Chapter 521 - Challenging Whale King Arlington

The final matches of the tournament did not take place inside the hall, nor inside East Sea City. Instead, it was held in the outskirts, on a secluded, level grassland flanked by a maple grove on the left and a lake on the right.

The place was spacious, remote, and sparsely populated, making it ideal as a battlefield for top-tier combat artists and those above.

The Eastern Covert Martial Arts community of the Hongli Empire had inspected the grounds in advance and chosen viewing spots. A low hill nearby served that purpose; spectators of the tournament could watch from there, looking down on the field.

It was ten o'clock in the morning, and golden sunlight pierced the white clouds, accenting the blue of the sky and the emerald of the grass. A light breeze swept over the lake and brushed away the heat from people's faces.

Contestants and onlookers from many sects and lands clustered together at the edge of the hill. From the sky, they looked like densely packed sardines. Silhouettes shifted about as at least several hundred had come to witness this final bout.

Some spectators were swathed in white bandages, and others were even carried on stretchers by their fellow disciples. The last match of the tournament symbolized the clash of the highest paths between two great Covert Martial Arts communities.

Put plainly, it was a contest to see whether the Hongli Empire or the United States of Yana possessed the superior Covert Martial Arts. How many experts could step into the fray, and who would have the last laugh, becoming the foremost public figure of the era's two martial worlds?

It was only two countries because the Blue Star Empire lay far from the Northern and Southern Reef Continent. Ships of the current era were slow, and maritime trade had yet to flourish. Therefore, the Blue Star Empire had sent only a handful of sects.

Many illustrious great sects, having weighed the journey, chose not to attend. Small nations around the world, though housing their own Covert Martial Arts lineages, were small in numbers and feeble, so they posed little threat to the two big powers. Hence the tournament, in essence, was a duel between the Hongli Empire and the United States of Yana.

So far, they were neck and neck. Originally, as host, the Hongli Empire had been collectively targeted by foreign contestants led by the United States of Yana. Despite holding the advantage of home turf and popular sentiment, they were forced onto the back foot. Their fatality rate in the arena was the highest amongst all nations, a grievous loss of face.

Yet two or three days earlier, the situation shifted subtly during the combat artist‑level events. A hidden sect named Golem Sect had burst onto the tournament scene like a dark horse. The sect had four masters, each ferocious in strength and brutal in style. They wielded bizarre and lethal techniques.

Their matches three days ago had caused the deaths of two combat artist elders and the grievous injuries of two more. It had harshly crushed the swaggering arrogance of the foreign entrants headed by the United States of Yana.

In the following two days of bouts, they repeatedly wounded opponents with fierce momentum. Though forewarned foes avoided further deaths, the Golem Sect still displayed its flair and earned renown.

On the United States of Yana's side, only a few long‑famed, crafty veteran combat artists could resist those four without being utterly suppressed.

After three days, martial sects from every nation had memorized the name Golem Sect and formed a clear impression.

Mysterious, ruthless, powerful...

Of course, those were merely side effects.

Cassius had entered the four into the tournament to keep refining the Southern Dipper Fist Techniques, drawing nourishment and experience through live combat. Practice proved that real fights always exposed problems fastest; merits and flaws showed at a glance.

Cassius had optimized the four Southern Dipper styles bit by bit through observing their battles. Odo's Illusory Moon Fist had already been inscribed into the Southern Dipper Covert Martial Inheritance.

Hermit's Fire Stone Fist was also mostly compiled and would soon be complete. Cassius had poured his recent energy wholly into refinement, so much so that he had only glanced at the Soul-Blood Covert Box left by the first General King before setting it aside.

The casket was undeniably an evil object, killing to draw blood and thereby gaining power. It inevitably rendered one's strength jumbled and their will impure. Though it could boost might dramatically in the short term, it fell to an inferior path in the long run. One might well become stuck at a bottleneck for life, unable to advance an inch. Higher realms required power of pristine purity.

And how could one purify a vast yet muddled power besides dispersing and starting over?

That was why Cassius, years ago, after acquiring the Kupan Demon Box and learning the Blood‑Spirit Society meant to squeeze power from the strong with that box, chose not to use it. The method relied too heavily on external factors and would exact a heavy price later.

Cassius's own Golem Covert Martial life vibration energy was far better, since it took only a being's core and coveted none of the vast superficial power. Its aim was to evolve one's own life magnetic field.

He found the Soul-Blood Covert Box rather resembled the Kupan Demon Box, the original form of the Book of the Devil. Perhaps they hailed from the same era...

***

At half past ten at the green plains, the area of the tournament.

The final stage, sparring among top-tier combat artists, commenced.

Those of this level were the pillars of every sect. They were either heads of first‑rate sects, hidden masters, or venerable elders of deep heritage. They had established their fame for a decade or two; spectators needed no introduction and could chat fluently about each. Their talk naturally centered on stories of the contenders, the bloody trails of fists and feet until their names shook the world.

When these protagonists appeared in turn, striding onto the field, the most anticipated final stage of the tournament began.

"Hongli Empire, Winged Serpent Fist, Joaquin."

"United States of Yana, Absolute Slash Sect, Barren."

As the announcer's words fell, an elder emerged from each camp. The aged, white-haired elder on Hongli's side wore gray robes; however, the arms hanging from his shoulders were immensely powerful, like iron‑cast pillars. Ten thick fingers bore protruding knuckles, coarse skin, and fiercely throbbing veins.

No one doubted that a single punch from this elder could smash a man to pieces, nor did anyone wish to try.

On the other side, Barren, head of Absolute Slash Sect, strode forward. He was a burly elder fully two meters tall, spine erect like a great dragon. He carried an exaggerated horse‑cleaving blade whose surface swirled with black‑and‑white spiral patterns. It seemed to be forged by special methods into a razor‑sharp weapon.

