Chapter 58: The Journey of Slaughter
The black-veiled girl thought to herself, not understanding how Dugu Feng had survived, but the fact that he still hadn't participated in any battles was something the King of Slaughter would never tolerate.
"I understand," Dugu Feng replied indifferently, glancing at her before turning back into his room.
She was speechless. What a stubborn, unyielding boy.
She had never seen someone with such patience. Yet when she recalled the heavy killing aura surrounding him, a chill ran through her heart. After one last look at the room, she turned and left.
Three months later.
At the Hell Slaughter Arena, Dugu Feng finally appeared.
His soul power had reached level twenty-five. The environment here hadn't slowed his cultivation in the slightest.
Nine months in the City of Slaughter, and his strength had already increased by two levels.
Now, he was about to begin his first match—the beginning of his true journey of slaughter.
Ten figures stepped into the arena's center.
"In each fight, your opponents must have participated no more than five matches more than you. Meaning, for first-timers like me, my opponents' maximum streaks should be around five victories."
Dugu Feng scanned the nine others. Three of them had very faint spiritual toxins in their bodies—newcomers who had only recently arrived in the city.
Those three, he decided, were the ones to remain cautious of.
As soon as the ten entered the arena, chaos erupted.
Dugu Feng held a short sword, making others believe he was a swordfighter.
In truth, he only knew one technique—Serpent Belly Sword.
Infusing soul power into his legs, Dugu Feng darted with lightning speed, distancing himself from the three newcomers and retreating to a corner.
"Kid, barely grown and already courting death!"
A vicious-looking man sneered, charging toward Dugu Feng with a long blade in hand.
Extending his middle finger, Dugu Feng unleashed a streak of purple light.
With a resounding clang, the attack struck precisely against the man's giant blade.
The man's expression changed instantly. "Soul skill? How can you use a soul skill?"
His own martial soul—a Giant Blade—could channel soul power only as weapon strength. Seeing someone who appeared to have a beast-type martial soul use what seemed like a soul skill shattered his understanding.
"This must be a self-created soul skill. Talented for your age… but you'll still die for it!"
The man steadied himself quickly, recovering from shock.
He was right—it wasn't a ring-related technique. A self-created skill, powerful though it was, would surely have limits at Dugu Feng's level.
With both hands gripping his blade, he slashed forward fiercely.
Dugu Feng calmly flicked another finger, soul power refined to its limit. The force combined with poison, slamming the man backward several steps.
Even as he fought, Dugu Feng observed the surroundings. The rest of the fighters were slaughtering each other indiscriminately.
"This first battle—no need to reveal everything. Victory can wait." His eyes narrowed.
Hundreds of spectators watched from the stands. Everyone studied others' abilities carefully; no one knew who they might face next.
Observation was survival in the City of Slaughter.
Ten entered. Only one would live. The strongest didn't always survive—only the smartest.
In the center, a man with five consecutive wins fought desperately, surrounded by four others teaming against him.
The crowd roared. Explosions and cries echoed through the arena.
Moments later, the five-win veteran fell, and two of his attackers died with him.
Seizing the moment, Dugu Feng extended his finger again—purple light flashed into his opponent's open mouth. An instant kill.
Now, only three remained alive.
His face remained grave, though inwardly he knew he had already won.
Those three newcomers with cleaner minds and bodies—all dead. The rest, easy prey.
The remaining bouts unfolded smoothly. Dugu Feng stayed near the edge, letting others clash while he feigned weakness.
But whenever his opponents advanced too far, his subtle finger strikes forced them back.
In the end, the last two enemies seemed to exhaust themselves—falling conveniently to Dugu Feng.
In truth, with surgical precision, Dugu Feng had quietly ignited the toxins already inside their bodies, stunning their minds right at the critical moment.
Victory came easily.
Dugu Feng didn't hurry to leave. Watching more battles would only help him prepare.
He already knew the general power and rank of most fighters from Wolf Two's intelligence, but firsthand observation brought deeper insight.
After several days of watching, he entered another match—and won again.
But as he exited the arena this time, Dugu Feng sensed hostile gazes.
Several figures followed him out.
A youth with self-created soul skills… too dangerous to be left alive, they thought.
Dugu Feng's lips curled coldly. "Whoever dares strike at me will regret it."
"Brother, I'll protect this one!"
A burly man with black-and-white hair stepped forward boldly, shouting across the street.
Instantly, the lurking figures retreated into the shadows.
It wasn't out of mercy—they simply recognized the protector.
The man's martial soul—the Devil Tiger.
It was Mo Li.
He had watched both of Dugu Feng's battles. Unlike the others, he understood his true power—and still carried Dugu Feng's poison within him.
He couldn't afford to let this youth die.
The crowd, however, only pitied Dugu Feng. The Devil Tiger was infamous. Anyone he "favored" rarely survived his pleasure.
But Mo Li's intentions were far from that. He stepped forward partly to repay, partly to ensure his own safety.
Dugu Feng gave him a long, unreadable glance before wordlessly departing back to his quarters.
After so many days of tension, some rest was well-deserved.
From then on, his days alternated between cultivation and the Hell Arena battles.
Within a month, he had won ten consecutive fights.
By now, even the slowest realized how strong he was.
As matches grew more difficult, stronger opponents appeared—and little by little, Dugu Feng revealed more.
It was now known that he could fire soul power through all five fingers of his right hand.
No one suspected that his left hand could do the same—or that each finger's force differed in power and effect.
A faint smile touched his lips. They would be even more shocked later.
To win in the end, he knew, demanded not just strength—but patience, caution, and ever-evolving means.
(END CHAPTER)
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