continue?
Should we continue?
He killed two people, both of whom were considered top-notch in the hellish killing field.
One was a direct and swift defeat, the other was an impressionistic and overwhelming crushing victory.
Throughout the entire process, he didn't even move a step.
Now, he asks, "Continue?"
For the first time, the tens of thousands of degenerates in the stands felt speechless.
The words they used to describe madness, brutality, and bloodlust seemed utterly inadequate at this moment. They couldn't find a single suitable word to describe the white-clad youth before them.
grim Reaper?
demon?
No, those names all carry an understandable evil and chaos.
The person in front of me was clean, calm, and even indifferent.
His killings didn't seem like an act of venting or seeking pleasure; it was more like he was simply completing an ordinary, mundane daily task.
Like brushing dust off your shoulders.
This incomprehensible calm is the deepest fear.
This time, no one dared to speak loudly anymore, and even the whispers disappeared.
The entire hellish killing field was so quiet that you could hear each other's heavy breathing and frantic heartbeats.
Finally, the host's figure, which had been hovering in mid-air like a ghost, slowly drifted down a little.
His face, shrouded in black robes, turned toward Ning Liu, and a voice, amplified by a megaphone, emanated from beneath the hollow hood.
"The challenger is dead. The victor is 9527."
"If no new challenger enters the arena within ten breaths, 9527 will win this match."
The host's voice broke the deadlock and delivered an ultimatum to everyone.
Ten breaths.
Everyone's gaze unconsciously swept over the truly powerful figures in the front row of the stands.
Those monsters who had won sixty, seventy, or even eighty games or more were now mostly standing with their arms crossed, each with a different expression.
Some looked solemn, others were quite interested, but none of them seemed inclined to leave immediately.
"ten."
As the host began the countdown, each number struck like a heavy drumbeat in everyone's hearts.
"Nine."
"eight."
Time passed, and only that tall, white-clad figure remained in the arena.
He didn't even look around; he simply lowered his head and gently wiped the blade of the Asura Demon Sword with a section of his sleeve.
Not a single drop of blood was left on it.
"seven."
"six."
Some of the degenerates have begun to feel anxious.
They came here to watch the killing, not to watch a newcomer dominate the scene.
But they only dared to be anxious in their hearts; no one dared to utter a sound.
"five."
"Four."
Just when everyone thought that this heart-wrenching battle would end with no one daring to fight,
"ah--!"
A bloodcurdling scream suddenly rang out from behind the stands.
Immediately afterwards, a figure was thrown down from the stands, which were more than ten meters high, in an extremely rough manner!
The man flew through the air in an arc like a tattered sack, crashing heavily not far from Ning Liu with a cracking sound of bones breaking.
He struggled to get up, but only coughed up a few mouthfuls of blood mixed with pieces of internal organs. One of his legs was twisted at a strange angle, clearly broken before he was thrown down.
"Help...help me..."
He raised his head, his blood-stained face filled with pleading and despair, and looked at Ning Liu.
However, rules are rules.
The host's emotionless voice rang out again:
"A new challenger has emerged. The battle begins."
This scene instantly shattered the deathly silence in the stands.
"Damn it! It was 'Mad Shark' who did it!"
"That trick again! That despicable guy!"
Following the gasp, everyone saw a burly man with a huge, serrated, grotesque curved sword slung over his shoulder, grinning cruelly where the man had just been thrown down.
He clapped his hands, as if cleaning away some non-existent dust.
"It's 'Mad Shark' Zhao Kang! That monster with a 72-game winning streak!"
"I knew it! Whenever he encounters a tough opponent, he likes to send some unlucky guy down to scout ahead first!"
In the corner, the man with the scar on his chin began his "analysis" again, this time with a hint of relief and excitement from surviving a close call:
"Look, this is tactical!"
"Shark's move was brilliant! He's testing us! That kid in white is strong, but after continuous battles, his mental and physical strength will definitely be depleted."
"Moreover, and most importantly, it allows us to observe his attack methods up close!"
“That’s right! The Mad Shark’s ‘Tearing Frenzy’ is something that idiot like Buck can’t compare to. His swordsmanship has both power and speed!”
"No matter how fast that kid in white is, there's always a limit!"
The crowd erupted in discussion once more, their fears overshadowed by renewed anticipation.
If Ning Liu is a mysterious and unpredictable dragon crossing the river, then "Mad Shark" Zhao Kang is a local tyrant who has been operating in this pond for many years.
His infamous reputation and record gave these degenerates a glimmer of hope that "order" still existed.
In the field.
Ning Liu's gaze swept over the man who was barely clinging to life on the ground. There was neither pity nor disgust.
This is hell; there are no innocent people here.
The man seemed to understand his inevitable death. Despair turned into madness. He used his only remaining hand to prop himself up and lunged forward with a roar.
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