Chapter 70: The Birth of the Eight Finalist Teams

“What are these people shouting about? It’s completely senseless!” Sikong Ming, who was sitting on his younger brother, glanced at the members of Qin Xiaochuan’s team standing in the viewing area and asked Sikong Lang with some dissatisfaction, “What do you think of that guy Qin Xiaochuan?”

Hearing the faint anger in his brother’s tone, Sikong Lang fell silent for a moment. He adjusted the sunglasses on his nose and said in a deep voice, “He’s someone we’re bound to fight sooner or later!” It seemed he was quite satisfied with Qin Xiaochuan’s performance in this match, and had already set him as his ultimate opponent in this martial arts tournament.

It appeared that his previous warning hadn’t been in vain—Qin Xiaochuan must have undergone some truly grueling training before entering the tournament. Otherwise, he could never have displayed such overwhelming strength in the very first match. It seemed that only Qin Xiaochuan and his team could offer him a worthy final battle.

Qin Xiaochuan’s spiritual power was now far greater than when they’d last met at the villa; his stamina, agility, and speed had all improved considerably. Perhaps it was to make up for intentionally losing at the villa, or perhaps it was for the chance to fight Sikong Lang for real in the arena. Either way, Sikong Lang was genuinely optimistic about the opponent he’d designated beforehand: Qin Xiaochuan.

“Will they even make it that far?” the long-haired, delicate-featured man said coldly, clearly disagreeing. He watched Qin Xiaochuan, who was celebrating his victory on the field. “That guy… has made a fatal mistake. He can’t use spirit orbs anymore…”

But that hardly mattered now. After this brutal battle, Qin Xiaochuan’s team had finally claimed their first victory. Though all but the masked fighter had suffered wounds of varying degrees, the thrill of winning the opening match left everyone elated. That evening, all except Feiyan—Qin Xiaochuan, Zhang Yang, Bai Ying, and the masked fighter—attended a celebratory banquet for their first win.

The banquet was simple, but good company and plenty of wine made up for the lack of dishes. Though the victory was hard-won, after the first match of the Dark Martial Arts Tournament, everyone had a rough sense of the average level of their competitors. The teams who made it to the elimination rounds on the island not only possessed powerful demonic energies, but also boasted unique skills. This prompted Qin Xiaochuan’s team to approach the next round with a clear strategy: no matter how weak an opponent might seem, they would fight with full force and utmost seriousness. Any lapse in vigilance could mean not only losing the match, but also their lives.

That night, they set their table on the beach, drinking beneath the moon that hung over the sea. Even Bai Ying, who disliked alcohol, was swept up in the excitement of their first victory and drank quite a bit. Later, unable to resist the cajoling of Qin Xiaochuan and Zhang Yang, Bai Ying eventually collapsed onto the sand. The masked fighter, after downing a dozen beers, headed back to the room for unknown reasons. Only Qin Xiaochuan and Zhang Yang remained, their spirits growing ever higher as they clinked bottles and polished off ten more rounds of beer.

Never before had Qin Xiaochuan drunk so freely. As a high school student, he’d always respected his mother and never dared smoke or drink at home for fear of angering her. At most, he would join her for a couple of celebratory drinks at New Year’s. Now, freed from her constraints and victorious in the opening round of the Dark Tournament, he was overjoyed. Surrounded by teammates who got along so well, he naturally revealed his prodigious capacity for alcohol—“never drunk no matter how much he drank,” as the saying goes. Whether he inherited this from his mother or his father, no one knew; with each bottle, he drank as if it were water.

Seeing Qin Xiaochuan so happy, Zhang Yang also threw caution to the wind, matching him drink for drink. As the first rays of sunlight broke over the sea, the two finally succumbed to sleep. Despite his injuries, Qin Xiaochuan was still bursting with energy, betraying no sign of the wounds he’d received in the deadly fight. Youth truly is a marvelous thing—so much time and vigor to squander; perhaps that’s what people mean when they speak of youth’s invincibility.

