Dai Chengfeng's group took the Spirit Hall's exclusive passage, flanked by guards clearing the way. Commoners could only watch from afar, erupting in cheers.
"Holy Son! You must win!"
"Saintess Hu Liena!"
"Long live the Holy Son!"
The cries rose and fell like waves. Dai Chengfeng smiled and waved to the crowd, drawing even louder roars.
Ning Rongrong walked beside him, murmuring softly, "Chengfeng, look—everyone supports you."
Dai Chengfeng chuckled. "Only because of Teacher."
Though in the original timeline Bibi Dong had been obsessively vengeful, her rule was undeniably kinder to commoners than either of the two great empires or any other power. That much was certain.
Meanwhile, Tang San's group received a far quieter reception on their route.
Though crowds gathered, most were merely spectators; few genuinely cheered for them.
"That's Shrek's genius Tang San? He's stunningly handsome!"
"The golden-haired guy behind him—isn't that Dai Mubai, former Crown Prince of Xing Luo? I heard he and the Holy Son are blood brothers?"
"Today's going to be a show—brothers clashing, tsk tsk…"
"The odds at the betting houses? Holy Son's side is 1.5-to-1; Shrek's at 2.5-to-1. Clearly, they're backing the Holy Son!"
The whispers reached Dai Mubai's ears, darkening his expression further.
He was a prince of Xing Luo—and believed himself the superior brother, destined for glory. Now, reduced to an underdog in the public eye? The humiliation nearly drove him mad.
Tang San remained impassive, as if deaf to it all.
He knew fame was earned through strength.
Today, defeating Dai Chengfeng would turn every doubt into praise.
Yu Xiaogang watched the crowd, voice low: "Xiao San, today's match allows no loss—only victory."
"I know, Master." Tang San nodded, eyes flashing with resolve.
Both teams finally arrived at the arena.
Outside, the crowd was a sea of bodies—packed shoulder to shoulder.
Hype for this duel had built for half a month: the Spirit Hall's Holy Son versus Shrek's prodigy, brothers pitted against each other. Every element guaranteed spectacle.
Scalped tickets sold for astronomical prices—yet demand still outstripped supply.
Those without tickets crammed outside, straining to see the massive soul-guided screens, desperate for a glimpse.
At the entrance, the two groups met unexpectedly.
The air froze.
Dai Chengfeng and Tang San locked eyes—no sparks, yet invisible pressure crackled between them.
Both smiled, but only they understood the blades hidden beneath those smiles.
Dai Mubai glared at Dai Chengfeng, eyes burning with fury. His gaze swept over the four women behind him, lingering on Zhu Zhuqing—his knuckles whitening with rage.
Zhu Zhuqing's face stayed blank, but her trembling fingers betrayed her turmoil.
Ning Rongrong instinctively edged closer to Dai Chengfeng; Hu Liena stepped half a pace forward, subtly shielding him.
Xiao Wu, though not competing, widened her eyes, watching the opposition warily.
"Brother Dai," Tang San spoke first, voice calm.
"Brother Tang," Dai Chengfeng replied with a smile.
Yu Xiaogang stepped between them. "The match begins soon. Let's enter."
Dai Chengfeng nodded silently.
Yu Xiaogang gave him one last piercing look before leading his team inside.
Watching them go, Dai Chengfeng's smile faded.
In the waiting room, staff awaited them.
A red-robed archbishop bowed respectfully as they entered. "Holy Son, ladies—the match begins in half an hour. Here are today's rules for your review."
Dai Chengfeng took the scroll and unrolled it.
The rules mirrored standard dueling—but with key additions: all soul skills and soul-guided artifacts permitted; flight allowed up to thirty meters; victory required total incapacitation or surrender, with strict bans on intentional maiming or killing—violators would face severe punishment.
Time ticked by. The mood in the room stayed light.
"Contestants, please prepare to enter!"
A staff member's voice echoed outside.
Dai Chengfeng took a deep breath and stood.
Sunlight streamed through the window, gilding his silhouette. He looked around, then extended his hand.
Hu Liena placed hers atop his. Zhu Zhuqing and Ning Rongrong followed. Xiao Wu playfully added hers last.
"Victory!"
Their voices rang through the room.
The door opened—blinding light flooded in.
Beyond the tunnel lay the colossal arena, tens of thousands roaring. Dai Chengfeng stepped forward into the glare.
Behind him, his companions followed close.
At the opposite end, Tang San emerged from his waiting room.
His blue robes fluttered in the wind. No excitement, no tension—only bottomless calm in his eyes.
"Ready, Xiao San?" Yu Xiaogang asked.
Tang San nodded, gaze fixed on the arena's center.
There, Dai Chengfeng already stood—silver-white battle robes blazing in the sun.
"Master," Tang San said softly but firmly, "I will win this fight."
From both tunnels, the two teams advanced as the crowd's thunderous cheers shook the earth.
In the VIP box, Bibi Dong stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, overlooking the scene below.
She wore no papal regalia today—only a simple purple gown, hair loose, radiating quiet grace over authority.
"Your Holiness, the match begins shortly," an archbishop reported.
Bibi Dong didn't turn. "Mm."
Her eyes pierced through the crowd, landing on that tall figure.
Dai Chengfeng led the way, sunlight crowning him in gold—like a deity descending.
Her hand tightened slightly.
High above, in an unassuming corner, Empress Zhu Hongxiu sat quietly.
Eyes closed, she prayed in silence.
Soon, the referee—a Soul Douluo-level expert specially summoned for this match—stepped to the center.
"Contestants, take your positions!"
Dai Chengfeng and Tang San stepped forward, halting twenty meters apart.
"The match ends when one side is fully incapacitated or concedes. Intentional maiming or killing is strictly forbidden—violators will be severely punished. Do you understand?"
"Understood!" both replied.
The referee surveyed the arena, drew a deep breath, and raised his right hand.
"I now declare—"
"The match begins!"
The moment his words fell, tension snapped taut across the arena.
The crowd's roar seemed muted by an invisible barrier—all eyes fixed on the eight figures below.
Tang San didn't move immediately. He stepped forward, voice clear yet edged with steel:
"Dai Chengfeng, today I'll make you understand: true strength isn't born of status or lineage—it's forged through one's own effort and power."
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