The preliminary bloodshed, though gory, was not the climax of the arena. What followed was the first of two official bouts scheduled for the evening.
The announcer's voice rang out with passionate fervor, skillfully stirring the crowd. Even the noble guests in the VIP section—the lords, ladies, and young masters—were swept up in the excitement, creating a decadent, almost feverish atmosphere.
"Open the gate," a man, looking half-asleep, dragged a long sword to the resting area's door and addressed the attendant nearby.
"Move along, stop causing trouble." The attendant scowled at the man's slave garb and waved him off impatiently.
"It's my turn in the arena." The man's voice was flat, his posture slouched, the three-foot-long sword dragging lazily along the floor.
"I don't care whose turn it is. No orders to open the gate have come down. Step aside," the attendant snapped and pushed—but his hand met nothing.
"I'm dirty. I don't want anyone touching me," the man said lightly, slowly lifting his head. He was one of the slaves locked in the outer courtyard—the one who had been dozing in the corner when E'mo had arrived. His recorded name was simply Sinner, age thirty-seven, no other details.
He had indeed been selected for the gladiator trial, one of the slaves chosen to test for the upcoming combat display. Passing this trial meant a real chance to ascend from slave to gladiator—a prize that needed no explanation.
"Hey, Sinner, what are you doing?" The other selected slaves approached, displeased. They did not want this rare opportunity ruined by one man.
"Nothing. Just getting some air," Sinner said calmly. Without visible effort, he slipped past their grasp and moved toward the door. Suddenly, with a flick of his hand, the standard sword in his grip transformed into a weapon of divine quality, slicing a thick iron bar in half without even a sound.
"What?" The surrounding slaves froze in shock. Experienced fighters, they could immediately recognize the vast difference in skill.
A hole appeared in the gate, and Sinner casually stepped through. Inside the arena, the Cliff Tigers had not yet been caged. Several men carefully adjusted the cage's opening, while others tried to loop chains around the tigers' necks—but it was far from easy.
"Hey, someone's going in? E'mo, did you plan this?" Phiso, the arena's owner, noticed Sinner walking slowly into the pit, immediately aware that this was not normal.
"Subordinates sometimes have a mind of their own," E'mo said lightly. "But it's irrelevant. My team will still give me a spectacular performance."
"Lucky, having such loyal men," Phiso remarked.
"You aren't so bad yourself. Mr. Fuke at your side is no slouch either," E'mo said, tossing a half-smoked cigar aside with a meaningful smile.
"E'mo, you flatter me. Fuke is my brother, not just a subordinate—he handles household matters, that's all." Phiso's eyes gleamed with a hidden intent, then he chuckled softly.
Suddenly, screams erupted from the stands, drawing all eyes back to the arena. Sinner approached a Cliff Tiger and without warning, severed the carefully secured chains in one sweep of his sword.
"What are you doing?" the workers shouted, retreating toward safety. The sudden interference threw the scene into chaos again. Three tigers were now free, bounding wildly.
"Oh, behold our warrior. The first show begins—the first phase, Revenge of the Brave. Witness the hero's wrath as he seeks justice for the slaughtered children," the announcer explained, regaining control despite the unexpected turn.
"Ugh, I hate this part of the arena," Sinner muttered to himself, swaying as if unsteady.
"Hmm? A coincidence?" Tianren, watching from the straw, furrowed his brow slightly, then shook his head and nestled back into the hay.
The Cliff Tigers roared, eyes blood-red, forming a circle around Sinner.
"The instincts of beasts are remarkable… admirable, yet loathsome," Sinner murmured. His unsteady sway masked a deadly grace. In a blink, he slipped from the tigers' encirclement, positioning himself behind one.
The tiger leapt instinctively, but Sinner remained right behind it. "Go, beast," he said, sword flashing. Its massive body split in two, a jet of blood shooting outward, carving a small hole in the distant wall.
"What is this…" E'mo, Loi Yi, and the others were stunned. A sword that could slice and control blood in such a way was no ordinary technique.
"Boss… this man…" Loi Yi frowned. Only the second person in his life to cause such concern.
"Relax. Let's observe. Ochu is watching below," E'mo's expression turned serious. This was no ordinary brigand or exiled soldier.
"This is getting complicated," Ochu murmured from the resting area, flanked by old retainers and aides. "Who hired that announcer? Excellent—give him a raise. Follow his cues for the show… #$%#… pass this down."
"Yes, sir," a retainer bowed and departed.
"Unexpected… such a person hidden among the slaves. Check the transport records—trace this man's origin," Ochu instructed.
In the arena, Sinner moved toward another Cliff Tiger, his swaying figure radiating lethal intent. The tiger lunged. Another followed, converging on him.
