Chapter 28: The Duel in the Grand Arena

Two years later...

The Spirit Grand Arena was gearing up for an event that promised to be historic. The presenter, known for his bat-like martial spirit and distinctive rings—one white and one yellow—hovered over the center of the coliseum. With theatrical flair, he activated his white ring, which shimmered brightly, capturing everyone's attention. Sonic waves from his bat ability spread throughout the stadium, carrying his voice to every corner with crystalline clarity.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" he exclaimed with a voice resonating with the excitement of the moment. "The battle about to commence is one for the annals of history! Hei Lian, the soul master of attack whose strength is as unyielding as the night, will face off against Gangtie Zhi Ying, the soul master of speed whose agility rivals that of the wind itself. Both stand on the brink of glory, with ten consecutive victories under their belts, and only one separates them from the coveted silver medal. Is this not the prelude to a legend?"

The audience's response was immediate and deafening. Anticipation hung thick in the air, and the stands vibrated with the energy of the spectators. Fans rose from their seats, waving flags and banners adorned with the names of the competitors.

"Hei Lian is the embodiment of victory! Nothing can stop him!" proclaimed a passionate supporter, his red shirt a banner in the crowd.

"Don't count out Gangtie Zhi Ying! His speed is his shield and his sword!" countered a voice from afar, a blue scarf waving like a challenge flag.

"This duel will be remembered for generations!" exclaimed a young man, his eyes reflecting the sparkle of stars in excitement.

"The silver medal is at stake, and the tension is as palpable as the breeze before a storm!" remarked another spectator, his smile as wide as the horizon.

The buzz of the crowd crescendoed into a wave of anticipation. Refreshment and snack vendors wove through the crowd, their voices joining the chorus of excitement.

"For Hei Lian!" "For Gangtie Zhi Ying!" Chants intertwined, forming a hymn of fervor and competition.

The presenter, still suspended in the air, allowed a smile of satisfaction to adorn his face. "Prepare yourselves to witness a showdown that will be etched in everyone's memory! Let the battle commence!"

And with that signal, the crowd erupted into thunderous applause as the two gladiators made their triumphant entrance into the arena.

The Spirit Grand Arena had become a cauldron of anticipation. At its center, two combatants stood face to face, ready for the impending duel. One, draped in a black robe that fell like a shadow over his skin, wore a mask concealing his face, leaving only his eyes exposed—gleaming with determination. At his side hung a sword whose design spoke of imminent danger, poised to be unsheathed. His stature was unremarkable, but the energy emanating from his figure was enough to fill the arena.

In contrast, his opponent, a middle-aged man with a commanding presence, stood with the assurance borne of years of experience. His body, marked by defined muscles and a mane that billowed with every movement, was a living testament to battles fought and won. His eyes, fixed on his adversary, exuded a mixture of fierceness and respect.

Both positioned themselves at the center of the platform, while the presenter, held aloft by his bat martial spirit, announced with resonant voice the beginning of the confrontation. "Spirits out!" His command reverberated throughout the stadium.

The competitors responded instantly, releasing their martial spirits with a synchronization that spoke of their arena experience. The masked man revealed a yellow ring that shimmered around his feet, a symbol of his power and skill. The middle-aged man, in turn, displayed two rings, one of them sparkling with white flashes. Behind him, the silhouette of a tiger materialized, its roar filling the space with a promise of indomitable strength.

"Gangtie Zhi Ying, Soul Master level 27," introduced the middle-aged man, his voice projecting a confidence earned through countless victories.

"Hei Lian, level 20," replied the masked man, his tone serene yet charged with a clear intent: not to underestimate his opponent.

The presenter, with theatrical movements and a voice resonating with emotion, initiated the countdown. "Let the battle commence in 3, 2, 1... go!"

At the instant the final number was spoken, Hei Lian drew his sword with a speed that defied the human eye, while Gangtie Zhi Ying invoked his martial spirit with a powerful roar. "Possession!" he exclaimed, and the spectral tiger behind him fused with his being, endowing him with feline attributes that transformed his appearance and sharpened his senses.

Gangtie Zhi Ying, now with the agility of his tiger spirit, was poised to launch into combat, but Hei Lian, with a cunning glint in his eyes, activated his ring. Dark energy emanated from it, paralyzing Gangtie Zhi Ying in place. To those nearby, it seemed as though Gangtie Zhi Ying's eyes trembled, his vital glow slowly fading away, as if being dragged into an abyss of shadows.

The impatient and emotional audience began to boo, urging Gangtie Zhi Ying to react. The voices of the crowd rose in a crescendo of desperation and personal stakes:

"Move, Gangtie Zhi Ying!"

"I've bet everything I have—if you don't defeat Hei Lian, I'll come after you myself!"

"Don't fail us at this critical moment!"

Taking advantage of his opponent's distraction, Hei Lian moved with surgical precision. His sword traced a devastating arc, cutting Gangtie Zhi Ying's tendons in an attack that was both elegant and deadly. With the same grace he displayed in his attack, Hei Lian sheathed his weapon, and Gangtie Zhi Ying collapsed, his blood staining the sand.

The commentator, recapturing everyone's attention, proclaimed with a mixture of astonishment and respect: "Congratulations to Hei Lian for securing his eleventh consecutive victory and the silver medal!" He approached Hei Lian, raising his arm in a triumphant gesture.

With a calm that contrasted with the recent violence, Hei Lian left the arena. Almost immediately, the medical team appeared, placing Gangtie Zhi Ying on a stretcher and swiftly escorting him for medical attention.

After the roar of victory and the echo of applause still ringing in his ears, Hei Lian retreated to the sanctuary of his dressing room, gently closing the door behind him. The room was bathed in a soft light that barely touched the figure of a companion, whose crimson lips stood out in the dimness. Hei Lian slumped into a chair, releasing a sigh that carried the weight of the just-ended battle. With a tired gesture, he removed the mask that concealed his identity, revealing the face of Xue Sha, whose eyes closed momentarily, allowing calm to replace adrenaline.

"Any trouble with the gang?" Xue Sha inquired, his voice still tinged with the intensity of the match.

The bodyguard, a statue of vigilance, responded calmly, "Nothing we can't handle, Young Master. Minor issues on their way to resolution."

Satisfied, Xue Sha opened his eyes, now reflecting a calculating gleam. "Is everything prepared for our journey to Sunset Forest?"

"As you ordered, Young Master. We can depart whenever you wish," assured the bodyguard, his posture relaxing slightly into the routine of his duties.

"Today, after visiting the sect," Xue Sha determined, his decision slicing through the air with the same precision as his sword in the arena.

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation. Xue Sha, as swift as a feline, donned his mask once more and asked cautiously, "Who is it?"

"Representatives from the Spirit Grand Arena committee, here to deliver your medal," announced a formal voice from the other side.

"Come in," granted Xue Sha, ensuring the mask was in place.

The door opened to admit a committee emissary, holding a wooden box with solemnity. He approached and presented the box to Xue Sha, saying respectfully, "Your medal, Sir."

Xue Sha opened the box delicately, and the silver medal gleamed with the promise of legends yet to be written. He took it, feeling the cold metal between his fingers, and murmured, "A worthy reward."

After contemplating the medal for a moment longer, he returned it to its box and made it disappear into his ring with a discreet gesture. The emissary withdrew with a bow, leaving Xue Sha in the company of his silence and thoughts.