Chapter 364: The Semifinals Unleashed

Chapter 364: Chapter 364: The Semifinals Unleashed

The Great Solaris Arena loomed ahead, its massive stone walls casting long shadows across the approach.

Grand Marshal Vane stood beside the bronze gong at the main entrance, his blood-platinum armor gleaming in the morning light.

His Saint Spirit Realm Ninth Level presence was a tangible weight in the air, pressing down on everyone who approached.

He simply stood there, his eyes scanning the arriving delegations, his hand resting on the gong striker.

Damon led his group toward the entrance.

As they passed, Vane’s eyes locked onto him.

Damon felt the Saint’s spiritual sense brush against his body, probing his cultivation, testing his defenses.

Damon did not resist.

He let the Saint’s spiritual sense wash over him like a tide against a seawall, probing for cracks, searching for the truth beneath the surface.

The pressure was immense—a Saint Spirit Realm Ninth Level cultivator’s full attention was not something to take lightly—but Damon remained still, his expression neutral, his breathing steady and unhurried.

There was no point in fighting the inspection; resistance would only invite deeper scrutiny, and he had nothing to fear from this particular examination.

The Heavenly Spirit Realm First Level mask held firm.

It was an illusion woven into the very fabric of his aura, seamless and impenetrable.

To Vane’s senses, Damon appeared exactly as he should: a talented but unremarkable outer disciple, barely worthy of a second glance.

The Saint’s spiritual sense brushed against the mask’s surface, tested its edges, then retreated, satisfied with what it had found.

Vane’s eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of something—suspicion, perhaps, or simple curiosity—passing through his gaze.

But he said nothing. Perhaps he sensed an inconsistency he could not name, or perhaps he simply dismissed Damon as beneath his concern.

Either way, his hand remained on the gong striker, his attention already shifting to the next approaching delegation.

Damon walked past him into the arena.

His footsteps were sure and unhurried, echoing against the stone floor as he led his group through the entrance.

The Saint’s gaze lingered on his back for a moment longer, a silent weight that Damon felt but did not acknowledge.

Then the pressure lifted, and he was through, the arena’s vast interior opening before him.

The interior was already filling with spectators, their voices echoing off the stone walls as they took their seats.

The arena floor was pristine, the sand replaced overnight, the barrier shimmering with fresh energy.

The thirty-two sect banners hung from the rafters, their fabric rippling in the morning breeze.

Above the main entrance, four massive banners hung suspended from iron rods, their fabric snapping in the morning breeze.

Each banner represented one of the remaining teams, their sigils embroidered in gold and silver thread that caught the sunlight and threw it back in glittering arcs.

The Azure Dragon Sect’s banner was a deep azure blue, a coiled dragon rendered in silver thread across its surface.

The dragon’s eyes were twin emeralds that seemed to watch the crowd below.

Beside it hung the Vermilion Bird Sect’s banner, a blazing crimson phoenix with outstretched wings, its feathers painted in shades of fire and blood.

The banner seemed to shimmer with residual heat, as if the phoenix might take flight at any moment.

The Nameless Sect’s banner was simpler, a dark field with a single silver crescent moon at its center.

The fabric was new, unmarked by battle, a stark contrast to the other banners that bore the scars of previous tournaments.

The Crimson Eclipse Sect’s banner was the largest of the four, a blood-red sun eclipsed by a black circle, the design stark and menacing.

The banner’s edges were frayed, and dark stains marred its lower half—stains that might have been wine or something far less innocent.

The crowd below pointed and murmured, their attention drawn to the banners as they settled into their seats.

The four remaining sects had earned their place here through blood and sacrifice, and the banners served as a constant reminder of what was at stake.

Damon’s gaze lingered on the Nameless Sect’s banner for a moment, a flicker of pride crossing his features before he turned away, leading his group into the arena’s depths.

Damon led his group toward their dugout, their footsteps echoing across the stone floor.

The VIP box was already occupied.

Alistair sat in the center seat, his cold eyes fixed on the arena floor, his hands resting on the armrests of his throne-like chair.

Beside him stood Kai.

Kai’s appearance had changed.

His skin was paler than before, almost grey, with dark veins pulsing beneath the surface.

His eyes had turned a sickly yellow, the whites stained with red. His robes hung loosely on his frame, as if his body had shrunk inside them.

But his aura was unmistakable.

King Spirit Realm.

Demonic.

Corrupted.

Kai’s gaze found Damon the moment he entered the dugout.

Their eyes met across the arena.

Kai smiled.

It was not a human smile. It was the grin of something that had stopped being human, something that had traded its soul for power.

Damon did not look away.

He stared back at Kai with a cold, predatory smile of his own.

The crowd around them fell silent, sensing the tension.

Alistair leaned forward in his seat, his eyes narrowing as he watched the exchange.

Damon raised his hand and pointed at Kai.

Then he drew his thumb across his throat.

Kai’s smile vanished.

The demonic aura around him flared, dark energy seeping from his pores, staining the air around him with corruption.

Grand Marshal Vane’s voice cut through the tension like a blade.

"The semifinals begin in one hour. All teams report to their dugouts. No outside interference will be tolerated."

The Saint’s voice carried no emotion, but the weight of his authority was absolute.

The demonic aura around Kai flickered and died.

Kai turned away, his fists clenched at his sides.

Alistair’s face was a mask of cold fury.

Selene placed her hand on Damon’s shoulder.

"Win this," she said quietly.

Damon smiled.

"I always do."