The atmosphere in Flying Sand City had shifted. What began as a tense gathering of powerhouses had curdled into something far more volatile.
"You recognize me?" Pang Hong's voice was low, laced with a suspicion that bordered on dread.
Before the man in front of him could answer, a burly figure standing at Pang Hong's shoulder stepped forward, his eyes widening in recognition. He was a mountain of a man, his skin bronzed by the desert sun and his frame so massive it seemed to pull the air toward him. Most striking, however, were his four muscular arms, a testament to his lineage.
"Wait a second," the giant boomed. "You look familiar to me, too!"
Luo Zhen turned his gaze toward the four-armed warrior and allowed a thin, knowing smile to play across his lips. "King Wu. It's been a while. I see you've made it as well."
This was the Centipede Demon King, the co-ruler of Flying Sand City. Years ago, back when Luo Zhen was still clawing his way up the food chain, he had sold a rare piece of Iron Essence to this very man. King Wu and Pang Hong were more than just colleagues; they were brothers-in-arms who governed the sands with an iron grip.
"You really do know me?" King Wu's surprise was palpable. He stepped back, trying to reconcile the elegant powerhouse standing before him with the memory of a scrap-trader from his past.
Luo Zhen opened his mouth to reply, but the air suddenly hissed. A piercing, sickly light erupted from the black-gold ring on Pang Hong's finger. It was a pale, oily black radiance that seemed to swallow the natural light of the room, spreading like ink in water.
In an instant, a twin glow responded. The black-gold ring on Luo Zhen's hand pulsed with an identical, haunting energy. The resonance was undeniable.
"The Yin Ring..." Pang Hong's voice trembled with a mixture of shock and burgeoning rage. "How did the Yin Ring of that set end up on your finger? Tell me—what is your connection to the Green Snake Demon General who murdered my son?"
The room went silent. Every Demon King in the vicinity held their breath.
Luo Zhen didn't flinch. He raised his hand, letting the ring catch the light, his expression one of calm indifference. "There is no 'connection,' Pang Hong. I am the Green Snake you're looking for. Your son, Pang Feiyun, died by my hand because he was foolish enough to think he could take what was mine."
Pang Hong didn't scream. He didn't roar. He simply stared, his eyes turning into two points of white-hot steel.
"That's impossible!" King Wu interjected, his four arms gesticulating in disbelief. "I remember the business with Feiyun. When that Green Snake left the Red Desert, he was barely at the early stage of the Demon Core Realm. A common soldier, nothing more. But you... You're a mid-stage Demon King. The gap between those two states is a lifetime of cultivation. How could you possibly be—"
His voice died in his throat. He looked closer, stripping away the aura of power and the refined clothes, and saw the underlying features. The jawline, the cold clarity of the eyes—it was him.
But it defied logic. To the assembled kings, cultivation was a grueling, century-long marathon. To leap from a lowly Demon General to a mid-stage King in such a short window wasn't just impressive—it was a violation of the natural order.
"So, your name is Luo Zhen," a new voice joined the fray. A middle-aged man in flowing green robes stepped out from the crowd, his expression hesitant. "I thought I recognized that cold streak in your eyes. Have we crossed paths?"
Luo Zhen turned and offered a respectful, if brief, salute. "Green Wolf King. We have. Back at the Spirit Pool Secret Realm, you stood your ground against that Red Fire elder from the State of Lu on my behalf. I haven't forgotten that."
The Green Wolf King's jaw dropped. "You... you're the Green Flood Dragon? The one the Nascent Soul powerhouse went to hunt down after the realm closed?"
"Red Fire was persistent," Luo Zhen said, his tone suggesting the pursuit had been a minor inconvenience. "But he wasn't fast enough."
"Unbelievable," the Green Wolf King breathed, his eyes scanning Luo Zhen as if looking for a hidden trick. "Not only did you escape a Nascent Soul hunter, but you've already broken through to the mid-stage of the Demon King Realm? My god, man... do you even know how much time has passed? You're standing on the same level as me now!"
Luo Zhen remained silent, his smile enigmatic.
"Wolf King, what are you talking about?" one of the nearby kings asked, leaning in. "Who is this guy, really?"
"Who is he? He's a freak! That's who!" the Green Wolf King shouted, his excitement getting the better of him. He began to recount the events at the Spirit Pool Secret Realm, his words tumbling out in a frantic rush. "Listen to me—when this man entered that secret realm three months ago, he was a mid-stage Demon Core warrior. Do you hear me? Three months."
He paused for dramatic effect, pointing a finger at Luo Zhen. "By the time he walked out of that realm, he was a Half-step Demon King. And today? Today, he stands here at the mid-stage of the King Realm. He didn't just climb the mountain; he flew over it!"
The gathered kings fell into a stunned, heavy silence. In the world of demons, three months was a blink of an eye. It was the time it took to meditate on a single mantra or refine a basic pill.
"Wolf King," one elder said, his voice cracking. "Are you certain? Three months? To jump an entire major realm?"
"I'd stake my core on it!" the Wolf King barked. "I saw him then, and I see him now. His cultivation speed is... It's perverted."
The bitterness began to spread through the crowd like a physical weight. One Demon King slumped his shoulders and let out a hollow, self-deprecating laugh. "Three months. Heh. Three months... It took me three years just to stabilize my mid-core foundation. It took me eight more to reach the peak. And to reach the Half-step King stage? Forty years of bitter seclusion and blood."
