Being Followed

The cage arena's floor cracked apart. Chunks of earth shot into the sky like broken teeth. The nearest spectators were flung backward, some screaming, some in stunned silence.

And in the heart of it, the Blood Ravager's massive body fell backward—its entire chest caved inward, golden light still burning where Taran's fist landed.

When the dust settled, only Taran remained standing, bathed in flickering gold, the last divine light in a shattered battlefield.

Seeing the spectators, they couldn't help but swallow their saliva. The last attack even seemed to touch the realm above innate martial artists, which countless martial artists dream of, and yet such strength was shown by a discarded teenager who was supposed to be crippled.

Among the spectators, a ripple of shock spread through the figures from powerful clans and factions that sat. These were not ordinary gamblers who came for bloody entertainment—these were people who knew.