Ling Wu City's Outskirts: The Beast Arena
A colossal coliseum loomed before Lan An and Chen Jiang, its roar deafening. Cheers, jeers, and curses from lost bets mingled into a chaotic symphony, a war drum stoking the bloodlust of man and beast alike.
Tens of thousands packed the stands, their eyes glued to the central arenas where brutal battles unfolded. Sweat and blood stained the sand, their crimson blend a visceral thrill. Lan An scanned the scene, the heat surpassing Earth's fiercest football derbies. He saw a cultivator slay a beast of equal tier, basking in thunderous applause, and another torn asunder by a savage creature, devoured amid the crowd's frenzied delight.
"This place suits me," Lan An growled, his grin feral. In his tier, he feared no one—beast or man.
Gulp. Chen Jiang swallowed hard, the gore chilling him. "Y-Young Master… shall we… register?" he stammered.
"Let's go," Lan An said, striding toward the arena's gate, Chen Jiang trailing.
"Entry fee: 20 Lower-Grade Spirit Stones per person," a bald, gray-robed elder barked, guarding the entrance.
Lan An sized him up—a Golden Core Perfection cultivator. Nodding, he handed over 40 Lower-Grade Spirit Stones.
"Senior, where do we register to challenge beasts?" Chen Jiang asked.
"You two?" The elder squinted, shaking his head. "Youngsters, don't be reckless. You'll lose your lives."
He'd pegged Chen Jiang as below Foundation Establishment.
Chen Jiang scratched his head, grinning. "Not me, my Young Master."
The elder's gaze shifted to Lan An, his eyes widening. He couldn't gauge the youth's depth, sensing a faint, dangerous aura.
Gulp. Swallowing dryly, the elder's tone softened. "Head inside. The Beast Arena's enforcers handle registration and betting."
"Thank you, Senior," Lan An and Chen Jiang said, proceeding.
The arena's interior sprawled underground, vast yet claustrophobic, its walls looming oppressively. The air reeked of wine, gambling, and debauchery—men groped courtesans, their hands roaming shamelessly.
Like Earth's seediest bars, but with raucous shouts replacing music.
Lan An's arrival drew eyes. Courtesans ogled his white-robed elegance, their gazes hungry, while men licked their lips, wolves eyeing fresh prey.
"Young Masters, care for a night with me? Only 20 Lower-Grade Spirit Stones," a Qi Refining Early-Stage woman purred, her scant attire barely containing her curves, her tongue teasing her lips.
Lan An, accustomed to goddesses, ignored her, his silver eye cold as he passed.
Chen Jiang, suppressing his urges, hurried after, avoiding temptation.
"Hmph," the woman huffed, moving on.
"What do you need?" a polite young man in fine robes asked, a server.
"We're here to register for beast challenges," Chen Jiang replied.
The server's eyes flashed with surprise but he nodded, leading them.
"This is Sister Thirteen, our Beast Arena enforcer," the server said, gesturing to a woman around thirty.
Clad in wolf-fur robes, Sister Thirteen lounged with a leg propped on the table, revealing toned, wheat-colored thighs. Her Mid-Stage Nascent Soul aura was bold and untamed.
"Beast challenge, eh?" she asked, eyeing Lan An with interest.
"Just me," Lan An said, releasing a faint Mid-Stage Golden Core aura.
Her eyes gleamed. A young Mid-Stage Golden Core cultivator was rare. With Ling Wu City soon to host prodigies, he might be a noble scion seeking thrills.
She nodded courteously. "No issue. With your cultivation, you can challenge Late-Stage Third-Tier beasts or higher."
"Fine by me," Lan An said.
Sister Thirteen produced a contract, handing it to him.
Lan An scanned it. It outlined that challengers fought at their own risk, the arena bore no liability. Victors earned 70% of audience bets, the arena taking 30%. If he died, the arena claimed 100%. Bettors paid a 20% commission on winnings, funding his potential payout.
He mused silently. The arena's scheme was cunning—profiting as a middleman in any outcome, providing a stage without coercion. Fair, in its brutal way.
Pricking his finger, Lan An pressed his blood to the contract, sealing it.
"What tier beast?" Sister Thirteen asked, her lips curling seductively.
"Late-Stage Third-Tier," Lan An said without hesitation.
"Oh?" Her brows rose. "A Mid-Stage Golden Core challenging a Late-Stage Third-Tier beast? Betting odds are 1:1.5."
She was impressed by his boldness. Tier-skipping wasn't unheard of among geniuses, but she hoped his skill matched his nerve.
Clap, clap. She signaled, and a black-robed guard appeared, bowing.
"Prepare Arena Eight for this Young Master," she instructed, pointing to Lan An.
"As you command," the guard said, departing.
"Rest for now, Young Master. You'll be called when the match begins," Sister Thirteen said warmly.
Lan An nodded, settling into an empty chair. Chen Jiang stood dutifully behind, heart racing. Following Young Master is damn thrilling.
Lan An tossed him a pouch. "Eighty Supreme-Grade Spirit Stones. Bet it all on my victory."
"Yes, Young Master!" Chen Jiang thumped his chest, emboldened by Lan An's confidence.
