking smile. The dust clung to his figure like a shroud, but he looked utterly untouched.
Even Huang Tian froze. His smug expression faltered as he spun around, disbelief written across his face. The space manipulator—master of illusions, distortions, and displacent—had just been outplayed by his own art.
"This…" Huang Tian's hands trembled. "…impossible."
Kent said nothing, his silence heavier than words.
Teeth gritted, Huang Tian poured out his mana, splitting himself into ten radiant clones that spread across the battlefield. Each copy shimred with deadly intent, surrounding Kent from every direction like a cage of inevitability. The crowd gasped in awe.
But then ca the real horror.
Kent's figure shimred—then split. Not once, not twice, but thirty-three tis.
The clones ford a great dragon formation, each moving differently, each alive, each exuding killing intent. At the dragon's head stood Kent himself, smiling with that sa unshakable calm, his presence pressing down like the heavens themselves had shifted onto Huang Tian's shoulders.
"What sorcery is this?!" Huang Tian scread, voice cracking. His mind raced, but no answer ca. His clones looked crude and lifeless compared to Kent's illusions. Every single Kent looked alive, breathed alive, even smirked alive. Huang Tian couldn't even distinguish the real one.
"Which… which one is real?" he muttered, clutching his head in disbelief. Fear slithered into his heart.
Driven into a corner, Huang Tian raised his diamond spear and began chanting. The ground trembled as his family's secret art awakened.
Ripples of distorted space burst outward, shaking the arena, bending air and stone alike. Even the elders leaned forward, their eyes narrowing. This was no ordinary technique—this was the Tian family's pride, a spell ant for the grand finals, not a mid-stage battle.
The ripple spread, crushing everything in its path.
And yet… the thirty-three Kents did not move.
When the distortion ended, Kent still stood there, as calm as the beginning. His army of clones stared back, smiling.
"No…" Huang Tian staggered. "No, no, no… this is wrong! It's not possible!"
For the first ti, the proud manipulator's voice cracked with fear.
"Are you going to give up," Kent finally spoke, voice cold and sharp, "or should I send you out?"
The words pierced through the silence, and only then did the crowd realize—Kent had not attacked even once. Everything until now had been defense, patience, dominance without lifting a hand.
But Huang Tian's pride, the countless years of training, the weight of family expectation, refused to let him surrender. Tʜe source of this ᴄontent ɪs novel·fire·net
With desperation in his eyes, he pulled out a talisman from his ring—a last resort. Crushing it against the ground, he summoned a blazing do of fire around himself. The do surged into a cage, glowing with crimson light, shielding him within like a cowardly turtle.
From inside, Huang Tian sneered. "I can stay here as long as I want. If you really want victory, then break it! Otherwise, you'll never win. You'll never get rid of !"
The audience fell silent, stunned.
Then ca the jeers.
"This… this is cowardice!"
"Shaful!"
Even the elders exchanged looks of disdain. The reputation of the Tian family's heir crumbled in that instant.
Kent's expression hardened. Slowly, he walked toward the fiery cage. His footsteps echoed like war drums. Standing before the blazing do, he raised his voice.
"You don't deserve my sword."
Gasps echoed as he slid the Heavenly Sword back into his soul space. In its place, he summoned a pair of ancient gauntlets, their surface cracked and scarred, but pulsing faintly with raw power.
The crowd leaned forward, breath caught in their throats.
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