The Martial Arena trembled under silence.
Tens of thousands leaned forward. The air was thick, every breath held.
On one side stood Liu Yan, robes aflame, eyes blazing. Flames danced along his limbs, forming a vortex of crimson power. He had crushed every opponent so far with overwhelming fire. The strongest of the Outer Sect. Arrogant. Ruthless.
On the other stood Long Tianyan, clad in black, expression unreadable. His presence felt... unnatural. Unsettling. A stillness that made even the elders above squint with unease.
A gust of wind passed.
Then—
BOOM!
They vanished.
Shockwaves erupted as their fists met midair—Liu Yan's Infernal Burst Palm against Tianyan's Phantom Breaker Fist. The resulting detonation cracked the stage beneath them, sending shards of stone flying into the crowd barrier.
"FAST!" an inner sect disciple shouted.
Before the dust cleared, Liu Yan raised his hands. "Ninefold Scorching Rain!"
A circle of blazing red fireballs condensed above him, then crashed down like meteorites.
Tianyan didn't dodge.
He charged through, exploding through flame with a spiral punch—Shadow Collapse Strike—ripping a path through the rain. His blow smashed into Liu Yan's side, sending him skidding across the arena, leaving a groove behind.
The crowd gasped. Liu Yan had never been pushed like this.
But he laughed—blood dripping from his mouth. "Good. GOOD!"
"Crimson Immolation Form!" he roared.
His aura erupted. Fire encased him in armor. His hair rose, body glowing like molten steel. With a step, he blinked across the field, landing a savage flaming elbow directly into Tianyan's ribs—followed by a spinning kick wrapped in fire.
CRACK!
Tianyan flew backwards, slamming into a stone pillar that shattered on impact.
The crowd screamed. Some elders stood, shocked.
Liu Yan didn't relent. "Burning World Spiral!"
A cyclone of flame, taller than the arena walls, engulfed the stage. Within it, Liu Yan spun like a living inferno, twisting toward Tianyan like a reaper of flame.
Tianyan emerged, black cloak torn, eyes like frozen steel.
He stepped forward into the cyclone.
"Void Pulse Step."
He vanished.
BOOM!
He reappeared mid-air—Meteor Fang Kick crashing down from above. The cyclone shattered. Fire exploded outward, ripping chunks of the arena floor.
Both combatants were bleeding now. Muscles torn. Faces bruised. Yet neither backed down.
They dashed again.
Clash after clash.
Crimson Tiger Rend!
Heaven Splitting Elbow!
Soulwind Pulse Palm!
Ashen Chain Grapple!
Every strike was designed to maim, not win.
Tianyan's knuckles broke across Liu Yan's cheek.
Liu Yan's knee cracked against Tianyan's ribs.
Teeth flew. Blood splattered. The arena was a warzone.
And still, neither fell.
At last, Liu Yan stepped back, breathing heavily. His flame flickered, unstable. "I'll end this!"
He raised both hands—"Crimson Cataclysm: Heavenfall Lotus!"
A giant lotus of fire bloomed above him, each petal a blade of pure heat. It began to descend.
The sky turned red.
The stage began melting.
Spectators backed away, terrified.
But Tianyan simply raised his right hand. His palm gathered crackling golden energy.
No roar. No chant.
Just motion—fluid, precise.
"Fifth Pulse – Voidbreaker Collapse."
He thrust his palm forward.
The golden energy condensed into a sphere, then exploded into a beam—not of light, but pure force—piercing the lotus from below.
The lotus shattered.
The beam struck Liu Yan in the chest.
Time seemed to stop.
Liu Yan's body was hurled backward like a ragdoll, smashing through three barrier walls and landing outside the arena, unconscious.
Silence.
No cheers. No gasps.
Only stunned disbelief.
Then—
BOOM!
The crowd erupted.
Even the inner sect disciples were shouting now.
"He destroyed Crimson Cataclysm!"
"What technique was that?!"
"He didn't even use spiritual chanting!"
Elder Yan sat frozen. Even the Sect Master's eyes were wide.
Long Tianyan stood alone on the stage, surrounded by destruction, his body steaming, fists bloodied, chest heaving.
But his eyes were still calm.
As if this… meant nothing.
And in that moment, the entire sect knew—
A monster had been born.
As the dust settled over the shattered arena floor, silence reigned. Long Tianyan stood amidst the broken stone, his robes scorched, blood trailing from his lips—but his back was straight, and his eyes, unwavering. Opposite him, Liu Yan lay unconscious, his flames extinguished, his pride crushed beneath the weight of Tianyan's final strike. The elders were stunned, disciples frozen in disbelief. Then, from the highest platform, a single figure rose—Sect Master Qing Wuyou. Known across the continent as an aloof sovereign who had never taken a disciple in his entire reign, his cold gaze swept over the arena before landing on Tianyan. In that moment, his voice echoed like thunder. "From this day forth, Long Tianyan shall be my personal disciple." Gasps swept through the crowd like a tidal wave. Qing Wuyou, the untouchable monarch of the Verdant Mist Sect, had broken tradition. Elder Yan's eyes trembled with emotion. And so, with blood still staining the stones, the fate of the Verdant Mist Sect shifted forever.