The two figures drew nearer on the grassland. Their stride looked slow to the eye yet was in truth astonishingly swift. They crossed over ten meters with each step, as though shrinking the earth.

Within a few breaths, they were only five meters apart. They didn’t bother with courtesies as they began straightaway!

Their gazes collided, igniting like gunpowder.

Zing!

The horse‑cleaver hissed from its sheath, its metallic roar rattling eardrums. Barren lunged forward, body aligned perpendicular to the long blade. The cleaver sliced through the air in a deadly arc, letting out a powerful ripping roar.

Ding.

A crescent white arc flashed across the grass.

"It has been a long time since I moved my hands..." Joaquin murmured, yet he turned into a black afterimage and vanished in a bounding blur. Only a hazy shadow remained, split from crown to waist by Barren's cleaver.

A second later, Joaquin somehow appeared behind Barren. His twin hands hissed like serpents, and an illusion of a black winged giant snake reared, baring venomous fangs. Compressed like a spring, it burst forth!

Whiz!!!

A punch shot forth like a meteor, shattering the air. Its target was clearly Barren's back. However, Barren had predicted it; he swung back, concentrating all his Qi into one point. As the blade carved the air, a vast white tail‑flame of Qi trailed behind.

Clang!

Fist and cleaver met, humming loudly. A blast of wind rolled outward, flattening the surrounding grass into a circular ring.

"What a heavy blade!" Joaquin's feet sank deep into the soil, and blood oozed from the fist he had thrown.

Evidently the blade had sliced his flesh, causing injury.

"What a savage fist..." Barren looked at his right hand that tingled with pain. It was slightly split, as a drop of blood fell.

"Again!!!" Both roared, and the majestic Qi within their frames erupted violently.

Joaquin spread his arms, tapped his toes, and glided at high speed just above the ground. He truly seemed a black‑winged serpent riding the wind in human form.

Barren was encircled by rings of black after‑images yet remained utterly composed, like a mountain peak. His cleaver swung now and then, releasing a slash winding dozens of meters. It ploughed deep furrows through the once pristine grassland.

On the distant hill, spectators stared without blinking. A full‑power duel between top-tier combat artists was a once‑in‑a‑lifetime sight. Even if they gleaned nothing from it, just feasting their eyes on such a scene was satisfaction enough. They might never again have this chance in their lives.

The ferocity of the battle mounted as the two shadows weaved ever faster. Waves of aftershocks tumbled through the air, whipping spectators' hair and clothes.

Many sighed inwardly that they seemed unworthy even to withstand the aftershocks. They were not even fodder in battles of this tier.

Boom!

Zing!

Finally, their last clash ended and both landed on the ground. Their garments were torn with blood streaming down. Joaquin bore three outrageous gashes across his shoulder and chest, nearly cleaving him in two.

Barren fared no better; a pitch‑black fist‑mark marred his heart, another showing through his back with blood seeping from it.

They stood in silence until Barren finally spat a mouthful of blood. He staggered and dropped to one knee, using his cleaver to prop himself up.

"Hongli Empire, Winged Serpent Fist, Joaquin. Victory!"

In the final stage of the tournament, Hongli Empire had opened with a win.

However, the battles to follow would not be so easy. From morning until one in the afternoon, the top-tier combat artists' destructive power ruined over half the grassland. One by one, rarely seen combat giants entered, some winning, some losing.

Overall, the Hongli Empire and the United States of Yana split the record evenly. The two powers locked horns in a fierce battle.

Masters and elders of many great sects each mounted the stage. In the camps of both martial realms, three people stayed as silent as statues.

They were the trump cards.

On the United States of Yana's side stood Whale King Arlington. Of course, he would not step up first. As the sole extreme combat artist, his task was simply to stand and await Hongli's challenger.

On Hongli's side, a burly man in a black leather vest and pants, wrists braced with studded cuffs, stared coldly at the field. Seven tiny bulges on his broad chest corresponded to the seven stars in the sky.

He was Seven Evil Stars Jed, once a disciple to a fist master.

Beside him stood another elder with snow‑white hair. His body was gaunt, with atrophied muscles and arms like ribs. Wrinkles crisscrossed his face like serpent scales. He stood barely 1.7 meters, looking every bit like a frail, slow elder. He was Blazing Light Fist Victor from Star Ring Fist.

Both men's strength had reached the peak of top-tier combat artists, close to extreme combat artists. Only they were qualified to contend with Whale King Arlington.

At 1:30 p.m. after a brief half‑hour rest, the tournament entered its very last act.

The various champions would challenge Whale King Arlington!

Victor stepped forward from the Hongli ranks. His gait was slow, back hunched, looking no different from an ordinary old man. However, with each step, his aura became denser and mightier as his body straightened. The light in his eyes blazed ever brighter.

Soon every footfall of Victor's set the ground booming. The earth shook, numbing the soles of many spectators.

Thud!

As his skinny foot stomped, the ground sank and cracks traveled outward.

Victor raised his head to lock eyes with the black‑clad man from Yana's side. His voice rolled like a great bell, making eardrums ring. "Whale King Arlington... I dare you to come out and battle me..."

The 1.9‑meter‑tall man in black parted the crowd and strode forth. His face was calm, his bearing utterly relaxed. It looked as if the fight were merely a stroll to ease his mind.

Whale King Arlington swept his gaze over the small‑framed Victor, then at Jed in Hongli's camp. He burst into laughter. "Is Hongli Empire out of people? Sending a dying old man? Where's the other one? Come together, so none can say I bullied a declining elder..."

"I permit you—both of you—come at once! Come on!"