After his first victory, Fire Nether completely hit his stride.
His battle style has always been to grow stronger the longer he fights. With the conditions set in advance for this challenge match, it was entirely Fire Nether's comfort zone!
Fire Nether stood with his spear across the arena.
The setting sun was blood-red.
Opponent after opponent walked up onto the stage, and in every match, he fought with unrestrained passion.
The spear in his hands had never felt such joy before.
He could even feel his spear trembling.
Just like him, it craved battle, craved victory.
He was Fire Nether.
He was the spear genius of the Fire Flood Dragon Clan, a prodigy that only emerged once in a century.
At this moment.
On the stage.
He blossomed anew.
The youth's cold and stern face, under the slanting sunlight, was half dazzling, half shrouded in shadow.
Then.
He thrust his spear, halting it steadily at his opponent's brow.
"You've lost."
