173: Chapter 173 Semifinals

The morning mist of the Shattered Archipelago was thick with the scent of blood. Murong Wu's frozen arena had been cordoned off, and within the transparent ice, the figure of her throwing the spear had become a thorn in the hearts of the Dragon Country's audience that was hard to put into words.

Zhang Wen stood at the edge of the semifinal arena. The Lightning Radiance of the sky-splitting startling thunder spear was even more intense than yesterday, its tip pointed directly at Andrei—this frost giant who had just crawled back from the brink of death. His body was much more hunched than yesterday, and although the wound on his chest was sealed by spiritual power, it was still faintly seeping blood.

"You can forfeit," Zhang Wen's voice was as cold as ice.

Andrei twitched the corner of his mouth, revealing a bloody smile. "A warrior of the Polar Bear would rather die on the arena than admit defeat."

When he raised his hand, his frost Domain only expanded halfway before trembling violently; clearly, the chest wound made it difficult for him to exert his full power.

The moment the whistle blew, Zhang Wen moved.

With no flashy Moves, the sky-splitting startling thunder spear turned into a bolt of purple-gold lightning, piercing straight toward Andrei's old chest wound.

Andrei roared and raised his fist to block. At the instant the ice fist collided with the spear tip, the Lightning Radiance surged into his wound like a tide, and the exploding electrical current caused his entire body to twitch violently.

"Your ice can no longer protect you." Zhang Wen's spear tip advanced another three inches, leaving only an inch from the heart.

Andrei's pupils dilated, his massive body swayed, and he finally crashed to the ground.

As the referee announced the result, he looked at Zhang Wen's retreating figure with a mix of resentment and helplessness.

Zhang Wen did not look back, but as he retracted his spear, a few drops of hot liquid fell amidst the Lightning Radiance—no one knew if it was sweat or something else.

This duel was seen by everyone as a preview of the finals—though no one wanted to say it out loud, the loser might never again have the chance to step onto the final stage.

The Space King of the Eagle Country, twenty-five-year-old Arthur, faced off against the once-in-a-century dark horse of the Roman Legion, Caesar, who had fought his way from the underground black market boxing matches all the way to the main tournament.

The arena's spiritual power barrier had been reinforced with three layers before the match. The transparent wall shimmered with a faint honeycomb-like ripple under the midday sun. Even the referee immediately retreated a hundred meters after blowing the whistle—Space-type battles had aftershocks enough to grind ordinary experts into minced meat.

Arthur was in no hurry to strike.

He toyed with the star realm battle axe in his hand. The silver light on the blade was not the cold glow of metal, but the natural flowing color of Spatial Rifts—it was the "Spatial Fault" he had condensed after tempering his own spiritual power into the axe for three years.

With every movement, the air around the axe blade silently peeled away and reorganized, as if reality itself was being casually torn apart and stitched back together by him.

"No matter how hard your fists are, they cannot break space."

Arthur's voice wasn't loud, yet it clearly penetrated the barrier and reached Caesar's ears.

A faint smile played on his lips, containing no contempt, only a certainty as if stating a fact. "The last person who thought so has already become fragments in the Spatial Turbulence."

Caesar said nothing.

He was merely cracking his knuckles, the popping sound of his joints exceptionally clear in the silent arena.

Those fists were a size larger than an average person's. The layers of calluses on the back of his fingers were the marks left by over a decade of underground black boxing—no spiritual power, no weapons, only flesh and bone.

Then, the ground beneath his feet suddenly cracked.

It wasn't a shockwave from a spiritual power explosion, but pure muscular strength. Caesar took a deep breath, his shoulder blades pulled back, and the muscles on his back bulged and writhed like living things, stretching his coarse cloth battle robe taut.

Cracks spread from under his feet in all directions. Pebbles jumped and fell, then fell and jumped again amidst the tremors.

This man had actually cast off all spiritual power restraints before the match.

For three years, everyone knew Caesar was a rare "Body Cultivator" who only used spiritual power to strengthen his Physical Body rather than projecting it.

But no one expected him to dare completely abandon his spiritual power shield in front of the Space King—he intended to use his pure Physical Body to forcibly clash with the Law of space.

Before the whistle had even finished sounding, Arthur had already disappeared from his spot.

It wasn't that he was fast; he had truly disappeared. Only a mass of distorted silver-gray light and shadow remained where he had stood, and then, those shadows exploded around Caesar.

Spatial Rift.

One, two, ten, a hundred.

Silver-gray rifts lunged from the Void Realm like venomous snakes, winding and slithering. Everywhere they passed, even the air was sliced in two.

The protective shield of the spectator stands rippled; it was the barrier spontaneously neutralizing the overflowing spatial fluctuations. Without any protection, this strike would have been enough to shred the audience seats a hundred meters away into dust.

Caesar did not retreat.

He didn't even dodge.

Both fists struck out simultaneously, the left fist booming toward the rift in front of him, and the right fist smashing into the turbulence on his flank.

The sound of the collision between fists and space wasn't an ordinary thud, but a strange "Bang—Sizzle—" sound, as if flesh and blood had smashed into a high-speed spinning saw blade.

Blood splattered.

Several deep, bone-deep gashes instantly opened on Caesar's fists. Before the blood could hit the ground, it was torn into a bloody mist by the suction of the rifts.

But he didn't stop. A second punch, a third, a tenth—every punch carried an Aura that could crumble mountains and shatter rocks, ruthlessly smashing against those silver-gray edges.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The dull thuds made many people in the stands cover their ears.

Caesar's entire arm was already soaked in blood, and white bone could even be seen at his knuckles. Yet he fought harder and faster. Under his frenzied fist momentum, those Spatial Rifts that were supposed to devour everything actually showed a strange stagnation—as if intimidated by his Aura, as if space itself was hesitating.

"Madman!" Arthur's voice came from all directions, carrying a hint of subtle shock and anger.

His figure flickered among the rifts, appearing now in front of Caesar's left, then behind his right, every appearance accompanied by a slash of the star realm battle axe.

That Spatial Blade finally slashed out. It wasn't a probe, but a killing Move aimed directly at Caesar's throat—the silver light was like a stream of silk, slicing the air in its path in half and forming a visible vacuum zone.

Caesar ducked his head sharply.

The battle axe flew past, grazing his scalp. The Spatial Turbulence sliced off half of his left ear, and blood gushed from the root of the ear, instantly staining half of his face red.

But he didn't even flinch—using the momentum of his duck, he exerted power through his waist and back, and his right fist boomed out like a cannonball, aiming straight for Arthur's side.

There, it was the weakest point when the Law of space was in operation.

Arthur's pupils suddenly constricted.

He wanted to dodge, but it was too late.