33: Chapter 33 You think you're worthy of making me fire a second shot?

Dust and smoke blotted out the sky, debris splashed everywhere, and the shockwave of the explosion overturned the ground for a thirty-meter radius.

Everyone was waiting for the smoke to clear.

Li Zhengyang withdrew his blade and stood firm; a full-force strike from a Half-Step Martial Sect would make even an opponent of the same level lose a layer of skin.

Not to mention it was followed by over thirty other attacks.

Even if a Martial Sect were here, they would be bedridden for half a day after eating that round.

The dust and smoke cleared.

Li Zhengyang stood in place.

The ground beneath his feet was shattered, and the stone slab he stepped on had cracked into a spiderweb pattern. But he hadn't moved. Not even his hair was disheveled.

The dragon gall golden spear was held horizontally before him, and the dark gold patterns in its three blood grooves were glowing.

Qi formed a nearly transparent barrier on the surface of his body, and the residual energy from dozens of attacks was still circulating across the surface of the barrier.

"Is that it?"

Li Zhengyang brushed the dust off his shoulders.

Qi Tian's pupils trembled violently.

His own strike, combined with the joint attack of over thirty people, hadn't even torn the opponent's clothes?

This was impossible.

Unless...

"You are not a Martial Spirit."

Qi Tian's voice changed.

Li Zhengyang didn't answer him and lifted the dragon gall golden spear with one hand.

The 106-jin S-class heavy spear was like a chopstick in his hand.

"You lot just attacked me with one round."

Li Zhengyang held the spear horizontally, its tip pointing at Qi Tian.

"According to the rules, it's my turn."

Blood and Qi surged into the spear shaft.

It was unlike anything everyone had seen before.

The three blood grooves of the dragon gall golden spear lit up simultaneously, and dark golden light erupted from them.

Qi permeated out from the spear shaft, condensing into a rotating vortex at the tip of the spear.

The gravel on the ground was lifted up by the vortex, spinning around the spear tip.

Hum, hum, hum, hum, hum!

A low-frequency trembling sound spread out, and the air density within ten meters doubled instantly.

The few Martial Spirits standing closest felt their knees buckle and nearly knelt down.

Qi Tian gritted his teeth and held on, his broad-bladed battle saber held horizontally before him, his Qi pushed to its limit.

The thirty-plus people behind him also entered a defensive state.

Li Zhengyang didn't give them time to prepare.

Mountain-Splitting Spear Arts.

Sweep.

The spear moved from left to right, tracing a semicircle.

This sweeping motion was very slow, so slow that everyone could see it clearly.

But the Qi wave that surged out with the spear's momentum was so fast that no one could dodge it.

A crescent-shaped dark golden slashing wave was flung from the spear tip, two meters high, covering the entire front of the encirclement.

Qi Tian raised his saber to meet it.

All of his Half-Step Martial Sect blood and Qi condensed on the blade, the thickness of his Qi reaching the limit of his life.

The blade aura and the spear wave collided.

There was no stalemate. Not even for half a second.

Qi Tian's broad-bladed battle saber split from the middle, and the Qi blade aura shattered instantly.

The broken blade flew out and embedded itself in a rock twenty meters away.

The spear wave continued to push forward.

Qi Tian's protective Qi, in front of the spear wave, shattered.

His entire body flew backward, vomiting blood, his back crashing through a simulated rock wall of the Mimicry Battlefield, embedding him deep into the wall as stone debris flew everywhere.

And those people behind Qi Tian? Even worse.

The crescent-shaped spear wave swept across, and the Qi defenses of the dozen or so people in the front row exploded simultaneously.

A 7th-Rank Martial Spirit was struck by the spear wave, and the blood and Qi in their chest surged backward; as they flew out, they spat out broken teeth and blood foam.

A 9th-Rank Martial Spirit fared slightly better and blocked it, but their arms were fractured, their weapon was knocked out of their hands, and they knelt on the ground, unable to get up.

The people in the back row were hit by their companions flying from the front, causing a chain reaction of collisions, and a whole group fell.

One spear strike. Less than a second from start to finish. Thirty-four people, all down.

The wails on the wasteland rose and fell, with broken arms and legs, in every posture imaginable.

The only one standing was Li Zhengyang.

He withdrew his spear and carried it on his shoulder.

The cardboard sign was still stuck in the ground, not having fallen.

[Robbery] [Those who voluntarily hand over their point cards will be spared a beating; those who resist will have to pay their own medical bills.]

In the stands. The stadium of one hundred thousand people was so quiet a pin could be heard dropping.

The audience, who had just been cheering, mocking, and placing bets, were now all struck dumb.

Commander had his mouth open, maintaining this posture for at least ten seconds.

The veteran beside him tugged at his sleeve.

"Old Hu, don't be like this, you look like you've had a stroke."

"One strike." Commander's voice cracked. "One strike and he took them all down."

"Yeah."

"Thirty-four of them."

"Yeah."

"Including a Half-Step Martial Sect."

"Yeah."

Commander turned his head sharply and grabbed the veteran by the collar.

