Pin Sujin smashed into the arena floor with a force that cracked the stone, pushing himself up immediately, blood dripping from his forearm. He didn't waste breath swearing—he had already realized the truth.
The Crow wasn't an opponent.
She was a calamity wearing a mask.
Her steps were soundless as she advanced, her presence like a shadow stretched too far from its body. No qi flared, no flames rose, no lightning cracked around her. She didn't need theatrics. Her existence alone was enough to suffocate the air.
Zhao Yuan, still trembling from Lin Xue's beating, forced himself upright. He staggered forward, grabbing onto the wall for support as blood trickled down his chin.
"Pin… Sujin…" he managed between breaths. "We… we have to fight together."
Pin Sujin didn't argue.He wasn't arrogant, not when real death stood in front of them.
"She's after us both," he muttered. "And she won't stop."
Zhao Yuan steadied himself beside him. For the first time in his life, Zhao Yuan felt no pride, no certainty, no superiority. His sharp technique, his precise movements—none of that mattered now. This was not a duel.
This was survival.
The Crow glanced at them, tilting her head slowly, almost curiously.
"So the prey joins hands? How… quaint."
Her voice was soft, almost melodic, but every syllable carried a weight that made their bones tense.
Zhao Yuan launched first, because he had no other choice. His strikes were still brutally fast, still sharp, still precise—but the Crow slipped between them like smoke dissolving through fingers. One moment she was in front of him, the next she stood behind Pin Sujin.
Pin Sujin reacted with a palm strike that could crush a boulder. It passed straight through the air where she'd been just a heartbeat earlier.
Her hand landed lightly on his shoulder.
Pin Sujin froze.
A pressure like a mountain pressed down on him—not brute force, but something colder, deeper, something that crushed will before it crushed bone. His knees bent involuntarily. He roared and pushed back, qi shaking the ground.
For a moment, he broke free.But it cost him—blood burst from his nose and mouth.
The Crow didn't even look impressed.
She drifted toward Zhao Yuan next. He moved sideways, trying to use his footwork to slip behind her, to get a clean angle—but the moment he thought he saw an opening—
Her gaze fell on him.
And he felt it.
That same oppressive, suffocating pressure.
Cold.
Sharp.
Unavoidable.
It paralyzed him for half a second, just half, but that was enough for the Crow to reach him and press two fingers lightly against his solar plexus.
Zhao Yuan's entire body locked up.
Pain exploded through his core.
He dropped to one knee, coughing blood violently.
This aura… this pressure… the way she moved, the way her presence wrapped around the arena like a crushing tide—
It reminded them both of someone.
Too familiar.
Too overwhelming.
Pin Sujin blinked away dizziness, his heart pounding with animal fear.
"This feeling…" he muttered. "It's like… Qiang Hao."
Zhao Yuan's eyes widened.
Yes.
That was it.
The Crow's presence, her efficiency, her detachment, her merciless superiority—it echoed the aura of the strongest cultivator in the era.
Not equal.But familiar.A lesser reflection of that absolute, impossible strength.
The realization froze their blood.
If Qiang Hao was a mountain, this woman was a cliff carved from its side.
Pin Sujin spat blood and surged forward anyway, refusing to kneel. Zhao Yuan pushed himself up beside him. They didn't coordinate perfectly—they didn't have the rhythm of Lin Xue and Zhao Ming—but they threw everything they had.
It didn't matter.
The Crow danced between them.
A touch to Pin Sujin's elbow—his arm went numb.A tap to Zhao Yuan's ribs—his technique collapsed.A step, a shift, a blur—
She dismantled them with the casual cruelty of someone stepping through rain.
"You struggle well," she said softly. "But you cannot change your fate."
Her hand lifted, shadowed in black qi so thin it was almost invisible.
Pin Sujin understood then.
She wasn't here to injure.
She was here to end.
He roared, throwing his entire body forward for one last strike.
Zhao Yuan followed with a desperate shout, veins bulging, qi erupting wildly.
And the Crow simply raised her other hand—
unhurried, uninterested—
as if swatting away insects that buzzed too loudly.
And in the center of the arena, Zhao Ming and Lin Xue—locked in battle with the Owl—felt an explosion of killing intent that made even their attacker pause.
The Hunt was consuming everything.
And the Crow had just begun.