The spectators' cheers exploded, becoming a deafening ocean of sound. However, for Zhi Xuan, the noise drowned out, replaced by a sharp silence within his Sea of Consciousness.

  The five opponents moved simultaneously. This was no longer a one-on-one duel filled with hesitation; this was a wolf attack on an arrogant sheep. Numbers Twenty-Eight and the two sturdy thugs charged from the front, forming a human wall. Jiang Lei and Miss Ling circled quickly, targeting Zhi Xuan's flanks, cutting off any path of retreat. In their chaotic movement, Zhi Xuan saw a gap. The three attackers in front moved slowly and relied on pure strength.

  Clang! Clang!

  Suddenly, two flashes of metal appeared in the thugs' hands. Number Thirty-One pulled a rusted knife shard from his belt, while Number Thirty-Two drew a piece of iron wrapped in cloth. They were violating the duel rules, but in the Dragon Fang Arena, violations that led to bloodshed were permissible entertainment.

  Zhi Xuan clenched his jaw. Disgust and cold anger enveloped him. They were not just fighting for their lives; they were fighting with cheating to steal the hope of others.

  WHSHHH!

  Zhi Xuan moved first, as fast as lightning emerging from silence. He did not fight the momentum of the three attackers in front. Instead, he darted to the right side, towards Miss Ling and Jiang Lei.

  Miss Ling, the Iron Girl, reacted the fastest. She swung her hard-bandaged fist toward Zhi Xuan's head. Jiang Lei lunged with his shoulder, trying to pin Zhi Xuan against the wall of Number Thirty-One's attack.

  BUAGH!

  Zhi Xuan did not completely avoid Miss Ling's fist. He turned his head, letting the fist graze his cheek, but the energy from the punch felt only like a sting—the body tempered in the river was much harder than his opponents imagined. At the same time, he used his momentum, spinning as fast as the wind on his heel, and kicked Jiang Lei's chest with the full force of a five-hundred-kati body.

  KREKKK!

  The muffled sound of cracking ribs drowned in the frantic cheers of the spectators. Jiang Lei instantly staggered, his eyes wide with suffocating pain. He collapsed onto the arena's red sand, his lungs crushed by the force of the pure kick. He crawled for a moment, blood foaming on his lips, and then went still.

  Jiang Lei – ELIMINATED.

  The four remaining opponents were shocked. A single kick had broken the fighting spirit and the ribs of one of their opponents. They realized this youth was not just arrogant; he was a devil disguised as a young man.

  Zhi Xuan gave them no time to recover. He used the momentum of his spin and immediately lunged at Number Thirty-One, the man armed with the rusted knife.

  The man swung the knife wildly. Zhi Xuan ducked low, letting the blade slash the air over his robe, and then, with a movement he learned from training against the river current, Zhi Xuan delivered a punch toward the man's lower abdomen. It was a short, focused punch, and in a sensitive spot.

  UHHK!

  Number Thirty-One immediately choked, the knife in his hand falling to the sand. The man arched, clutching his stomach which felt like it was stabbed by ice needles, and gasped, unable to make a sound. Zhi Xuan then grabbed the man's head with both hands and slammed it into his knee.

  DDAKK!

  Number Thirty-One fell sprawling, convulsing briefly on the ground, then stopped. Blood flowed from his head, mixing with the red sand of the arena. Number Thirty-One – ELIMINATED.

  In less than ten seconds, two opponents had been killed or severely injured. The cheers of the spectators were now mixed with shouts of horror. Young Master Wei stood frozen in his box.

  Zhi Xuan turned, his face showing no emotion, but inside his heart, cold anger burned. He looked at the three remaining opponents: the terrified Number Twenty-Eight, the iron-armed Number Thirty-Two, and Miss Ling, whose face now radiated a mixture of fear and newfound respect.

  The three opponents now surrounded him with dreadful caution. Number Thirty-Two swung the piece of iron, trying to create distance.

  "You violated the rules!" Miss Ling shouted, her voice hoarse.

  "I was only defending myself from a cheating weapon," Zhi Xuan countered coldly. "You are the ones who broke a mortal promise. I will not kill you if you surrender now!"

  Number Thirty-Two, driven by the horrifying threat of death, lunged. His iron piece aimed for Zhi Xuan's shoulder. Zhi Xuan did not avoid the attack; he rotated his shoulder, letting the iron hit his shoulder blade.

  BAKK!

  Sharp pain shot through him, but Zhi Xuan did not falter. His river-tempered shoulder blade only hurt, not broke. He used the momentum of the iron blow to advance, grabbing the man's arm, and rotating it with deadly force.

  PPLAKK!

  The sound of a joint dislocating was clearly audible amid the arena's noise. Number Thirty-Two screamed in pain, the piece of iron falling from his paralyzed hand. Zhi Xuan then pushed the man toward Number Twenty-Eight, using the man's body as a shield.

  Number Twenty-Eight collapsed under the weight of Number Thirty-Two.

  Zhi Xuan was now facing the angry Miss Ling alone.