"Is that all you know how to say is 'yeah'?"

Inside the Mimicry Battlefield.

Li Zhengyang walked to the spot where Qi Tian was embedded in the rock wall and reached out to feel his waist.

Point card, taken. Storage bag, removed.

He opened it to take a look.

A few pills, a backup dagger, a wallet.

Three cards in the wallet, some cash.

"Is that it?" Li Zhengyang turned the wallet inside out. "You colluded with over thirty people to stage an ambush, yet you only carry this little bit of wealth on you?"

Qi Tian was embedded in the wall, blood bubbles hanging from the corner of his mouth, his ears ringing, but he was still conscious.

He heard Li Zhengyang's words and was so angry he nearly spat out another mouthful of blood.

I'm here to compete, not to go window shopping, why would I carry money?

Li Zhengyang shoved the storage bag into his pocket and turned to walk toward the people groaning on the ground.

Searching them one by one.

Point cards, collected. Anything valuable, collected. Things that didn't look valuable but might sell for a few bucks, also collected.

His movements were very practiced. So practiced that the seeded contestants who had been beaten down once suspected that this kid might have been a bandit in the past.

One person even tried to resist, dragging his broken arm as he crawled up from the ground, trying to run.

Li Zhengyang didn't even turn his head, flicking the butt of his spear backward. Bang. The man took a hit to the back of his head, flopped back to the ground, and behaved himself.

"Don't move, turn over. What's that bulging in your left pocket?"

"It's... it's ointment for bruises."

"Ointment is fine, hand it over."

The point cards and personal belongings of thirty-four people were completely looted.

Li Zhengyang stood up and weighed the thirty-four point cards he had collected.

Adding his own, that made thirty-five. The threshold for the top ten was secured.

But he didn't stop.

He turned around and looked at the hundreds of onlookers in the periphery.

Those people had originally been watching the excitement from two or three hundred meters away, and some of the bolder ones were even whispering about whether to take advantage of the chaos to launch a sneak attack and grab a few cards.

Then they saw Li Zhengyang carrying his spear, walking toward them. Step by step. Not fast, not slow.

The spear was carried on his shoulder, and his other hand was still holding that broken cardboard sign.

"Damn! He's coming over." "Run!"

I don't know who shouted first.

Hundreds of elites, carefully selected from various fortresses, performed a large-scale scene of rout at this moment.

Some dove into the dense forest, some jumped into the river, some climbed up the hills.

More people simply crushed the withdrawal scrolls in their hands.

A white light flashed, and they were gone. Withdrawn. Voluntarily withdrawn.

The contestant counter for the Mimicry Battlefield was jumping wildly. 500... 467... 389... 241...

The number was still dropping. In less than three minutes, the number of contestants in the arena dropped from five hundred to fewer than fifty.

The remaining few dozen were either too far away to see what had happened, or were hiding in nooks and crannies, shivering and afraid to move.

Li Zhengyang stopped. He didn't chase.

He stood alone on the empty wasteland, surrounded by gravel, broken weapons, and the cardboard sign still stuck in the ground.

From the moment he teleported down until now, it had been exactly five minutes.

He planted his spear in the ground and sat down.

He took out the pile of point cards he had collected and counted them one by one in front of him.

"Thirty-five, plus the few I picked up on the way, forty-one. That's enough."

He looked up at the sky. The dome of the Mimicry Battlefield was a simulated blue sky, and a small red dot was blinking in the corner; that was the drone camera used for the live broadcast.

Facing the camera, Li Zhengyang held up one finger. First place.

In the stands. In the center of the main viewing platform, Commander Xiao Ding slapped the armrest and stood up.

"Good!" This shout startled the staff officers and the fortress Commanders beside him.

Commander Xiao Ding laughed loudly. "What a Martial Spirit! A twenty-year-old 9th-Rank Martial Spirit!"

He turned to look at Lin Zhenshan. Lin Zhenshan's hand holding the teacup froze in mid-air, his facial muscles twitched twice, and he forced out two words. "Not bad."

Commander Xiao Ding stopped laughing and sat back down. But his forward-leaning posture didn't change, his hands crossed and resting on his knees.

"That old guy Zhao Tiehan hid a true dragon from me."

He tapped the armrest and summoned his adjutant. "Pull up the entire file on this Li Zhengyang for me."

"Yes."

"Also." Commander Xiao Ding paused. "Notify the finals organizing committee to change the rules."

The adjutant was stunned. "The opponent for the finals, switch them. Let Deputy Regimental Commander Lu Chen from the Guard Regiment go up."

The adjutant's face turned pale. Deputy Regimental Commander Lu Chen. Deputy Regimental Commander of the Northern Border Military Region Guard Regiment. A Martial Sect. Not a half-step one, but a genuine Martial Sect.

This was no longer the standard for a selection tournament.

The adjutant swallowed and reminded him in a low voice: "Commander, Deputy Regimental Commander Lu Chen is a Martial Sect, this..."

Commander Xiao Ding tapped his fingers on the armrest. "I just want to see the upper limit of this dragon."