"I, in the name of Heaven, judge you, ignorant lives, as Sinner," Sinner whispered, barely audible over the beasts' roars. Yet some heard, like the figure hidden in the straw.
His sword danced in the air. With a sharp crack, it split in two—half in his hand, the other embedded in the earth. Two massive bodies lay symmetrically on the ground; the Cliff Tigers of the Bermuda Plains were gone without a sound.
The crowd, expecting chaos, instead fell silent.
"No… impossible," Phiso murmured. He exchanged a glance with Fuke; both read the same thought: could another legend be born in Kuangxue?
"Scholar," Jin Jiao's voice was unusually solemn.
"What?" the scholar replied, dazed.
"I truly admire you," Jin Jiao said.
"Ah?"
"This… all you said would happen tonight—it's… truly remarkable." Jin Jiao stared at Sinner, lost in thought, clutching his axe tightly.
"Hmm…" The scholar was speechless. Events tonight exceeded all expectations.
"Seems an ordinary sword won't do." Sinner shook his head, discarding the broken blade.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the next act begins! The owners of the beasts—feral gods—seek to avenge their companions. Will the hero prevail or be slain? Let us watch!" The announcer's voice rang out as eight doors around the arena simultaneously opened. Each revealed a trio, fully armed, initially meant to perform alongside Sinner—but now, opponents.
"Heh, if we win, we become official gladiators. Freedom, prizes… Sinner, don't blame us," a heavily armored man grunted, raising his axe.
"Ah… some sins are never fully atoned," Sinner sighed, watching the grinning slaves approach.
"Oh my… E'mo, astonishing." Duke Louis murmured, eyes fixed on Sinner. "Perhaps I could help in this Kuangxue performance…"
Philip glanced at him, adjusting his sleeve, stroking his beard.
"Hmph. No time for lectures. Sinner, bear your own sins—we've no patience," the slaves roared, charging under the moon's shy glow.
The arena's high poles, glowing warmly, lit the battleground. Eight massive glass lanterns illuminated the inner arena.
Sinner weaved through eight teams' attacks, precarious yet manageable.
"Humans are harder than beasts," he muttered. "Although new to this team, all are seasoned bandit leaders. Some are ex-bounty hunters… used to temporary squads. I lack weapons; they've been chosen carefully… odds are slim."
"Heh, too late to back down," the attacking slaves laughed, intensifying their strikes.
"Yet, no matter how skilled, Sinner is still a sinner. Mortal punishment may be avoided, but not Heaven's judgment." His half-lidded eyes sharpened; his swaying form became ghostlike, flickering through the crowd.
"Within the human heart lies indelible marks. Some invisible even to themselves. When defenses drop, dreams reveal hidden pages. I am the dream—the shadow of your sin. Immersed in illusion, I display your guilt and shatter it. This is… Heavenly Judgment." His soft voice whispered in ears, resonating in minds—illusory yet real, near yet distant… entrancing.
The crowd fell silent. Only the wind whispered as slaves swung their weapons, faltering. Sinner's stagger became intangible—like someone in a dream, close enough to touch but impossible to reach.
"Dreams are real… dreams are illusion. You shall forever wander, unable to distinguish, trapped between realms." Sinner appeared at the exit he had entered, its carved notch visible.
A sigh seemed to emanate from the arena itself. The spectators slowly regained awareness.
"What… what just happened?" Many murmured, recalling a sensation both vivid and hazy, like a dream.
"Incredible… is this magic? Someone on our continent possesses such power!" Duke Louis exclaimed.
"No… it's not magic. Rather, a skill—unbelievable, supreme," an elderly steward whispered.
"Oh, the world is wondrous… E'mo, is this man or Tianren stronger? Kuangxue is extraordinary," Duke Louis laughed, elated. E'mo only smiled, silent.
"E'mo, your arena truly harbors hidden dragons," Phiso said nervously.
"Where? Lishan yields capable men too," E'mo replied.
The attacking slaves, aimless now, stumbled and fell, exhausted.
"Heavenly Judgment… undefeated. The new arena champion: Sinner's moniker, Heavenly Judgment," the announcer cried from the high platform.
"Heavenly Judgment? A new legend begins," Duke Philip muttered, moved. In the arena, gladiators often used nicknames instead of real names—like Scholar, Jin Jiao, or Tianren. These nicknames hinted at rank. In ten years, Kuangxue had many elite fighters, yet none bore the "Heaven" prefix—until now. Was this a new myth in the making?
High above, on the arena's flagpole, a dark silhouette stood, wind tossing robes. The figure overlooked all below. Shielded by darkness, no lights reached this perch.
"Tonight… a special night," the figure murmured, gazing at the moon peeking through clouds.
"Sky Hawk soars, across heaven and earth; Drunken Dream immerses in illusion; Shadow of Sin mirrors the human heart… The world begins to change here. Moon, be full."