The silence after Li Bo's defeat was so deep, one could hear the faint whistle of the wind sweeping through the arena stands.
Li Bo's body lay groaning in a crater twenty feet deep, his bronze aura sputtering like a broken lantern.
And in the center, Kent stood in his usual posture—hands behind his back, a faint smirk playing on his lips, as if he were on a stroll in a morning market rather than inside the most intense challenge ring in the Immortal World.
Across from him, four disciples circled like wolves.
Yi Zhao, his fire spear now coated in a red-gold aura.
Mu Yang, her expression grim, fan trembling with wind talismans.
Wu Shen, covered in a granite-like skin, veins glowing with mountain qi.
Zi Han, blades whistling at her side, twin swords blazing with sun-reflected fury.
Each one of them was a monster in their own right—young elites trained by the greatest sects of the immortal realm. They were pride, fury, legacy, and ambition wrapped in deadly forms.
And Kent?
