Dong Wanming's gaze was like fire. He finished speaking, then with a light tap of his foot, swiftly mounted the ring to face Chris.
Seeing this, the announcer swallowed nervously, grabbed his microphone, and scrambled off the ring.
"Dong Wanming of the Holy Heart Sect."
Dong Wanming stated calmly. The moment he stepped into the ring, the entire venue fell silent, leaving the space to the Fighters within.
"Last ten seconds, and I'll consider it your win."
Chris said, his expression unchanged, seemingly indifferent to who his opponent was.
"I don't need a victory born of charity. Come at me with your full strength. Show me what you're truly capable of."
"Let's begin."
Dong Wanming lowered his eyes, his Spirit drawn deep within. His heartbeat, his blood flow—everything seemed to grind to a halt. The eyes he had tempered through years of Cultivation, staring directly into the midday sun, were now hidden beneath his lids.
At this moment, he was like a silent, black night.
