400: Chapter 400 The Tug-of-War From Day to Night

But Yan Pojun's advancing steps did not stop for a single moment.

He used his own flesh and blood to endure the damage, solely to pour all his strength into the blade in his hand.

Holding the blade with both hands, his movements were wide and sweeping.

Every sweep brought forth a fan-shaped red light, clearing out a large swath of clones that were in the middle of casting spells.

In the stands, the number of people standing up increased exponentially.

From dozens to hundreds, then to thousands.

"Yan Pojun!!"

"Yan Pojun!!"

"Yan Pojun!!!"

Those heartfelt roars converged into a massive, overwhelming wave of sound, even drowning out the piercing electronic alarms within the stadium.

They were witnessing a legend being reborn amidst destruction.

Yan Pojun completed his sixth screen-clear.

When the final clone turned into grey specks of light under his blade, he could no longer support himself.

*Clang—*

He slammed the giant blade into the ground, burying a third of its length.

He rested his folded hands on the top of the hilt, pressing his forehead firmly against the cold backs of his hands, relying on this long blade to keep from falling.

Inside the VIP room.

Zhong Huai silently took a black recording terminal from his pocket.

He aimed the lens at the blood-soaked man below, who was supporting himself on the edge of his blade.

On the screen, a red energy fluctuation curve was soaring wildly, instantly breaking through several red warning lines representing danger thresholds, far exceeding any peak value recorded in the database for Yan Pojun's previous performances.

Zhong Huai's fingertips trembled slightly on the screen.

On the field.

Lin Yao looked at the figure who found even standing to be incredibly difficult, the calmness on her face not wavering in the slightest.

Once again, she slowly raised her right hand.

To everyone watching, it was a gesture akin to a death omen.

Her fair thumb and middle finger gently pressed together.

Atop the charred ruins, Yan Pojun, whose body was spraying hot blood, suddenly looked up; using the last of his strength, he raised the broken giant blade with one hand, pointing it from afar at the girl on the other side of the rift.

Opposite him, Lin Yao's fingertips were locked.

The seventh snap was about to fall.

Would there be a miracle?

*Snap!*

There was none.

A new legion of clones arrived as expected, instantly flooding the ruined arena.

At that very moment, beyond the massive dome of the Organization, the last trace of natural daylight completely vanished.

The entire stadium fell into a moment of darkness.

Then, with a "hum," dozens of high-powered backup searchlights activated simultaneously, their blinding beams shooting down from the edge of the dome, converging precisely in the center of the ruins.

Under the beams of light, Yan Pojun's figure looked so... wretched.

Facing the newly spawned Clone Legion, he swung his blade once more.

Not a single step back.

With every swing, the joints connecting his arms and shoulders emitted overburdened cracking sounds.

Bright red blood splattered with his movements, drawing brief and tragic arcs under the cold searchlights.

The external armor plating had long since fallen off during the repeated explosions and overloaded operations, leaving only the inner support skeleton and shattered energy lines clinging tightly to his mangled body.

The seventh clear.

He did it.

But he didn't even have time to catch his breath.

*Snap.*

The eighth time.

The grey tide swept in once again.

*Snap.*

The ninth time.

The area that had just been cleared was filled again in less than a second.

*Snap!*

The tenth snap echoed through the stadium, following the ninth almost seamlessly.

This time, the speed of Yan Pojun's blade finally failed to keep up with the speed at which the Clone Legion filled the field.

He shattered hundreds of clones in front of him with one strike, but the gap behind him was immediately filled by the newly emerging grey tide.

He was submerged.

In the stands holding a hundred thousand spectators, not a single person remained seated.

They all stood, staring intently at the blood-red figure surrounded by the grey legion, where only occasional flashes of blade-light could be seen.

Unsure of who started it, someone in the crowd lit up their phone's flashlight.

Soon after, more people took out the cheering gear they had originally prepared for the match.

Palm-sized glowing light boards were held high, converging into a shimmering sea of stars in the darkened stands.

On the light boards were two bright red characters.

"God Yan".

And three other characters.

"Yan Pojun".

No one expected that these light boards, which were supposed to proclaim his past bravery and glory, would now become his only support and companionship on this desperate battlefield.

The monotonous shouting vanished.

In its place were unified slogans that had gathered together.

"Go for it! Defeat the Great Demon King Lin Yao!"

"Go for it!! Defeat the Great Demon King Lin Yao!!"

That sound quickly spread from the initial few hundred people to the entire venue, converging into a massive, world-shaking wave of sound.

On the commentary platform, the surviving large screen switched to the real-time bullet chat of the live stream.

The match footage was no longer visible on the screen.

Densely packed text completely covered the entire screen.

"Hold on, God Yan!"

"Fuck! I'm crying! How the hell is he supposed to fight this!"

"Defeat the Great Demon King! God Yan, you're the best!"

"Reported! That girl on the other side is cheating!"

Inside the VIP room, Lin Yu's body was tense and straight, his hands pressed firmly against the glass; Lin Yao was so at ease because someone was clearly carrying the burden for her.

Behind him, Zhong Huai and Wen Yan exchanged a look; their gazes fell upon Lin Yu's back with a trace of deep suspicion.

On the field.

Yan Pojun completed his twelfth screen-clear.

When the last clone was shattered by him, the giant blade in his hand finally reached its limit.

*Clang—*

A crisp metallic wail.

The giant blade that had accompanied him for many years snapped into two pieces during its final collision with a clone.

Yan Pojun gripped the half-hilt, his body swaying.

With a "thud," his knees slammed heavily onto the debris-covered ground.

He threw away the remaining hilt in his hand.

Bending down, he fumbled on the ground and picked up a piece of metal armor plating with a somewhat sharp edge, fallen from some unknown part.

He used that shard of armor to shield his chest, which had completely lost its protection.

On the other side of the rift.

Lin Yao finally lowered her right hand, which she had been holding up all this time.

The roar of the crowd paused for a brief moment.

Is it over?

However, under the gaze of a hundred thousand eyes, Lin Yao switched to her left hand and slowly raised it.

Her pale thumb and middle finger rubbed against each other once more.

A new batch of clones did not appear on the ground.

They condensed into form in mid-air.

They were no longer mages chanting spells.

Instead, they were knights clad in heavy armor, holding long spears that glinted with a cold light.

Tens of thousands of spearmen knights formed a neat charging formation in mid-air, their spear tips pointing downward, aimed at the man kneeling on one knee on the ground.

Following the movement of Lin Yao's fingertips.

Tens of thousands of clones launched a dive from above.

Yan Pojun looked up and, with that small shard of armor, assumed a parrying stance.

Below the stage, a hundred thousand spectators and a sea of stars formed by a hundred thousand light boards flickered in unison with the waving of their arms, providing support for the only hero in their hearts.