But regret came too late.
Yu Ming's large body collapsed with a thunderous bang, sending dust spiraling into the air.The final exchange had taken only a few seconds, yet the impact resounded like a storm.
For a heartbeat, the entire arena fell dead silent.
Then—
"WOOOOOOOOOOH!!!"
The audience erupted, their roar shaking the metal frames of the arena stands.Shouts, gasps, and disbelieving laughter overlapped into a single deafening wave of astonishment.
----
VIP Lounge – Manager Wang
Manager Wang leaned back on the sofa, a slow, satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"See?" he said lazily, "The Angel's Hound actually won."
His secretary's jaw hung open.
"W-wow… A civilian… strong enough to defeat the young master of the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan."
He turned to Manager Wang with almost childlike curiosity.
"Manager… I really want to know—where did you even find Angel's Hound?"
But Manager Wang merely stood, straightening his jacket.His eyes held a warning glint.
Some truths were not for ordinary people to know.
Without answering, he simply said,"Clean up the paperwork. I have matters to report."
Then he left the room, leaving his secretary dumbfounded.
----
Back in the Arena
The crowd chanted his name:
"ANGEL'S HOUND!""ANGEL'S HOUND!""ANGEL'S HOUND!"
Lu Ping slowly lifted his face toward the lights.His breathing was heavy, but his expression… was serene.
He spread his arms wide, as if embracing not the cheers— but the identity behind the name itself.
----
Lu Ping collected the thick pouch of coins from the Spirit Arena's counter—the payout from betting on himself.The staff handed it over respectfully; after the fight today, no one will dare to underestimate the masked fighter in front of her again.
With his mask still firmly in place to protect his identity, he turned toward the exit.
Just as he reached the corridor—
"Hey, wait! Angel's Hound!"
A youthful yet steady voice echoed behind him.
Lu Ping paused and turned. A young man with sharp, sword-like eyebrows was walking toward him with confident but not arrogant strides. His aura was calm yet unmistakably sharp—like a hidden blade.
The youth stopped before him and gave a polite bow.
"I'm sorry. I don't know your real name, so I used the pseudonym you go by in the Spirit Arena."
Lu Ping tapped the edge of his mask lightly.
"No need to apologise. Everyone who fights here hides their identity. It's normal to use stage names."
The youth nodded."Then… let's go outside and talk."
-----
A Snack Stall Outside the Arena , as the night breeze carried the aroma of grilled skewers and steaming broth. After ordering a few plates, Lu Ping finally removed his mask just enough to eat, still keeping most of his features concealed.
He extended his hand politely.
"My name is Lu Ping."
The young man offered his own hand with a firm grip.
"Chen Dao."
Lu Ping blinked.
"Wait—the Chen Dao? The prodigy of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Clan? The one who became a Soul Emperor at sixteen?"
Chen Dao gave a modest smile, though there was a hint of embarrassment in his eyes.
Lu Ping continued in disbelief,"It's said if you had competed in the Continental Elite Soul Master Tournament, second place would've been guaranteed."
Chen Dao chuckled helplessly.
Because everyone knew— first place was already taken.
Not by just anyone—but by the invincible force known as Spirit Hall's team.
And within them… the one whose existence silenced every discussion: Jiang Mo.Who is also known as the monster among prodigies.
Chen Dao spoke again, waving a finger at Lu Ping.
"Don't be so surprised. You yourself aren't far behind. I've never seen a civilian reach Soul Emperor so young."
His tone was admiring—not flattery, but genuine respect.
Lu Ping looked down at his bowl, hiding the flicker of something flickering behind his eyes.
But he only gave a small, practiced smile.
"I suppose fate is kind to some of us."
Chen Dao studied him for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly.
Suddenly—without any warning—Chen Dao straightened his back, raised his voice, and shouted:
"Obama! Donald Trump! Xi Jinping! Vladimir Putin!""Napoleon! Genghis Khan! Alexander!"
People at nearby stalls turned their heads confused.
Lu Ping froze.
Then his brows slowly knitted together in pure confusion.
"…Are you alright?" Lu Ping asked carefully, genuinely unsure whether Chen Dao had lost his mind.
What he didn't notice was the way Chen Dao's eyes flickered in microscopic detail, tracking every shift in Lu Ping's pupils, breath, and micro-expressions.
'No recognition… No flicker of familiarity…Not even the tiniest subconscious response…'
Chen Dao sighed inwardly.
'So he really is a native of Douluo Continent… Not a reincarnator like me.'
Realizing how insane he must look, Chen Dao hurriedly raised his hands.
"Wait! Let me explain—"
But before he could finish—
"Chen Dao, you idiot! What in the world are you shouting in public?"
A familiar, irritated voice cut through the night.
Both of them turned around.
A tall, handsome young man with dark hair approached, his gait steady but stiff—likely because his chin was wrapped in fresh bandages.
Lu Ping instantly recognized him, it was none other than Yu Ming.
The "Dragon God" who had just been knocked unconscious in his last match.
Yu Ming rubbed his jaw with a wince, clearly the pain was still fresh.