403: Chapter 403 This is not an amusement park

Xu Biao's warhammer was about to fall.

The hundred-man teams flanking from the left and right had also closed the distance, the light of various skills glowing in their hands.

But that Silver Torrent gave them no chance.

No charge.

No acceleration.

It simply... flowed over.

It wasn't an attack, but more like a natural phenomenon. Like a bursting flood, like a collapsing snowy mountain, it swept over with an irresistible "momentum" that crushed everything.

The first to come into contact with the torrent was Xu Biao.

The warhammer in his hand, along with his entire being, vanished the moment they touched that silver light.

Next were the forty contestants aimed at Yan Pojun.

And the hundred-man teams flanking from the left and right.

The Silver Torrent, like a heavy train traveling at high speed on a fixed track, rolled right over those one hundred and forty-one people.

It didn't pause for even a second.

"Rumble—"

Only now did the extremely dull sound of metal and flesh being continuously squeezed, torn, and crushed coalesce and reach everyone's ears.

In the spectator stands, a young man who had just lit up a "Go God Yan" Light Board trembled, and the palm-sized board flew from his hand, shattering with a "clatter" in the deathly silent arena.

Everyone around him remained standing, frozen in place as if collectively petrified.

On the commentary platform, the commentator's mouth hung open, his throat making a "hhh-hhh" wheezing sound, yet he couldn't utter a single word. On the equipment screen before him, the live stream's bullet chat, after a full three seconds of absolute void, was instantly overwhelmed by a barrage of question marks and exclamation points.

The Silver Torrent, after clearing that area, did not lose its momentum.

It surged forward along the ground, then at the moment it was about to crash into the spectator stands' protective shield, it suddenly rose, soaring toward the dome.

It traced a brilliant yet lethal parabola in the sky above the massive arena, like a Silver Dragon speeding along a roller coaster track.

And those one hundred and forty-one contestants were the unlucky souls tied to the track, unable to even let out a scream in time.

The roller-coaster-like Silver Dragon traced one last magnificent arc beneath the dome, and then, all the Lin Yaos stood solemnly.

That Silver Dragon came with fury and left in silence.

But what it left behind plunged the entire world into absolute silence.

On the field, the rift originally split open by Yan Pojun's blade and the charred ruins were gone.

In their place was an exaggeratedly huge, perfect fan-shaped crater.

Starting from the Portal thirty meters behind Lin Yao where the one hundred and forty-one people had rushed out, a smooth slope extended downward, reaching all the way to the protective shield at the other end of the arena.

At its deepest point, it was a full fifteen meters deep.

The entire floor of the arena had been forcibly scraped away by that Silver Torrent.

The surface of the crater was covered with fresh, warm, still slightly twitching... things.

Mangled limbs, broken weapons, torn armor fragments, and countless unidentifiable bloody tissues, mixed with scalding molten metal, coated the entire slope.

Flesh and blood flying everywhere.

This was the most accurate description of the scene before them.

Xu Biao lay at the very front; he was closest to Lin Yao and the first person to come into contact with the Silver Torrent.

He maintained the posture of holding his warhammer high, but only a small, twisted section of the handle remained of the weapon in his hand.

His upper and lower body were neatly severed, separated by three meters. On his face, distorted by ecstasy, the muscles had not yet fully relaxed, and his clouded lenses were frozen with the horror and bewilderment of his final moment.

Until his death, he couldn't understand why those so-called "light and shadow special effects" had physical substance.

Even less did he expect that his Block skill would be like silt before the torrent.

At the very edge of the fan-shaped crater, A-Kun and three other contestants who had reacted fastest and tried to flee lay on the ground.

They were lucky, yet also unlucky.

The edge of the torrent had only grazed them, not crushing them completely.

But that was enough to leave their bodies covered in wounds deep enough to see bone, their limbs twisted at unnatural angles. The faint rise and fall of their bodies proved they were still alive, but this kind of living was perhaps more painful than death.

Even if they could be saved, they would be crippled for the rest of their lives.

Yan Pojun lay prone about ten meters from the edge of the crater.

The previous diving attack that had blown him away happened to move him out of the range of the Silver Torrent's subsequent crushing.

His armor had long since been completely shattered in the previous battle; now, blood gushed from every wound on his body, pooling into an expanding red puddle beneath him.

But even so, he was the only creature in this area who still maintained a complete human form.

Except for him and the four unlucky souls at the edge of the crater whose fates were unknown, the other one hundred and thirty-seven people could no longer be called "human."

A piece here, a piece there.

Bright red liquid continuously overflowed along the edges of the fan-shaped crater, merging into the depths at the center to form a sizable pool of blood that slowly flowed into the arena's pre-installed drainage channels.

The cold metal channels were quickly filled, and the warm blood overflowed the openings, beginning to flow slowly toward the ground in front of the spectator stands.

A scent of blood so thick it wouldn't dissipate, mixed with the burnt smell of scorched metal, finally wafted out, enveloping the first ten rows of the seating area.

However, no one covered their mouth or nose.

No one screamed.

No one retreated.

One hundred thousand spectators, from the first row to the last, all remained in the posture of standing and cheering from a few minutes ago, frozen in place.

They held high the Light Boards with "God Yan" written on them, their arms still in the motion of waving.

The ocean of flickering Light Boards had, at some point, become completely still.

The entire Organization fell into a strange, absolute silence, as if time had frozen.

Only the low hum of operating equipment could be heard.

On the commentary platform.

The commentator, who had been shouting hoarsely, let his hands slide weakly from the commentary desk.

He knocked over the microphone in front of him.

The black microphone rolled off the table, falling toward the aisle of the spectator stands below, its long cable tracing an arc in the air.

"Bzzzt—"

The microphone collided with the ground, and through the sound system, emitted a loud, piercing buzz throughout the arena.

This noise, loud enough to burst eardrums, did not provoke a reaction from anyone.

The one hundred thousand spectators remained motionless.

They had come to watch the match, to have some fun.

But they certainly hadn't come to see such a horrifying battlefield that caused visceral revulsion!