Chapter 71
The moment Adrian stepped fully into the arena, his gaze swept the stands with calm indifference–until it paused.
Lucas.
Margaret.
Sophia.
They were seated together near the front, faces alight with barely concealed excitement, eyes gleaming as though they were already watching a corpse. When Lucas noticed Adrian looking their way, his lips curled into a vicious grin. He leaned forward, cupping his hands around his mouth as if the distance between them mattered.
“You actually showed up,” Lucas sneered. “I hope you took a good look at the world on your way here. This is the last time you’ll see it.”
Margaret laughed softly, the sound sharp and cruel. “Don’t worry,” she added. “We’ll remember this day fondly. It’s not every day you get front–row seats to a man’s execution.”
Sophia’s smile was the worst of all–eager, almost giddy. “Try not to die too fast,” she said. “It would ruin the show.”
Their words echoed in the air, but Adrian didn’t respond. He didn’t even frown. He simply looked at them for a heartbeat longer, his eyes unreadable, then turned away as if they were no more important than dust on the floor.
That indifference unsettled them far more than anger would have.
Before Lucas could say anything else, the temperature in the arena dropped abruptly. A deep, oppressive pressure rolled across the grounds like a tidal wave, forcing conversations to die mid–sentence. Laughter choked off. Cheers turned into gasps.
The sky above the arena darkened.
Clouds churned unnaturally, spiraling inward as though drawn by an unseen hand. Wind howled through the stands, rattling banners and sending loose debris skidding across the stone. People clutched their seats, some nearly losing their footing as the pressure intensified.
Then something moved within the clouds.
A figure descended slowly, suspended in the air as if gravity had forgotten him. Dark robes fluttered around a tall, lean frame, embroidered with crimson patterns that pulsed faintly like living veins. His long hair flowed freely behind him, silver streaked with black, and his eyes glowed a dull, hellish red.
When his feet finally touched the ground, the impact cracked the stone beneath him.
Several spectators screamed. Others collapsed outright, their legs giving way under the sheer weight of his presence. Lucas, Margaret, and Sophia recoiled instinctively, fear finally cracking through their smug expressions.
“What… what is that?” Sophia whispered, her voice shaking.
“A cultivator,” someone murmured in terror. “No… not just any cultivator. That aura… he’s already stepped onto the immortal path.”
The man straightened slowly, a crooked smile spreading across his face as he surveyed the arena like a predator examining a slaughterhouse. “So,” he said, his voice deep and distorted, carrying effortlessly across the grounds, “this is the insect who dared challenge us.”
His gaze locked onto Adrian.
“My name is Malphas,” he continued, spreading his arms slightly “Among those who walk the immortal path, they call me the Abyss Devil.”
The crowd erupted into chaos.
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“That’s Malphas?!” “He disappeared decades ago!” “They said he butchered an entire sect overnight!” “This is over–no one survives facing him!”
Lucas and the others didn’t wait to hear more. The moment Malphas‘ identity was spoken, they scrambled backward, pushing through people to retreat as far from the arena as possible. Whatever hatred they had for Adrian was instantly drowned by raw survival instinct.
Adrian, however, hadn’t moved an inch.
He stood exactly where he was, feet planted firmly on the ground, hands relaxed at his sides, coat fluttering gently in the turbulent air. While others trembled or fled, he looked almost bored.
Malphas noticed.
His smile widened, amused and irritated all at once. “You don’t kneel,” he said. “Interesting. Most break before I even lift a hand.”
Adrian tilted his head slightly. “Malphas,” he replied calmly. “Abyss Devil. Born from the Northern Ruins. You slaughtered your own sect to refine your cultivation and stepped into the immortal path by feeding on resentment and fear.”
The arena fell into stunned silence.
Malphas‘ expression changed. The amusement drained from his eyes, replaced by sharp suspicion. “You know my root,” he said slowly. “You know my past.”
“I know more than that,” Adrian answered, his voice even. “I know how you cultivate. I know the flaw in your foundation. And I know exactly how this ends.”
Kai, standing outside the ring, felt his breath catch. He recognized that tone. Adrian wasn’t posturing. He was stating fact. Malphas laughed, the sound harsh and grating. “Big words from a mortal who hasn’t even stepped onto the path.”
Without warning, he moved.
The air exploded as Malphas vanished from his spot and reappeared directly in front of Adrian, his palm already striking forward. The force behind the blow warped the air, creating a shockwave that blasted outward and shattered the stone tiles beneath Adrian’s feet.
The crowd screamed.
Dust and debris engulfed the arena, obscuring everything from view. Even seasoned cultivators shielded their eyes, certain that Adrian had been obliterated in a single strike.
When the dust cleared, Malphas stood upright, his hand still extended.
But Adrian was still there.
He had slid back several meters, boots carving deep grooves into the stone, but his posture remained unbroken. He straightened slowly, rolling his shoulder once as if loosening a stiff joint.
Malphas‘ eyes widened.
“That should have crushed your internal organs,” he muttered.
Adrian glanced down at the cracked ground, then back up. “Your power relies too much on external pressure,” he said. “It looks overwhelming, but it’s hollow.”
Malphas snarled and attacked again.
This time, he unleashed his full cultivation. Dark energy surged around him, forming claw–like projections that tore through the air as he launched a relentless barrage of strikes. Each blow carried enough force to kill a high–level cultivator instantly.
Adrian moved.
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He didn’t retreat. He stepped in.
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To the shock of everyone watching, Adrian slipped between the attacks with minimal motion, his body flowing naturally as though he were walking through rain. His fingers flicked out at precise intervals, tapping Malphas‘ wrist, elbow, shoulder- each touch light, almost gentle.
Malphas laughed as he attacked. “You think tricks will
His laughter cut off abruptly.
A sharp, searing pain exploded through his arm. His movements stuttered for a fraction of a second, just long enough for Adrian
to act.
Adrian stepped forward and drove his palm into Malphas‘ chest.
There was no explosion. No flashy display.
Just a deep, resonant thud.
Malphas‘ eyes bulged. His body lifted off the ground, sailing backward like a broken doll before slamming into the far side of the arena. He crashed through reinforced barriers and skidded to a stop in a cloud of dust.
Silence.
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then Malphas coughed, dark blood spilling from his mouth as he struggled to his feet. His aura flickered violently, unstable, his confidence shattered.
“How…?” he rasped. “What did you do to me?”
Adrian walked toward him at an unhurried pace. “I disrupted the circulation of your core for half a second,” he replied. “For someone walking the immortal path, that’s enough.”
Malphas roared and gathered every ounce of power he had left, his aura surging wildly as he prepared a final, desperate attack.
He never got the chance.
Adrian vanished.
He reappeared directly in front of Malphas and struck once–clean, precise, devastating. The blow landed against Malphas‘ throat, carrying a force that bypassed flesh and shattered the foundation beneath.
The Abyss Devil collapsed.
His body hit the ground hard, unmoving.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then the realization spread through the arena like wildfire.
He won.
Adrian Cole had just defeated a cultivator on the immortal path.
Lucas stared in horror from the back of the stands, his face pale. Margaret’s lips trembled, her earlier excitement replaced by dawning dread. Sophia clutched her arm, unable to look away.
At the center of the arena, Adrian stood over Malphas‘ fallen body, calm and composed, as if he had merely finished stretching.
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Center of grand
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Center of arena
