Villains Aren't Stepping Stones!

Chapter 105: Chapter 105: Fight

Silence.

Every single one of them of the bystanders watched in absolute silence at what had just happened in the arena.

”What...the hell?”

”It’s over?”

”In an instant?”

In the stands under the arena, the remaining participants, the supposed strongest and most talented people in the region, felt a primal chill crawl up their spines.

Of course, Ling Luochen and Shangguan Mu’er were more in awe than afraid.

They stared with wide, unblinking eyes at the central arena, their breath catching in their throats.

There, in the center of the grey stone stage, Shen Haoran stood with the effortless posture of a scholar.

His robes hadn’t even been ruffled by the wind of the giant’s charge, and in his right hand, he held the severed head of the muscular giant, Nuo.

The giant’s face was frozen in a mask of terminal confusion, his mouth still mid-syllable as if he were trying to finish his introduction, or his roar.

Then, a beat of agonizing stillness passed before the massive, headless torso of the 250cm warrior, which had been standing unnervingly straight as if the soul hadn’t realized it was dead, finally buckled.

It hit the stone floor with a heavy, wet thud that echoed throughout the vaulted chamber.

”WINNER! NUMBER 1!” the Heaven Piercing Saint’s voice boomed, the sound vibrating through the statues lining the walls.

”How boring,” Haoran murmured, his voice carrying clearly in the quiet hall as he looked down at the head in his hand with a localized frown of genuine dissatisfaction. ”I didn’t expect him to be so weak. To think his neck would give way and his head would be severed when I was just trying to deliver a light tap to knock him unconscious. The quality of ’cultivators’ in this realm is truly deteriorating.”

With a flick of his wrist, he tossed the head onto the floor as if discarding a piece of unwanted fruit.

He watched as the blood and the body dissipated into motes of white light before he stepped off the arena, his boots clicking softly on the stone as he returned to his group.

Not a single drop of blood had stained his sleeves; he was as pristine as the moment he had entered the forest.

”Splendidly done, young master,” Shangguan Mu’er praised, her voice a smooth, icy ripple.

She didn’t look at the dissipated corpse; her eyes were fixed solely on Haoran, her respect for his overwhelming power deepening with every passing second.

”Indeed,” Ling Luochen added, nodding solemnly.

Her blood-red eyes were wide with a mix of awe and the realization of just how far she still had to climb to even see the hem of his shadow.

Before Haoran could offer a response or a critique of the battle, the golden numbers swirling in the air above the arena shifted and coalesced into a new pairing.

NUMBER 8! VS. NUMBER 2!

Shangguan Mu’er straightened her posture, the bluish-silver strands of her hair catching the golden light from the ceiling.

She began to step toward the arena, her Nascent Soul pressure beginning to leak out like a rising tide.

However, before her foot could even touch the first step of the stage, her opponent—a young woman dressed in the yellow robes of a mid-tier sect, currently at the first stage of the Golden Core Realm—frantically raised her hand.

”I surrender! I forfeit the match!” the woman shrieked, her face pale as parchment.

She had watched the giant Nuo die in less than a second; she had no illusions about surviving a confrontation with a Great Elder of the Conferred Pagoda.

”WINNER! NUMBER 2!”

Shangguan Mu’er stopped, her eyes narrowing as she stared at her cowering opponent.

She didn’t say a word, her expression one of cold, stoic boredom as she simply crossed her arms over her chest and stepped back into the shadow of the pavilion pillars.

To her, a victory without blood was efficient, but ultimately unsatisfying for her thirsty blade.

Just then, the numbers in the sky whirled again, settling on the third pairing of the trial.

NUMBER 6 VS NUMBER 3.

”I surrender!” Number 6 declared immediately.

He was a lean man, breathing heavily, who appeared to be only at the first stage of the Core Formation Realm.

Xue Bing’er, the number 3, stared at him.

Number 6 held up his hands in a gesture of peace, a self-deprecating smile on his face. ”Forgive me, everyone. I am a realist, you see, and I actually had the extensive help of my clan’s hidden servants when hunting those beasts in the forest. You can say I pulled some strings to get those cores. But even I know my limits. I’m not that strong, and I’d rather keep my head attached to my shoulders.”

Xue Bing’er, the Sect Master of the Ice God Palace, stood across from him as she stared at the man for a long moment, her silver eyes scanning his relaxed posture.

