"Damn it… if this turns ugly, just retreat."
"Yeah. Dragon Nation's still first. We're ahead by over a million points—let the others run themselves ragged."
For the first time in a long while, Dragon Nation's livestream wasn't filled with swagger.
It was filled with worry.
On-screen, the Amethyst Void Beasts kept flickering in and out of existence—fifteen… maybe more—turning the space around Adrian Vale and Raven Shaw into a shifting maze of death.
Even the loudest fans had to admit the truth:
One S-rank creature was terrifying.
A swarm of them was a calamity.
And a calamity didn't care how strong you were—only how long you could keep breathing.
Inside the studio for I Came to Watch the Divine Domain, the atmosphere tightened.
Sienna Blake's usual smile had vanished. Her cue cards were held so hard the corners bent.
"Professor Luo," she asked, voice controlled but strained, "in this situation… what should Adrian and Raven do?"
Professor Luo's brow stayed furrowed, eyes locked on the feed.
"Dragon Nation's lead is enormous," he said carefully. "But enormous isn't the same as invulnerable. If they disengage here, other nations can use the breathing room to claw back ground—especially with the Blue Star Deathmatch still feeding resources to whoever survives."
Captain Ryan Cole leaned forward, steady as stone.
"I don't think they'll retreat," he said flatly. "Not those two."
He paused—just long enough for the chat to hold its breath.
"And if Adrian decides to end it… he'll end it fast."
As if the world wanted to tear everyone's attention in half—
Will of Blue Star spoke again.
[Time reached. Blue Star Deathmatch begins.]
Across Blue Star, competitors were swallowed by white light.
Livestreams snapped—clean and ruthless—to the deathmatch arena.
And Dragon Nation's mood flipped instantly from dread to fire.
Because in every round so far—
Dragon Nation had been flawless.
"Who's up this time?!"
"Even Wu Liuqi won. How can anyone else lose?"
"Just give us a real opponent already—our guy won't even finish warming up before it's over."
"Don't jinx it. Every Dragon Nation finalist needs to survive."
The familiar black screen returned.
One beat.
Two.
Then the arena flared into view.
A man stood alone on the stone platform, calm as a still lake.
Long black robe.
Eyes half-lowered.
In his hand—
a black-gold ancient blade, heavy with age, the surface catching light like it didn't reflect so much as absorb.
The name hit the chat like a hammer:
Zhang Qilin.
Dragon Nation's livestream detonated.
"No way—IT'S HIM!"
"I'm finished. I'm actually finished."
"Who allowed a man to look this illegal on live broadcast?!"
"I'm recording every second. Every second."
"Photos are too slow—I'm screenshotting like my life depends on it!"
Across the arena, a second pillar of white light dropped.
A man in dark combat gear appeared, posture sharp, predatory. A saber hung at his waist like a promise.
Eastern Isles.
Hattori Taro.
The instant Hattori's eyes landed on Zhang Qilin, something in his expression tightened.
Not fear.
He'd never admit fear.
But the realization that fate had a cruel sense of humor.
First match—and I draw Dragon Nation.
And it's Zhang Qilin.
His gaze flicked to the black-gold blade.
During the nation brawl, he'd watched that weapon carve through chaos like it had its own will.
For half a second, a thought surfaced—
I should surrender.
Then he pictured the aftermath.
Eastern Isles didn't forgive retreat.
Not against Dragon Nation.
Not in front of the whole world.
Hattori's jaw clenched. He forced steel into his voice.
"Dragon Nation!" he barked. "Pick up your weapon properly—otherwise you won't last a single move!"
Zhang Qilin didn't even blink.
He didn't lift his eyelids fully.
His voice was calm—almost indifferent.
"Your blood," he said, "isn't worthy of staining this blade."
For a heartbeat, the arena went silent.
Then Hattori's face twisted.
"Bastard—!"
He exploded forward.
Fast.
Not amateur fast—trained fast. His footwork snapped in broken angles, shifting left and right, trying to force a misread—trying to create a single opening.
The audience leaned in.
"Okay, he's actually quick—"
"Still… it's Zhang Qilin."
Zhang Qilin tilted his head—just slightly.
A faint movement.
Barely visible.
And then—
he was gone.
No blur.
No showy dash.
One moment he existed—
and the next, the space he occupied was simply empty.
A black flash cut through the air like a blink.
Zhang Qilin reappeared behind Hattori Taro, blade already lowered at his side, as if he'd only taken a step and changed his mind.
Hattori froze.
His eyes were still vicious.
His body was still leaning forward.
But something had already ended.
A thin line appeared across his waist.
Then—
his body separated.
Two halves slid apart and hit the stone with a wet, final sound.
Blood poured out in a heavy spill, painting the arena floor in a thick, brutal red.
The global chat exploded so hard it looked like the screen was shaking.
"WHAT?!"
"I DIDN'T EVEN SEE THE CUT!"
"That wasn't a fight—that was a deletion!"
"Zhang Qilin… what the hell."
Will of Blue Star announced the result without emotion.
[Congratulations! Dragon Nation competitor Zhang Qilin advances.]
White light swallowed the platform.
Zhang Qilin vanished back to the waiting chamber—silent, unhurried, as if nothing worth remembering had happened.
Hattori Taro's body was returned to Blue Star in two pieces.
Even in death, there was no mercy.
Only procedure.
And across the world, one idea settled into people's bones:
Dragon Nation's finalists weren't just strong.
They were horrifying.
They were precise.
They were inevitable.
—
And deep inside Divine Domain: Forbidden Zone, with S-rank predators blinking through space around them—
Adrian Vale and Raven Shaw kept advancing toward the Divine Tree, as if the world had never once taught them the meaning of back down.
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