The clouds that blocked the scorching sun drifted slowly away, sunlight basking the steel cladding of the Martial Arts Arena's dome, reflecting a brilliant arc of dazzling golden light.
Li Ang walked slowly down from the arena. He stood on the grass, squinted, and gazed at the sky.
He won.
Despite his clothes being charred and tattered by fierce flames, waves of emptiness pulsing from his Qi Sea, his palms covered in bloody furrows left by the Mind Silk, and the skin at the edges of the wounds on his hands curled outwards where they had split open, he looked as miserable as one could possibly be.
But a win was a win.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
Footsteps approached from the distance.
His friends hurried over. Yang Yu took the Triangular Spear and the nearly wrecked Mechanical Crossbow from his hand.
Li Wei, without a word, pulled out a folding stool from behind him, placed it on the ground, and had him sit.