Finally, she gave a short, curt nod of approval.

”Knowing when to advance and when to retreat is also a vital part of a cultivator’s ability,” she said, her voice like the cracking of winter ice. ”To throw away your life for a pride you cannot back with strength is the height of folly.”

Number 6 smiled at her, cupping his hands in a deep, respectful bow. ”I thank the Ice Goddess for her wisdom.”

He turned and walked out of the designated combat zone, looking remarkably relieved.

”WINNER! NUMBER 3!”

The voice boomed again, the trials moving with a ruthless, mechanical efficiency as the numbers changed once again.

NUMBER 5 VS NUMBER 7!

”I’m going, master. Young master,” Ling Luochen said, nodding toward Mu’er and Haoran.

Her face was set in a mask of absolute focus as she leaped toward the arena, her white silk robes fluttering behind her like the wings of a predatory bird.

She landed in the center of the stage, drawing her slender, single-edged white sword in a fluid motion.

From the opposite side, another figure followed her up.

It was a man with long, wild black hair and a scar running down his jawline, and he carried with him a heavy broadsword that pulsed with an earthen brown light.

”Ling Luochen, Conferred Pagoda,” she stated, her voice cold and formal as she introduced herself.

”Peng Kun, Young Master of the Peng Clan,” the man replied, his voice gruff.

He shifted his weight, his eyes darting to the people who had voluntarily gave up, then back to the girl before him.

Ling Luochen gave a sharp nod, then, second later, the Saint’s voice roared, signaling the start of the engagement.

Without a moment of hesitation or mercy, Ling Luochen activated her physique, and the tribal tattoo on her back erupted with a violent purple radiance that could be seen even through her robes.

The air behind her warped and curdled, manifesting the terrifying, three-headed and six-armed phantom of the Asura.

The demonic entity let out a silent, soul-piercing scream that caused the stone of the arena to crack over.

Shen Haoran stared at her, ”I really am impressed. If I remember correctly, every time you use this physique, it would feel like a hot melted iron was coursing through your veins. She can actually use it without changing her expression.”

Shangguan Mu’er hummed, ”Her desire for power suppresses her feelings of pain, young master. Her will and determination is the reason why I took her as my disciple and handed her that Cultivation technique.”

Shen Haoran remained silent, but in his mind, he couldn’t help but think, that if this girl was brought into the upper realm and was given variety of resources, with her suicidal-like thirst for power, she would surely become a Supreme who can suppress an era.

In the arena, Peng Kun’s eyes widened until they looked ready to burst as he took a stumbling step back, his broadsword trembling in his grip. ”W-What is that!? A demon!? Are you a demonic cultivator!? How can the Pagoda allow such an abomination!?”

Ling Luochen didn’t waste her breath on an explanation as she became a blur of purple and white, darting toward Peng Kun with a speed that left afterimages.

Her sword turned into a streak of light aimed directly at his heart.

At that moment...

”Surrender! I surrender! Stop!” Peng Kun screamed, dropping his broadsword and raising his hands in a frantic gesture of defeat as terror covered his entire body, his knees knocking together as he felt the icy tip of her blade.

Ling Luochen’s control was absolute, and she was able to stopped her sword mere centimeters from piercing through Peng Kun’s chest, the wind from her thrust ruffling his hair.

She stared into his terrified eyes for a moment, her expression unreadable, before she smoothly sheathed her weapon.

Then, the purple figure of the Asura flickered and vanished into her shadow before she turned her back on him and jumped down from the arena, returning to Haoran’s side.

Behind her, Peng Kun collapsed onto the floor, cold sweat pouring off his body in sheets.

He remained there, gasping for air, the image of those six spectral arms burned into his mind.

He knew that in that one moment, he had stood on the very edge of the abyss.

”WINNER! NUMBER 5!”

The atmosphere in the hall reached a crescendo of tension with only one pairing remained.

NUMBER 9 VS NUMBER 10!

Shen Haoran didn’t move, but his golden eyes sharpened, focusing entirely on the hooded figure at the edge of the waiting area as a slow, dark smirk spread across his face, one that promised a very different kind of entertainment.

”Alright,” Haoran whispered to the shadows. ”Show me if you’ve improved even just a little bit in your time as a rat, oh ’father’ of mine. Let’s see if the heavens still have any tricks left to save you.”