Zhao Yuan had never been humiliated in his life.
Never outmatched.
Never overpowered.
Never burned.
Until now.
Lin Xue pressed forward with the unstoppable certainty of a divine beast descending from the heavens. Her flames raged across the arena floor, licking at the fractured stone, each step sending another jolt of oppressive heat toward her opponent.
Zhao Yuan staggered backward—again.
His sharp, precise movements struggled to keep pace. His technique—normally flawless—became ragged, uneven, cracked by the sheer pressure of her Heavenly Phoenix: Ascension.
Every punch she threw forced him to block with both arms.
Every strike landed with force that rivaled falling stars.
Every kick sent shockwaves through the arena walls.
The crowd had gone silent.
The thirteenth-ranked genius—
the pride of the Zhao clan—
was being destroyed.
Publicly.
Demonstratively.
Relentlessly.
Zhao Yuan's face twisted in a mixture of fury and disbelief as another flaming punch smashed into his raised forearm, forcing him to slide across the ground, boots leaving deep trenches.
"H-How…?" he rasped.
Lin Xue didn't bother answering.
Her flames only rose higher, forming curved wings of light behind her—a vision of a phoenix descending to crush the earth beneath it.
Zhao Yuan's breathing accelerated.
He tried to retaliate—
But Lin Xue didn't let him.
Not once.
Not for a single heartbeat.
She hammered him again, then again, her power surging without limit, embers drifting upward like sparks torn from a living inferno.
And she did not stop.
She would not stop until Zhao Yuan yielded.
Or broke.
The guards exchanged uneasy glances from the arena's edge, but they could not intervene unless Zhao Yuan was in mortal danger—
and so far, Lin Xue kept every strike just shy of lethal.
Every inch of this was intentional.
She was overpowering him for everyone to see.
This was punishment.
This was vengeance.
This was a warning.
I will burn myself into this Tower.
She meant it.
Pin Sujin leaned forward on the spectator bench, grin fading into something far more serious.
"Girl's gone full phoenix…" he muttered. "The boy won't last much longer."
Beside him, Zhao Ming's fists tightened.
"He has to surrender," Zhao Ming whispered. "He's going to—"
His breath hitched.
Pin Sujin turned sharply toward him.
"You feel it too?"
Zhao Ming didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Because they both sensed what no one else did.
Two presences
cutting through the crowd
like knives through silk.
High above, on one of the outer balconies overlooking the arena, two masked figures stood motionless.
White feathers.
Red eyes.
The Owl.
She leaned forward slightly, posture predatory, gaze fixed on Zhao Ming like a hawk discovering prey that had finally stopped running.
Zhao Ming's stomach dropped.
She's here.
Next to her, another figure stood in stark contrast—
tall, slender, draped in black.
A crow mask with long, shadowed feathers.
Eyes like deep voids.
Presence cold, lethal.
The Crow From The Tree.
Her aura draped over the arena like a curtain of death.
Pin Sujin inhaled sharply.
"That one's here for me," he whispered.
And he was right.
Her gaze was not on Lin Xue.
Nor Zhao Ming.
Nor the crowd.
It was on Zhao Yuan
and
on Pin Sujin.
Two targets.
Two hunts.
The Owl stepped forward, one foot hanging over the railing as flames danced beneath her mask—
amusement or hunger, neither could tell.
She tilted her head toward Zhao Ming subtly.
As if saying:
"Did you miss me?"
The Crow remained still, waiting. Watching.
Judging.
Lin Xue, unaware of the storm gathering overhead, continued pressing Zhao Yuan backward, her flames now engulfing the entire arena.
And Zhao Yuan—
bleeding, staggering, breath ragged—
finally understood.
He could not win.
Not today.
Not tomorrow.
Not against this fire.
But before he could even consider surrender—
Two predators watched from the shadows.
One for him.
One for someone else.
And neither intended to wait much longer.
The Tower held its breath.
The phoenix burned.
The prey stood cornered.
And the hunters had finally arrived.