  "You... You are a devil!" Miss Ling screamed. Her eyes flashed with frustration and anger. She did not give up, instead lunging with another powerful punch. She was a tough street fighter, aiming for gaps in Zhi Xuan's defense.

  Zhi Xuan admired Miss Ling's courage. He avoided her first two punches with minimal head movement. When Miss Ling released a third strong punch toward his face, Zhi Xuan grabbed the woman's fist, locking her wrist quickly.

  Miss Ling struggled, but Zhi Xuan's grip felt like an iron manacle. Zhi Xuan then twisted Miss Ling's wrist, forcing her to kneel.

  CLICK!

  Not a break, just an extremely painful joint dislocation. Miss Ling screamed and collapsed to the floor, clutching her aching wrist. Zhi Xuan released Miss Ling and turned. He looked towards Number Thirty-Two and Number Twenty-Eight who were still crawling on the floor, paralyzed by pain and fear.

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  "I will kill anyone who tries to stand," Zhi Xuan said, his voice calm yet deadly.

  Number Thirty-Two – ELIMINATED.

  Miss Ling – ELIMINATED.

  Now, only the trembling Number Twenty-Eight remained. He saw his friend die, Jiang Lei sprawled out, Miss Ling screaming in pain on the floor. He knew he was not fighting a human. He was fighting a devil whose body was tempered from cold stone. Number Twenty-Eight looked towards Zhi Xuan, seeing the pale eye that radiated the coldness of Taiyin essence. He crawled backward, away from the black-and-red robe, tears streaming down his face.

  "I... I surrender! I surrender! Do not kill me! Take the prize! I surrender!" Number Twenty-Eight screamed, his voice breaking, a humiliating admission of defeat.

  Zhi Xuan stood in the middle of the chaos, a drop of blood on his cheek that was not his own. Around him, four people were eliminated—two dead, two crippled. He had won the Five-Against-One Duel.

  Silence fell over the North Arena. Then, the silence broke with a wild roar from the spectator stands. Not a roar of joy, but a frantic uproar fueled by cruelty.

  Young Master Wei, in the VIP box, screamed with delight and threw a pouch of jade coins into the air. "MARVELOUS! THIS IS A SPECTACLE WORTH TEN THOUSAND GOLD COINS!"

  Bookmaker Hu jumped into the arena, rushing to the center circle. He hit the wooden hammer in his hand three times hard.

  "DUEL ENDS! NUMBER TWENTY-SEVEN WINS! FOUR ELIMINATED! ONE SURRENDERS! THE PRIZE OF TEN THOUSAND SPIRITUAL JADE COINS AND ALL OPPONENTS' BETS BELONG TO NUMBER TWENTY-SEVEN!"

  Bookmaker Hu approached Zhi Xuan, his face pale with shock, but his eyes gleaming with greed.

  "Twenty-Seven," Bookmaker Hu whispered, his voice choked. "You are crazy. But you have won the grand prize! And you are entitled to the ten thousand spiritual jade coins prize from the four fallen opponents and the one who surrendered! A total of fifty thousand spiritual jade coins!"

  Zhi Xuan did not smile. He looked at Bookmaker Hu, his pale eye full of cold authority.

  "Ten consecutive duels," Zhi Xuan said. "Only the first duel."

  Zhi Xuan then walked past the corpses and blood, toward the corridor gate. He looked back, glancing toward Young Master Wei, and then toward the corpse of Number Thirty-One who carried the cheating knife.

  'I killed the one who did not tremble. But I will also kill anyone who tries to kill me by cheating,' Zhi Xuan thought, storing the cruelty of the duel as a tempering of his resolve.

  "Clean up these corpses," Zhi Xuan commanded Bookmaker Hu. "And prepare the next five opponents. I do not like to wait."

  Bookmaker Hu rushed off, giving frantic signals to the low-level sect cultivators to drag away the corpses and the injured.

  In the stands, the madness continued. The bets grew larger, driven by Young Master Wei who was now drunk on adrenaline and wine.

  "He said he does not like to wait! Hahahaha! I love this arrogance! Bookmaker Hu! I double my bet again for the next duel! Five against one! Seven thousand gold coins that he cannot do it again!" Young Master Wei shouted, slapping his attendant.

  "He is the Black-Haired Devil!" a female merchant screamed from the VIP seats. "Look at his eyes! Those are not human eyes! He is tempered by ice! I bet a thousand spiritual jade coins that he will break all his opponents' bones!"

  Zhi Xuan stood in the tunnel, letting the Taiyin essence within his Heavenly Samsara Wheel work quickly, healing the bruises on his cheek and shoulder blade. The pain subsided, but the exhaustion caused by the brutal use of pure mortal strength did not disappear.

  "You must prove your new consolidation, monkey," Ruo Xianxue hissed. "Every duel is a new tempering. Consider them sledgehammers."

  "I understand," Zhi Xuan countered internally, stabilizing his breath. The blood on his hands felt cold and sticky.