He looked at Luo Zhen, his eyes filled with a mixture of awe and resentment. "And this kid does it in a season? What have we been doing with our lives?"
The existential crisis of the crowd was cut short by a cold, sharp sound.
"My son died exactly three months ago," Pang Hong said. The grief had finally sharpened into a singular, murderous intent. He stepped toward Luo Zhen, the ground cracking slightly under his feet. "The timing is too perfect. The ring is proof. Your face is proof. Whether you're a genius or a demon, it doesn't matter. You killed my blood."
"I did," Luo Zhen replied, his voice echoing with a chilling calmness. "But let's be clear: your son was the aggressor. He wanted my life and my treasures. In my world, that's a death sentence. I simply carried it out."
"None of that matters now," Pang Hong hissed. He turned to the assembled crowd, his voice rising to a roar. "Everyone! I am invoking the ancient law! I am initiating a Life-and-Death Duel with Luo Zhen! I ask you all to bear witness to the end of this blood debt!"
The announcement hit the arena like a thunderbolt. A Life-and-Death Duel was no mere sparring match. It was a contract signed in spirit and blood. Once the first blow was struck, only one man—or neither—would walk away. In the Red Desert, where power was the only currency, such duels were rare, reserved only for the most scorched-earth vendettas.
"Are you insane, Pang Hong?" King Wu grabbed his friend's arm, his four hands shaking. "A Life-and-Death Duel? You're the ruler of a city! Why risk everything on a gamble?"
"It's not a gamble," Pang Hong spat, shaking him off. "It's an execution. I don't care about the city. I want his head."
He turned back to Luo Zhen, his eyes bloodshot. "Luo! Do you have the courage to accept, or are you just a lucky coward?"
Luo Zhen adjusted his sleeves, his demeanor as relaxed as if he were being invited to tea. "I've never been much for turning down a challenge. If a duel is what you need to find peace, I'll be happy to provide it."
"Good!" Pang Hong leaped into the center of the bluestone arena, his heavy boots creating a resonant thud that echoed through the valley. "Then let's see if your talent can save you from my spear!"
Luo Zhen's figure blurred. In a movement so fluid it seemed as if the wind itself had carried him, he appeared thirty paces from Pang Hong. The bluestone arena was massive, built to withstand the cataclysmic forces unleashed by Demon Kings. Today, it would be tested.
The surrounding kings scrambled for the best vantage points. They were no longer just observers; they were vultures waiting for a meal of high-level insights.
"Place your bets," one king whispered. "Pang Hong has eighty years of experience at this level. He has the steel, the treasures, and the technique."
"But Luo Zhen has the momentum," the Green Wolf King countered. "And don't forget—he didn't just survive the brothers Xiong Shan and Xiong He. He ended them."
That name—Xiong Shan—sent a ripple of unease through the critics. If Luo Zhen had truly killed the Xiong brothers, then Pang Hong was walking into a slaughterhouse.
In the arena, Pang Hong didn't wait for a signal. He lunged forward, his Steel Shadow Spear erupting in a flurry of silver light. The weapon whistled through the air, creating a hundred phantom points of light that swarmed toward Luo Zhen like a hive of angry hornets. Each shadow was capable of piercing through solid granite.
Luo Zhen didn't move until the shadows were inches from his throat. With a flick of his wrist, he drew a long blade that seemed to be forged from solid emerald. The weapon hummed with a primal, verdant energy.
He delivered a single, vertical slash.
A massive crescent of emerald energy, fifty meters wide, tore through the air. It didn't just parry the spear shadows; it devoured them. The sheer pressure of the blade aura caused the bluestone beneath them to groan and shatter.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The explosions were deafening. The shockwaves sent clouds of dust billowing into the stands. When the air cleared, the emerald crescent was still moving, glowing with an undiminished fury as it bore down on Pang Hong.
Pang Hong's eyes widened. He threw his hand out, and a brass shield flew from his sleeve, expanding instantly into a massive wall of metal. It was his Giant Brass Shield, a mid-grade treasure he had relied on for decades.
The blade aura struck.
The sound wasn't a clash; it was the sound of a mountain being split. The brass shield didn't just hold—it buckled. The impact sent Pang Hong skidding thirty meters back, his boots carving deep furrows into the arena floor.
"Cough..." Pang Hong gasped, a trickle of blood escaping his lips. He looked at his shield and felt his heart stop.
A deep, jagged groove ran down the center of the brass. Then, with a mournful crack, the mid-grade treasure shattered into two useless halves.
The silence that followed was absolute.
"Did he just... one-shot a mid-grade shield?" a spectator whispered, his voice trembling.
"That's impossible," King Wu muttered, his four arms hanging limp. "Pang Hong's spear and shield are top-tier mid-grade artifacts. To break them like glass with a casual swing..."
Up in the VIP seating, the two Great Demon Kings—the peak-stage powerhouses—leaned forward, their eyes fixed on the emerald blade in Luo Zhen's hand.
"I recognize that blade," Great King Li said, his voice grave. "Xiong Shan spent centuries and a king's ransom looking for it. It's a Top-grade offensive treasure, forged from the heart of an ancient forest."
He looked at Luo Zhen, then back at the broken man in the arena.
"Luo Zhen didn't just kill Xiong Shan," Li continued. "He took his legacy. And now, he's using it to erase Pang Hong from existence."
In the arena, Luo Zhen lowered his blade, the emerald light reflecting in his cold, steady eyes. "Your shield is gone, Pang Hong. Do you want to continue this duel, or shall we move straight to the end?"