Part D – From Whispers to the Blood Arena
The echoes of Garruk's screams and the spray of blood still lingered in the narrow streets leading away from the square. Slaughter City didn't forget.
As Kuangren walked, his long black hair trailing like smoke behind him, vendors who had dared to watch from their doorways quickly slammed them shut. Children peered from cracks in broken walls, eyes wide, whispering to each other:
"Crimson-eyed giant…""He killed Garruk…""They say he enjoys it…"
Kuangren caught a glimpse of a merchant attempting to feign courage, stepping forward with a bowl of watery stew.
"Food," the man said nervously, voice cracking. "For… uh… for you, sir. You must be hungry after the fight."
Kuangren tilted his head, crimson eyes gleaming as he regarded the trembling man. He leaned down slightly, his massive frame casting a shadow that swallowed the stall.
"Hungry?" he asked softly, almost curiously. "Perhaps."
Without warning, he plucked the bowl from the man's hands and tossed it to the ground. The liquid splashed, soaking his boots. He laughed low, a sound of pure thrill, and the merchant shrank back, clutching his chest.
"Better luck next time," Kuangren murmured, and walked on.
The story of Garruk's defeat traveled faster than he could. By the time he passed the first intersection, a small cluster of mercenaries had gathered, murmuring among themselves.
"He's… unstoppable," one muttered."They say he doesn't even bleed the same way we do," another added.
One braver man — a mid-tier killer known for muscle and audacity — stepped forward, trying to challenge Kuangren with a short blade.
Kuangren didn't even bother turning. He tapped the man's chest lightly with the tip of a bloodied boot, and the man crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath, trembling, utterly humiliated.
The crowd gasped. More whispers. Fear, awe, fascination.
This city… it is mine to walk through, Kuangren thought, crimson eyes scanning the horizon. And yet… there is more.
By mid-afternoon, the city had begun to buzz in earnest. Word had reached the Blood Arena — the infamous pit where killers proved their worth and reputations were forged in fire and blood.
A herald clad in black armor and iron studs stepped out of a narrow alleyway, calling Kuangren by name.
"Gu Kuangren! The Crimson Shadow! You are summoned to the Blood Arena!"
Kuangren stopped, tilting his head slightly. The name — whispered, feared, and now formal — slid across his ears like honey.
"Summoned, hm?" he murmured, almost amused. "Let them watch."
He began walking toward the Arena, the streets parting unconsciously. Whispers followed him like shadows.
And somewhere along the way, rumors began to reach his ears — whispers of a boy, a disciple of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Clan.
"Tang San," a street thug muttered as he passed a corner. "They say he's… brilliant. He may even challenge the Arena soon."
Kuangren's crimson eyes narrowed. The name grated against him like sandpaper. A flicker of disgust, hot and sharp, ignited in his chest.
Tang San.
The disciple of the Seven Kill Douluo. The boy whose reputation had already begun to spread beyond the clan walls.
Kuangren clenched his fists, blood from the day still on his nails.
So… he thinks he can rival me?
A slow, cruel grin crept across his face.
"Then I shall show him exactly what it means to fear the Crimson Shadow," he murmured, his voice low, trembling with anticipation.
The streets gave way to the outskirts of the Arena. Massive stone walls, stained with decades of blood, loomed over him. Crowds were gathering even now, murmuring among themselves as guards opened the massive iron gates.
Kuangren's height towered over the opening. Crimson eyes swept the assembly of killers, spectators, and officials. A low murmur ran through the crowd. Even here, in the heart of slaughter, he was different.
He stepped forward. Each stride was measured, deliberate, sending a message:
I am not just here to fight.I am here to dominate.
And somewhere, in the corners of his mind, the name Tang San burned like coals, waiting to ignite the fire of hatred and rivalry that would one day consume them both.
Above, unseen by all but one, Zhu Zhuqing followed, her golden eyes glittering. She had already decided — she would not leave him, not now, not ever.
For better or worse, she was bound to the Crimson Shadow.