The stage that once belonged to tyrants now felt like a prison of glass.
Every step Wu took rang too loudly. Every breath Lin drew echoed too sharply in his ears. The whispers had become knives, and not a single blade missed its mark.
They no longer looked like giants. Not even like men.
Just silhouettes—shrinking under the crushing weight of disgrace.
They turned, not out of defeat, but out of necessity.
Not because Han had bested them.
Not because the guardian ordered it.
But because they had been stripped.
Their prestige. Their image. Their dominance. All peeled back like flesh from bone, layer by humiliating layer, until nothing remained but the raw pulp of pride.
And the worst part?
The crowd had watched it all.
No—the crowd had done it.
They didn't even glance at Han now. He was no longer the target. Not even a concern.
What burned in their minds was one thing only: leave.
And so they did.
Silently. Stiffly.
Like disgraced actors stepping off a stage that no longer welcomed them.
The arena did not clap. It did not jeer. It simply breathed without them—as if the space itself exhaled their names out like poison.
And when they were gone, the silence they left behind wasn't empty.
It was rebirth.
…
The moment their backs turned, the spell broke.
Like a dam finally cracking, the arena roared—not with cheers for heroes, but with the fury of a silenced crowd now set free.
Boos rained down like thunder.
"Cowards!"
"Shameless pigs!"
"Leave and never come back!"
The voices were countless. Some angry. Some laughing. Some simply… relieved. As if they'd held their breath for years, and now, at last, they could exhale.
The disciples who had once feared Wu and Lin, who had bowed their heads and swallowed injustice, now stood tall. Some even clapped—not for them, but for their exit.
A few brave souls jeered louder.
One girl, eyes still damp from watching Han nearly enslaved, shouted through cupped hands, "The righteous path doesn't need you!"
And she wasn't alone.
More and more disciples joined her, some chanting, others just laughing—at the sight of two men who had once been untouchable, now walking away like scolded children.
Wu's fists trembled at his sides.
Lin's jaw clenched, teeth grinding so hard they could've shattered jade.
But they didn't turn back.
They couldn't.
Even a single glare now might be used against them. Even a threat would be crushed beneath the guardian's gaze. They knew it. Everyone knew it.
Their silence wasn't stoic.
It was defeat.
And as they vanished into the tunnels below, the energy in the arena didn't settle.
It rose.
Disciples rushed toward one another, whispering, shouting, laughing—alive.
The fear that had shackled them seemed to lift like morning fog, and the people left behind weren't just watchers anymore.
They were witnesses.
They were believers.
Some would forget this day. Others would remember it forever.
But none would see Wu and Lin the same way again.
Because in one moment, stripped of all pretense, they'd been shown for what they truly were:
Not monsters. Not legends.
Just men.
And suddenly?
That made everything feel possible.
As the raucous noise echoed through the arena, the chaos of the crowd still swelling with energy, Yun turned her gaze to the maid at her side. The flames of revolution had been ignited, but it was not for her to fuel.
She straightened, brushing the dust from her robes, her presence still commanding even in this fleeting moment. The cheers, the whispers—they were not hers to claim. She had said what needed to be said, and now her task here was done.
Her voice, soft yet steady, sliced through the atmosphere.
"Let's go now."
The maid, ever loyal, nodded without hesitation. No words were needed. Together, they moved gracefully, leaving behind the storm of victory, the faces that now bore her name in silent awe.
But as she took those first steps away from the stage, the crowd erupted. Applause rang out, louder than anything that had come before. Hands clapped, some with fervor, others with reverence—almost as if they were worshipping her.
"Who is she?!" someone shouted amidst the cheers.
"She's… incredible!" came another voice, filled with awe.
The chant began to spread, though they still didn't know her name—only the power of her words, the justice she had brought. Still, their admiration was undeniable, swelling with every passing second.
"Whoever she is… she's a hero!" someone yelled.
"She speaks the truth!"
"I'm going to worship her!"
Yun's figure, silhouetted against the roar of the crowd, was met with reverence, as if she were some divine presence descending from the heavens to bring salvation. Each step she took was met with adoration, each motion treated like the grace of a goddess.
But Yun… Yun was unfazed.
She moved with the quiet dignity of someone who had already given her all. Her expression remained stoic, the subtle tension of her victory left unnoticed by those who now saw only the power of her words, the justice in her actions.
And as she disappeared into the shadows of the arena, the noise of the crowd continued to reverberate, their voices chanting her name in their hearts, even though they did not know it yet.
Her exit was not one of retreat, but of something greater—leaving behind not only a memory, but a legend.
…
High above the coliseum, beyond the reach of common disciples and the eyes of the frenzied crowd, a woman stood beneath the shade of a crimson pavilion.
She had remained silent through the chaos. Unmoving. Watching.
The wind didn't touch her robes; they hung heavy, velvet-dark and embroidered with subtle flames. Her eyes—deep amber like smoldering embers—flickered faintly, not with shock, not with admiration… but with expectation. Like someone who had just spotted a long-awaited signal on the horizon.
"Interesting…" she murmured, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. Her voice was soft, but behind it was a hum of heat—dangerous, simmering.
Her gaze lingered on the vanishing silhouette of Yun.
"It seems… you're a worthy opponent, sister."
She turned, slowly. Her steps were soundless, yet the air around her distorted faintly as if waves of heat pulsed from her presence. It wasn't qi—not overtly. It was something subtler. A smoldering intensity, like the earth before a volcanic eruption.
Where Yun had walked like a calm flame within cold divinity, this woman moved like a slow-burning fire—deep, relentless, patient.
She left no sound behind her. No name. No announcement.
Only the faint scent of scorched air and the shimmer of invisible embers clinging to her shadow.
And though no one saw her leave…
…the battlefield had already gained another player.
And she was not one to sit idly for long.