This tournament had sixteen teams advancing to the elimination rounds. With their first win, Qin Xiaochuan’s team entered the quarterfinals. After securing their spot among the final eight, the second day of the Dark Tournament proceeded with more elimination matches. The arena was once again awash with bloodshed and violence.

“The winner is G-3! Dr. Barry’s G-Team claims victory with a score of 3-0 and advances to the next round!”

“How incredible!” The monsters in the stands gasped in awe as G-3 raised the severed head of an opponent. This creature, with stitches across its brow, had fearlessly withstood the enemy’s barrage of punches, walked through their net of fists, and torn off his opponent’s head as if it were nothing. The spectators were thrilled. Many had spent their life savings on tickets to the Dark Martial Arts Tournament just to witness such brutal carnage, and G-3’s slaughter fulfilled their wildest wishes.

As the referee announced the result, the stands erupted in cheers for G-3. Bloodthirsty, merciless, cold-blooded warriors were their idols. Amidst the howls of the crowd, G-3 tossed aside the severed head and prepared to leave the ring, his face expressionless.

At that moment, a massive figure stormed onto the stage—a minotaur with the blood of the One-Eyed Beasts. The One-Eyed Beasts were a famed clan in the Demon Realm, said to descend from the one-eyed dragon Zhukun, a branch of the ancient demonic dragons. Zhukun was notorious for his savagery, and in ancient times, only the primal dragons could stand against their kind. After tens of thousands of years, Zhukun’s progeny proliferated throughout the Demon Realm; any one-eyed creature could be identified as a descendant. Don’t be deceived by the single eye—an adult Zhukun could measure over ten thousand meters, ferocious, bloodthirsty, and eager to spread its lineage. Thus, many beast clans in the Demon Realm carried their blood. The one-eyed minotaur was but one branch of the Zhukun line.

When the minotaur appeared, many in the audience recognized his bloodline and shouted:

“Look! It’s a minotaur from the Zhukun family!”

“Yeah! His hair is blood-red—terrifying!”

“No kidding. I wonder why he’s on stage. Hurry, let’s see what happens!”

“Oooohhhhh!”

“Shhh!”

...

Despite the hisses from the crowd, G-3 didn’t look back, utterly unconcerned by the minotaur behind him, and walked straight off the ring.

Trailing the minotaur stood a figure resembling a merman—horned, blue-skinned, covered in scales. As hideous as he looked on land, he was a formidable opponent in the water. For reasons unknown, he’d been recruited for the tournament by the minotaur team’s sponsor—truly unlucky for him.

“3-0… Wonderful! That means we don’t have to fight anymore!” On hearing the match was over, the merman sighed in relief. The horrific deaths of the first three teammates had pushed him to his limits; he was ready to flee. He hadn’t even seen what those G-Team fighters had done—just a wave of their hands, and his teammates’ heads and limbs were severed. It was terrifying. If he couldn’t even discern their moves, going up would be suicide.

Unfortunately for him, he should never have spoken aloud behind the minotaur. His words were overheard, and just as he was about to run, the minotaur’s tail lashed out, sending the merman’s enormous head rolling away. With just a sweep of his tail, the minotaur had decapitated him—testament to the strength inherited from Zhukun.

As his eyes bulged in disbelief, the merman seemed unable to accept dying at his teammate’s hands; yet, he couldn’t close his eyes, for he had no eyelids.

For the minotaur, killing the merman was as effortless as squashing a bug. If not for his attempted desertion, the minotaur wouldn’t have bothered. But the 3-0 result had enraged him. With his bloodlust awakened, he was ready to wreak havoc in defiance of the tournament’s rules.

Driven by the Zhukun blood within him, the minotaur’s purpose at this Dark Martial Arts Tournament was purely to experience the thrill of killing. The chance to slaughter had been denied when his team lost before he could even fight. So, as the referee declared the result, the giant bull leaped onto the ring, ready to unleash chaos.