  The second duel was announced immediately. Bookmaker Hu, with a voice almost hysterical, called the next five numbers. This time, the opponents advanced cautiously. They had witnessed the horror that had just occurred.

  The five opponents, led by a former arena fighter named Iron Horse, surrounded Zhi Xuan.

  "Young man," Iron Horse said, his voice hoarse yet calculated, "You are strong. But you cannot kill all of us without killing yourself. We will not attack wildly. We will weaken you slowly."

  "A good thought," Zhi Xuan countered, a cold sneer appearing on his lips. "However, you are slow."

  The duel began. This time, the opponents used a better defensive strategy. Three people tried to corner Zhi Xuan, while Iron Horse and one other aimed for his legs.

  Zhi Xuan moved like a dancing shadow. He avoided the first punch, letting his body slide to the side, and then, instead of attacking, he used his right fist to punch the ribs of the person next to him, using the body's force to create a quick crack. The blow was not meant to knock down, but to cripple.

  Krak!

  Number Thirty-Five screamed and collapsed, clutching his cracked ribs. He was not eliminated, but he could not stand.

  Zhi Xuan then faced Iron Horse. Iron Horse was a tough fighter; he swung his fists with strength that surpassed the average mortal, aiming for the spot where Zhi Xuan was injured before.

  Zhi Xuan did not avoid. He met the punch with his tempered left shoulder. His body flinched from the strong impact, but he used the momentum. His left elbow flashed toward Iron Horse's face, hitting his cheekbone.

  BUAGH!

  Iron Horse staggered, blood flowing from his nose. Before Iron Horse recovered, Zhi Xuan grabbed his head and slammed it into his knee, repeating the technique he used for Number Thirty-One. Iron Horse fell unconscious. Iron Horse – ELIMINATED.

  In the second duel, three people were eliminated and two surrendered, as they realized they could not touch Zhi Xuan without feeling devastating pain.

  Zhi Xuan won the second duel. In total, he had defeated ten people.

  Bookmaker Hu could barely contain his excitement. The bets had multiplied their profit. Zhi Xuan was now a legend in the Dragon Fang Arena.

  "THE BLACK-HAIRED DEVIL! HE IS THE BLACK-HAIRED DEVIL!" Young Master Wei screamed from the stands. "Bookmaker Hu! I want him to fight until midnight! Give him ten opponents at once!"

  Bookmaker Hu, realizing that the bets were reaching the limit of madness, decided to call the next three opponents, so that Zhi Xuan would not tire too quickly.

  The duels continued without significant breaks, only limited by the time for Bookmaker Hu to drag the corpses and injured out of the arena. The joyful screams of the Young Masters and the thunder of the drums became the inevitable background for the increasingly brutal fights.

  Bookmaker Hu, driven by Young Master Wei's crazy bets, continued to call opponents in formations of three, five, and three people.

  The third duel began, three fast but untechnical street thugs. They relied on hidden knives, but after the first duel, no one dared to use them anymore.

  One of the men lunged. Zhi Xuan, using the Art of Splitting the Current he learned in the river, allowed his body to rotate, avoiding the attack, and released a hook kick to the man's knee. The man's kneecap shattered in an instant, causing him to collapse. The other two, seeing the efficiency of the movement, immediately fled, shouting that they surrendered.

  The duel moved to the fourth. These five opponents were the most fearful, moving passively. They only tried to corner Zhi Xuan and wait for him to tire.

  "He must be tired! We just need to wait for him to fall!" one of them shouted.

  Zhi Xuan responded with cold anger. He gave them no time. He moved with brutal speed, attacking joints and ankles. With three quick elbow strikes, he crippled three people at vital pressure points. The other two, seeing their comrades collapse in painful silence, threw themselves down, admitting defeat.

  Next, three veteran fighters. They attacked coordinately. Zhi Xuan allowed one fighter's fist to hit his abdomen. The pain was immense, but the Taiyin immediately absorbed some of the impact. He used the momentum of the attack to launch a brutal counter-attack. An Iron Elbow to the fighter's face. The fighter immediately collapsed unconscious, without time to respond. The other two exchanged horrified glances.

  "He... he is using our attacks against us," one of them whispered. They fled, choosing life over the prize.

  The sixth duel was led by a tough-looking old woman, they used guerrilla strategy, attacking and retreating.

  "Do not let him touch us!" the woman shouted. This strategy was tiring. Zhi Xuan let the woman attack. He met the attack with a stiff defense, then released a short, focused punch to the ribs, crippling the woman. The other four, realizing that Zhi Xuan's endurance exceeded theirs, fled. Zhi Xuan won this duel while gasping for breath, the bruise on his abdomen worsening.

  Three sturdy brothers stepped up for the seventh duel, fighting to redeem family debt. They had no technique, only strength and desperate resolve.

  "We will die with him!" they shouted. Zhi Xuan was forced to use pure mortal strength entirely.

  He faced them like a stone facing a wave. He took down one with a full kick to the shoulder, crippled the second with a hammer fist to the spine, and the third, who was terrified, he twisted his arm joint. They were all crippled, but still alive.