The ground split open, sending cracks across the entire arena. Disciples screamed and stumbled back as dust filled the air.
Lan Yue raised her sword. "Protect the disciples!"
Li Ming covered his face with his arm, coughing. "Why does this always happen after we win something?!"
Bai Guo groaned. "Descendant, your luck has officially gone from bad to cursed!"
Through the settling dust, the crimson figure stepped forward. His aura pressed down on everyone like a mountain. Even the elders in the stands frowned, whispering amongst themselves.
The man's eyes glowed red, his voice steady but cold. "This tournament is meaningless. Strength should be proven in blood, not games."
Lan Yue glared. "You dare disrupt a sacred event?"
The man tilted his head. "Sacred? Weaklings fighting under rules is sacred?"
Li Ming's jaw clenched. "You know, for someone who interrupts other people's matches, you sure talk a lot."
A ripple of laughter passed through the crowd—nervous, unsure.