Lan An nodded, eyeing Chen Jiang. The rascal was lowly but reliable. If he dared flee with the stones, Lan An had ways to hunt him down.
Outside, the arena's din surged. A melodious voice, amplified by spiritual energy, cut through the noise, reaching every spectator:
"Honored guests, Arena Eight hosts a tier-skipping challenge! A Mid-Stage Golden Core youth versus a Late-Stage Third-Tier Golden Fang Tiger. Betting odds: 1:1.5. Place your bets at the counters now!"
The announcement ignited the crowd:
"A new match?"
"A kid, huh? Interesting!"
"Been ages since a Golden Core tier-skipped!"
"The Golden Fang Tiger's a beast—undefeated in three same-tier matches. Someone's bold enough to jump tiers?"
"Hmph, just a reckless fool."
Debates erupted, many hesitating over their wagers.
"Cousin Li Lin, Ling Wu City's full of surprises! A youth tier-skipping?" On a stand's edge, a veiled girl in blue robes, her figure alluring, spoke excitedly to the youth beside her.
Li Lin, around twenty, Mid-Stage Golden Core, and strikingly handsome, nodded. "The realm's brimming with talent, Zhu Lan. But our Li Clan sent us for the auction. Don't draw attention."
"I want to bet!" Li Zhu Lan said, bubbling with enthusiasm.
"On whom?" Li Lin asked, a flicker of affection in his eyes.
Unnoticing his gaze, she replied, "The youth, of course! If he dares challenge, he's got a trump card."
"What if he's just overconfident?" Li Lin probed, his tone suggestive.
"I don't know, but I feel he'll win," she said, flashing a radiant smile before rushing to bet.
Li Lin watched her go, envy in his eyes. Li Zhu Lan, daughter of Li Clan's patriarch, Li Xiong—a Early-Stage Spirit Transformation expert—was a prodigy. Blessed with a Wood Spiritual Root, she'd been taken as a disciple by a Late-Stage Spirit Transformation elder of Tian Mu Sect three years ago. At sixteen, she was already Foundation Establishment Perfection.
Her status dwarfed Li Lin, son of a mere Li Clan elder, his talent and backing far inferior. He'd long cherished her as his dream love. Their clan's assignment to the auction thrilled him, a chance to grow closer. Her excitement for another youth, however, stung.
Another stand's corner:
Two youths in robes, their green hair flowing, exuded chilling aura, keeping others at bay. Not for their Mid-Stage Golden Core cultivation, but the "Han" embroidered on their attire—mark of the Seventh-Rank Han Clan.
"Hmph, another fool courting death," Han Lie sneered, his eyes mocking. Tier-skipping was rare, even among Han Clan prodigies.
"Bet on the Golden Fang Tiger. Even I wouldn't guarantee victory against it. This kid's suicidal," Han Ming scoffed, dismissing Lan An.
"Done," Han Lie agreed.
"Any leads on Han Qing's death?" Han Ming asked via transmission.
"Not clear, but witnesses say he met Yan Clan's Seventh Elder before vanishing," Han Lie replied, his face darkening.
"Yan Clan," Han Ming paled. The Yan Clan's Strange Flames countered their ice-based arts, and their superior might was untouchable.
"Hmph! Han Qing's idiocy got him killed. Pity about the Ice Slaughter Sword," Han Lie grunted.
"Any Yan Clan here?" Han Ming scanned the crowd.
"No idea. Our intelligence can't pierce their veil," Han Lie said, frustrated.
"Fine. Bet 100 Upper-Grade Spirit Stones on the Golden Fang Tiger," Han Ming said, shifting focus.
Amid the bustling stands:
"Brother Yan Yang, why did the matriarch confine the two young ladies for three months?" a youthful, seventeen-year-old boy asked the towering man beside him, puzzled. The Yan Clan's twin jewels were rarely punished.
"Mind your business. Knowing too much isn't wise," Yan Yang snapped, his handsome face twisting. His Early-Stage Nascent Soul aura repelled nearby cultivators.
"Yes, sir," Yan Wei shrank back.
Yan Yang, the Yan Clan's second genius and Yan Hong Lian's ardent admirer, seethed. The sisters' training had yielded rapid cultivation gains, with Yan Hong Lian acquiring the Violet Heart Void-Burning Flame, a Strange Flame. The clan rejoiced—Strange Flames were rare, their matriarch holding their only other. Two such flames elevated their might.
Yet, inexplicably, the matriarch flew into a rage, crippling the Seventh Elder with a palm strike and confining her daughters for three months. Yan Yang, son of the Second Elder, overheard whispers: the sisters had fallen for a man during their travels.
To Yan Yang, who worshipped Yan Hong Lian, this was maddening. He loathed the unknown man, vowing to tear him apart.
Poor Yan Yang, unaware the sisters weren't just smitten—they'd become Lan An's women. What would he feel knowing this?
"No matter who you are, I, Yan Yang, swear you'll suffer eternally, regretting your birth," he vowed inwardly, flames flickering in his eyes. Turning to Yan Wei, he barked, "Bet on the Golden Fang Tiger. This fool thinks anyone can tier-skip like me? Hmph."