Jiang Ruochén stood his ground, surprised by the ferocity radiating from Fan Biao's attack.
Fighting full-force in the arena was normal—but beneath the roar of his blade, Jiang caught something else: a hidden killing intent. That wasn't supposed to be there.
The thought flashed by too fast to chase. The next instant, the enormous blade was already descending.
His leg muscles tightened like coiled springs. With a burst of force, Jiang leapt aside, his body moving like a wild ape—fluid, explosive.
Boom!
Fan Biao's strike slammed into the stone floor where Jiang had just stood. The reinforced tiles shattered, sending fragments flying.
That was one elephant's strength behind a swing, plus the momentum of the nine-ringed blade—its destructive power terrifying.
Gasps rippled through the stands. No one had expected a fight between Second Heaven and Fourth Heaven to start like this—so fierce, so fast.
Even less expected was Jiang Ruochén's speed. He had actually dodged it. Was this really the "waste" everyone mocked?
"Running?" Fan Biao barked. His sharp eyes locked on Jiang like lightning as he swung horizontally, the massive blade howling toward Jiang's midsection.
Jiang had no weapon and little battle experience. Against Fan Biao's brutal offense, retreat was his only option.
Every muscle in his body tightened. Power surged through his limbs as he twisted and leapt from side to side, dodging dozens of consecutive slashes. He moved across the ring like a monkey darting through branches—swift, precise, impossible to pin down.
"Didn't expect that waste to have any tricks," Jiang Li muttered from the high box, his tone sour. Fan Biao still hadn't managed to touch him.
On stage, Fan Biao halted, frowning. Something wasn't right.
The kid's speed was unnaturally sharp—too fluid to be dismissed. Continuing to swing like this would only wear him down.
He steadied his stance, then—almost deliberately—glanced toward Box Seven before jabbing the tip of his blade at Jiang."Fourteenth Prince! Are you a rat, running circles forever? Dare you face me head-on?"
Jiang landed lightly back where he'd started. He'd caught that look toward the royal box. Everything clicked.
Fan Biao had no grudge against him. Someone was pulling strings behind the curtain. And who else could it be but Jiang Li and his lot?
A flicker of cold killing intent rippled in Jiang's chest, though his face stayed calm.
"Why wouldn't I dare?" he called back. "But if it's fairness you want—throw away that blade, and fight me with your bare hands."
The arena erupted in stunned murmurs.
He had to be insane. Fan Biao's blade technique was deadly, sure—but he was still a Fourth Heaven fighter, born with one elephant's strength. Jiang had awakened his martial soul only two days ago, and now wanted a straight brawl?
But Jiang wasn't being reckless. He was being clever.
He had no weapon, no combat experience—his only chance was to strip away Fan Biao's advantage. Once that blade was gone, it would come down to strength alone… and Jiang had plenty of that.
He'd unlocked over ten hidden meridians. His power equaled one elephant.
"Ha! Very well," Fan Biao laughed. "I'll grant your death wish."
He truly believed Jiang was just a fool. Dropping the weapon wouldn't matter—his realm alone was enough.
He grinned and flung his massive blade off the stage. It hit the ground with a clang, quivering in the dirt.
"Good."
Jiang smiled coldly. His legs coiled, and with a sharp push he launched himself upward like a bolt.
The two main meridians and more than ten hidden ones surged together. One elephant and one ox worth of strength condensed into his right fist as he dove straight at Fan Biao.
"Courting death!" Fan Biao sneered and threw a punch to meet him.
But as the fists neared, his sneer faltered. Pressure crushed down on him—a force equal to his own realm!
He barely had time to react. The power he gathered was hurried, incomplete—eight or nine oxen at best. Jiang's punch was three oxen stronger.
Crack.
The sound of snapping bone echoed. Fan Biao's right arm bent backward grotesquely.
"Ahhh!"
He screamed as agony rippled up his arm, stumbling back several paces before he could steady himself, face pale and drenched in sweat.
"You—you have one elephant's strength!" he gasped, fear finally replacing contempt.
Jiang didn't give him the luxury of recovery. His body blurred forward, fists driving again.
He had no martial techniques, no flashy skills—just raw power. And power was enough.
Fan Biao, still reeling from the break, threw up his left arm to block. Jiang's fist met it squarely, shoving him backward again.
Then came a storm—ten blows in the space of a heartbeat, each one packed with full force.
Fan Biao couldn't defend, couldn't breathe. Faced with that relentless pressure, instinct took over—he stumbled backward, retreating straight off the stage.
Crash!
The moment his body hit the floor below, the arena fell into stunned silence.
For a long beat, no one even breathed.
Fan Biao… had lost.
A Second Heaven cultivator had defeated Fourth Heaven—with strength alone.
And not just strength. Jiang Ruochén had shown the power of one elephant.
The word "waste" suddenly felt absurd.
Up in Box Seven, the nobles sat frozen. Jiang Li, the Sixth Princess, Qin Qi—all wide-eyed.
They had come expecting to watch Jiang's ruin, maybe his death. Instead, they were watching their expectations crumble.
"Second Heaven… one elephant's strength," Jiang Li whispered, shaken. "That means at least ten hidden meridians—minimum."
The Sixth Princess's expression cracked. "How? His so-called trash soul shouldn't even be able to open that many…"
A moment later, shock gave way to jealousy. Why should he, of all people, rise again? Two days after awakening and already in Second Heaven? Over ten meridians? Could his martial soul really be useless?
"Jiang Ruochén is shameless," Qin Qi said suddenly, her tone icy. "He'll stoop to anything for a handful of resources."
Jiang Li turned toward her, frowning. "What do you mean by that, Xiao Qi?"
The others fixed on her as well, sensing there was something deeper behind her words…