Dai Chengfeng nodded and raised his hand, pressing gently into the air.
A soft yet immense force washed over Tang San. The horrifying slaughter illusions in his mind receded like a tide, leaving behind searing pain and darkness—but at least his consciousness cleared.
He collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath. His eyes, fixed on Dai Chengfeng, brimmed with terror, bitterness, and profound helplessness.
Defeated.
Utterly, completely defeated.
It wasn't just a crushing of strength—it was a total collapse across every dimension: willpower, martial soul, even his very understanding of power.
The entire arena fell deathly silent.
No one could speak, stunned by the final act.
That terrifying Killing God Domain. That soul-rending Blood-Slaughter Hundred Miles, condensing killing intent into a blade—these images were seared into every spectator's mind.
Who could have imagined a battle between juniors would unleash power so transcendent, brushing against the very fabric of reality?
Bibi Dong slowly sank back into her seat, her exquisite eyes shimmering with pride and exhilaration.
Her man… had reached such heights!
Killing God Domain. Soul skills. Profound martial soul comprehension… How many more wonders did he hide?
Dai Mubai lay on the ground, face ashen.
All notions of royal legitimacy, brotherly rivalry, personal pride—vanished like smoke.
Before Dai Chengfeng's absolute power, his petty ambitions seemed laughable, insignificant.
He couldn't even muster a flicker of comparison—only deep reverence… and despair.
In the shadows, Tang Hao slowly unclenched his fist. Blood seeped from nail-pierced palms.
He watched his shattered son below, heart heavy with conflicting emotions.
Shock at Dai Chengfeng's terrifying potential. Anguish at Xiao San's defeat and spiritual trauma. Yet… something else stirred.
Perhaps this crushing loss isn't entirely bad for my proud son…
But—what is this Dai Chengfeng? Man or monster?!
Dai Chengfeng ignored the crowd's stares. He turned to the stunned announcer.
The man jolted awake, wiped cold sweat from his brow, and shouted hoarsely:
"Team Battle—Spirit Hall Academy Team wins!"
Silence held for three breaths—then erupted into deafening chaos: fear, awe, and fanaticism mingling in the roar.
...
Watching the frenzied crowd, Dai Chengfeng calmly reined in his aura—as if the earth-shattering duel had been mere practice.
Yet to certain girls, this calmness only made him shine brighter.
"Chengfeng—!"
A crisp cry rang out. A pink blur nearly leapt from the stands—Xiao Wu—before Ning Rongrong yanked her back. But Ning Rongrong's own eyes sparkled with excitement, cheeks flushed:
"Incredible! Dai Chengfeng, you're amazing! That last move… like a god!"
As the Seven Treasures Glazed Tile's princess, she'd seen much—but never such awe-inspiring power in a peer. It transcended soul skills, touching essence itself.
Zhu Zhuqing said nothing, only gazing quietly at the stage.
Ice seemed to melt in her cool eyes, revealing complex light—concern, awe, and subtle relief.
She knew better than anyone the price Dai Chengfeng paid for strength. This moment of glory—he deserved it.
Hu Liena approached, pride and tenderness unhidden in her gaze.
Unlike Xiao Wu's eagerness, she simply lifted her chin, lips curving in a breathtaking arc. Her eyes locked onto Dai Chengfeng through the crowd—This is my choice. My man.
Xiao Wu, held back, beamed with shared joy and hidden adoration. She waved wildly at Dai Chengfeng, as if willing her cheers into his ears.
But this celebration—like a dagger—pierced another's heart.
"Xiao Wu…"
Tang San sat slumped on the cold floor, spiritual agony still churning. His vision blurred; ears rang.
Hearing that familiar voice, he gasped, lifting his head instinctively—searching for her.
And he saw…
Saw the pink figure he once knew best, once cherished, then lost.
But she wasn't looking at him. She was waving eagerly toward Dai Chengfeng.
A pain sharper than spiritual rupture clamped Tang San's chest.
Darkness swam before his eyes. Xiao Wu's smiling face and Dai Chengfeng's calm, towering back merged and blurred.
The crowd's roar, the announcer's call, his comrades' cries—all faded into meaningless static.
He'd lost.
The match. His pride. Perhaps… so much more.
Dai Mubai struggled to help him up—but froze mid-reach. Tang San's head hung low, messy hair hiding his eyes, revealing only bloodless lips and a trembling jaw.
Tang San didn't look at Xiao Wu again. Didn't look at the radiant Dai Chengfeng.
With shaking arms, he pushed himself up from the cold ground.
Dai Mubai's hand hovered, throat tight. He saw clearly the ashen devastation on Tang San's downcast face—not exhaustion, but hollowed-out ruin.
His own throat choked. Even "Let's go" felt impossible to say.
He scanned the celebrating crowd—their cheers belonged to Dai Chengfeng.
Taking a shaky breath, Dai Mubai whispered: "Xiao San… let's go."
Oscar and Ma Hongjun limped over, faces etched with dread and defeat.
Ma Hongjun opened his mouth to curse—then just rubbed his face wearily.
Oscar silently offered recovery sausages, hands trembling.
They leaned on each other, utterly alien to the surrounding jubilation.
Spectators' gazes held pity, sighs, mostly indifference—the natural dismissal of losers.
Next time… next time I'll win!
I am Tang San—I am destiny itself!!!
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