Chapter 368: Clearing the Board

The fifth Crimson Eclipse fighter stepped onto the arena floor with the slow, deliberate gait of a man walking to his own execution.

He was a large brute, easily two meters tall, with arms thick as tree trunks and a chest covered in ritual scars that glowed with faint demonic light.

His hands were wrapped in spiked chains, and his eyes held the hollow look of someone who had already accepted death.

Damon watched him approach, his wooden sword resting loosely at his side.

The brute stopped ten meters away and raised his fists. The chains around his hands began to glow, dark energy coiling around the spikes.

“I don’t want to fight you,” the brute said, his voice low and rough. “But he’ll kill me if I don’t.”

Damon nodded once. “I understand.”

The brute charged.

He was fast for his size, his feet pounding against the stone as he closed the distance in a heartbeat.

His right fist came around in a wide arc, the spiked chains trailing behind it like a comet’s tail.

Damon stepped inside the swing.

He moved past the brute’s guard with a fluid grace that seemed to bend the laws of physics.

His wooden sword came up in a short, precise arc, catching the brute under the chin.

The impact lifted the brute off his feet and sent him crashing to the ground, unconscious before he hit the stone.

Damon stood over him for a moment, then looked toward the Crimson Eclipse dugout.

“Fifth,” Damon said, his voice cutting through the arena’s sudden, deathly silence.

In the dugout, the last underling stood frozen—a wiry man with a scarred face and trembling hands.

His cultivation base, forcibly elevated through demonic grafts, pulsed erratically beneath his skin.

Sweat beaded on his brow as he stared at the pile of ash that had been his comrade moments ago.

The acrid smell of burnt flesh and spiritual energy still hung in the air, a grim reminder of what awaited him.

His scarred face contorted with fear, eyes darting between the ash and Damon’s cold golden gaze.

Every muscle in his body screamed at him to run, but his legs refused to move. He was trapped, alone, and utterly outmatched.

Then he looked at the arena floor, where five bodies lay scattered like discarded toys.

He stepped forward.

His legs moved mechanically, carrying him toward the arena entrance as if his body had already surrendered and his mind was simply catching up.

The crowd watched in silence as he walked onto the blood-stained stone.

Damon’s golden eyes tracked his movements, reading every tremor, every hesitation, every sign of the man’s terror.

Damon moved.

He appeared before the man in a blur of motion, his wooden sword already swinging.

The strike caught the fighter across the temple, and he crumpled to the ground, unconscious before he hit the stone.

Damon stood over him, his expression unchanged.

“That’s six,” he said, his voice carrying across the silent arena.

The crowd erupted.

A wave of sound crashed through the colosseum as tens of thousands of spectators rose to their feet, their cheers and screams blending into a single, deafening roar.

They had witnessed something unprecedented.

A single captain had wiped out six opponents without taking a scratch. No injuries. No visible fatigue. No sign that he had even exerted himself.

The commentators in their elevated booths were shouting over each other, their voices cracking with excitement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, what we have just witnessed is nothing short of historic!”

“Six opponents! Six! And Damon Arcknight hasn’t even broken a sweat!”

“Where did the Azure Dragon Sect find this monster?!”

In the royal box, King Aurelius Solaris leaned forward in his throne, his eyes fixed on the young man standing alone in the center of the arena.

“He’s hiding his true cultivation,” the King murmured, his voice low. “And he’s doing it well.”

Beside him, Grand Marshal Vane nodded slowly. “The mask is flawless. But the power beneath it… I can feel it. He’s far stronger than he appears.”

In the Azure Dragon dugout, Ariel watched with tears streaming down her face, her hands pressed against her chest.

“That’s my man,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Mio and Mia stood on either side of her, their eyes shining with pride and desire.

“Six kills,” Mio said, her voice awed. “He made it look easy.”

“He’s not done yet,” Mia replied, her gaze fixed on the arena. “The real fight is about to begin.”

In the Crimson Eclipse dugout, Kai rose from his seat.

His demonic aura flared violently, black energy coiling around his body like living serpents.

The grafts on his arms pulsed with dark light, and his eyes burned with a mixture of rage and anticipation.

He stepped through the dugout entrance and onto the arena floor.

The crowd’s cheers died instantly, replaced by a tense, expectant silence.

Kai walked to the center of the arena, his footsteps heavy against the blood-stained stone.

He stopped ten meters from Damon, his demonic aura pressing against the arena barrier like a physical force.

“Six underlings,” Kai said, his voice low and cold, cutting through the tense silence.

His demonic aura coiled around him like living shadows, his eyes burning with anticipation.

“Six sacrifices to warm the stage.”

Damon met his gaze without flinching, his golden eyes calm and steady. A faint smile touched his lips as he replied with casual confidence. “Send the seventh.”

Kai’s lips curled into a cold smile. He raised his hand, and dark energy surged from his palm, forming a blade of pure necrotic fire. The weapon hissed, casting eerie shadows across the stone.

“The seventh is me.” He took a step forward, the blade humming with lethal intent.

“I’m going to enjoy this, Arcknight.”

Damon adjusted his grip on the wooden sword, the familiar weight settling in his palm.

He could feel the power radiating from Kai, the grafts pulsing with dark light, but his own confidence remained unshaken.

He met Kai’s burning gaze and spoke with quiet certainty.

“Then come.”