Kent raised his fists—and struck.
The first punch bood like thunder, the ground trembling under the impact. The fire do flickered. Another strike followed, then another. Each blow heavier, faster, shattering the very arena floor beneath him. Cracks spread outward like a spider's web, dust rising in plus with every strike. The crowd clutched their seats as the ground quaked beneath them.
Inside, Huang Tian's confident smirk faltered. Sweat rolled down his temples. His eyes widened with every quake, every groan of the fire cage under Kent's relentless assault.
BOOM!
On the seventh strike, the do shattered into sparks. In the blink of an eye, Kent's hand shot through the collapsing flas and wrapped around Huang Tian's throat. Lifting him like a ragdoll, Kent's eyes glead with cold indifference.
"You should've surrendered."
With a savage kick of his left leg, Kent launched him like a ball. Huang Tian's body flew across the battlefield, crashing out of the arena in a humiliating arc. The crowd erupted—not in mockery of Kent, but in deafening cheers of victory.
They had bet against him. They had mocked him. Yet in this mont, even the gamblers could not deny his dominance.
Huang Tian's limp body landed directly in the lap of Red Face, the gambling syndicate leader. For a mont, silence hung in the air. Then, rembering the 33 million crystal loss pinned on Kent's survival, rage overtook the man.
Red Face's hand snapped across Huang Tian's cheek. Then again. Then again. Each slap echoed across the stunned stands as Huang Tian's dignity shattered into fragnts before the very crowd that once praised him.
And above it all, Kent stood in the center of the arena, gauntlets still glowing, his figure radiating unshakable might.
This ti, the crowd cheered for him. This ti, they shouted his na.
Kent King.
The predator.
"I know it… I know it… I knew from the very beginning this fellow was hiding his strength!"
Teron Lova's voice thundered above the chaotic cheers of the arena. His eyes were bloodshot, his face flushed with wine and excitent as he slapped his palm against the wooden railing of the grandstands.
"Did you see it? Did you all see it?!" he roared again, standing on his feet, his wine mug clattering to the ground and spilling across the stone floor.
Beside him, Rina Lova had frozen in silence. Her slender fingers clutched the railing as her gaze fixed upon Kent, who was calmly walking down the steps of the arena as though nothing had happened. Her lips trembled, her eyes wide.
Until now, even she—who had always prided herself on judging people accurately—thought Kent was nothing but a sly trickster. Soone who relied on tricks, dodges, and shaless antics to scrape through matches. But that illusion was shattered in a single fight.
He hadn't even attacked until the end. He had simply stood there, calm and steady, like an immovable mountain, until Huang Tian crumbled beneath his own desperation.
"The boy is a monster in disguise," Teron continued, his laughter booming as he picked up another mug, lifted it into the air, and spilled half of its contents on his own beard. "Rina, rember my words—this fellow is going to be the biggest storm in this entire tournant. The blanket of tricks he wore has been torn away… and what stands beneath is a blade sharper than any of us imagined."
Rina did not reply. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her mind struggling to process the calm silhouette of Kent as he stepped past the arena gates. His heavenly sword still rested lazily on his shoulder, his expression utterly indifferent to the deafening roar of the crowd.
And then—
BANG!
A streak of fireworks ripped into the sky, spiraling up and bursting into dazzling light. From its brilliance erged golden letters, woven with mana itself:
THE DRAGON LORD!
The words painted the heavens above the arena in bright, blazing colors.
"Fatty Ben…" several spectators muttered, spotting the round-bellied youth bouncing at the edge of the arena, both hands raised proudly as if he were the one who had won the battle. His celebratory spell turned every eye back onto Kent, and the na he chose thundered through the spectators' hearts.
The crowd roared even louder. So cursed, others cheered, but none could deny it—the naless trickster had just happened to be Kent King, the Dragon Lord.
Even so of the warriors who had been silent until now stood in attention. Shui Lan, the frigid prodigy whose ice spear had frozen dozens of opponents in earlier rounds, rose to his feet. His narrowed eyes locked on Kent with a sharp glint, the killing intent around him chilling those nearby.
"That man…" Shui Lan muttered, "...he will stand in my way."
On the other side, Dhillon—arrogant, untouchable, a man who had never once considered anyone his equal in this tournant—leaned forward. His usually relaxed face had tightened, his jaw set in seriousness. "Interesting," he whispered to himself. "For the first ti, there is soone I must crush with my own hands."
The elders allowed the cheers to roar for a while before raising their hands. Their amplified voices bood across the arena:
"FIRST MATCH COMPLETE. TWENTY-FOUR REMAIN. NEXT PAIR, STEP FORWARD!"
The arena ground shifted, patches of earth rumbling and rearranging themselves into a new battlefield.
The crowd still buzzed about Kent, but their attention soon turned as the next duel began.
Two figures leapt into the arena. On the left stood Fang Rui, clad in scarlet armor, carrying a fla halberd taller than himself. On the right, a slender man with piercing green eyes—Moro Vale, known as the "Serpent Son."
The elder's hand dropped. "BEGIN!"
BOOM!
Fang Rui wasted no ti. His halberd swept down in a blazing arc, flas exploding outward in a wave of destruction. But Moro Vale's body twisted like liquid, slipping past the flas with unnatural ease. His green eyes glowed as countless spectral vipers surged from his palms, hissing as they lunged at Fang Rui.
The crowd leaned forward in excitent as the two n clashed head-on, neither giving an inch. Halberd t serpent, fla burned venom, and the arena trembled beneath the collision of wills.
Ten minutes passed, then twenty. Both fighters bled, but neither retreated. And finally—
"AAAAHHH!" Fang Rui roared, his halberd igniting like a miniature sun. With a desperate overhead swing, he cleaved downwards, shattering Moro Vale's vipers and sending him sprawling onto the dirt.
The crowd erupted again. "FANG RUI! FANG RUI!"
The fla warrior raised his halberd to the sky, his chest heaving, before stumbling out of the arena.
The battles continued.
One after another, prodigies of the continent stepped forth.
Liang Chen, with his dual moon blades, sliced through his opponent in a breathtaking dance of silver light, each slash so fast that even the orbs recording the match blurred.
Yan Shou, the bone magician, summoned an army of skeletal beasts that clashed in a horrifying tide, only to finally overwhelm his foe in a storm of ivory claws.
i Hua, the orchid sorceress, brought down a storm of flower petals so sharp they shredded shields and armor alike, leaving her opponent bleeding and pale.
Each victory was hard-earned, each clash making the arena tremble as blood stained the sacred ground.
By midday, the sun burned hot above, yet the crowd showed no signs of fatigue. They were addicted now, their throats raw from screaming, their eyes wide from witnessing power after power unfold.
Still, no matter how fierce the battles, whispers of Kent lingered in the air. Every ti a warrior displayed overwhelming strength, soone muttered, "But could they face the Dragon Lord?" Every victory was asured against the mory of Kent's effortless triumph.
As the fifteenth match ended in an explosion of shattered stone and smoke, the elders once again raised their voices:
"FIFTEEN MATCHES COMPLETE. TEN REMAIN."
The crowd cheered, stomping their feet, waving their sky orbs wildly. Their excitent reached fever pitch.
And then the elder raised his hand again. "NEXT PAIR—PREPARE YOURSELVES!"
The ground shifted once more, stone pillars rising like jagged teeth across the battlefield. The two nas echoed in the air, projected by the elder's spell.
The spectators leaned forward in anticipation, so even climbing onto their seats to get a better view.
The bloodthirsty atmosphere surged, boiling hotter than ever.
The stage for the next clash was ready.
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