The sword energy spanned three hundred meters and teemed with merciless killing intent. Zhao Tiefeng also wielded a ninth-rank weapon—a sword he’d refined completely and become one with. Even with his cultivation suppressed to the nascent spirit realm, he could still tap the sword’s full power.

Lu Yun’s Yu Talismans would surely never hold; the crowd could already see the two halves of his body on the arena floor. Expression dark, Qing Han balled his hands into fists, his palms damp with cold sweat.

“You will not harm the master!” a voice yelled. One of the armored warriors moved swiftly to defend Lu Yun with a giant shield. At that moment, it seemed like the other thirty-five warriors were...