Er Ming's expression clearly faltered when he saw his opponent's number tag; he had unexpectedly become the lucky man on the arena stage today.

A Five-Star fighter challenging a Six-Star ring—this wasn't unheard of in the blood-soaked, insane arenas like the Bloody Frenzy or others.

On the contrary, it happened a few times every year.

The people who pulled such stunts were invariably young men.

Zhang Er Ming allowed a faint smile to touch his lips. There were always youngsters who thought they were reincarnated Martial Gods, rushing into these life-or-death fighting rings, hoping to make a name for themselves in the Golden Triangle overnight.

Unfortunately, the feat of a Five-Star defeating a Six-Star had never once occurred on this stage of combat unto death. Every young martial artist who attempted to leap the ranks ended up as nothing more than a cold corpse.

Zhang Er Ming had no intention of letting this immutable law vanish under his tenure. Nor did he intend to let his record of thirty-six wins and thirty-six fatalities in the thirty-sixth fight on Floor Minus One be broken.

Zhang Er Ming gently rotated his neck, glancing sideways every so often at Lin Ling resting on Qin Fen's lap, his thick tongue darting out to moisten his slightly chapped lips.

Among those who fought death matches, no one knew if they would still be breathing the next time they stepped onto the stage. Many, after earning money, rushed to squander it quickly.

Dying before finishing their spending was considered a rather tragic end to one's life.

For death match fighters, the best ways to de-stress were naturally liquor and women.

Zhang Er Ming had known many women, including quite a few stunners. But never before had a woman ignited in him the desire for conquest like Lin Ling did.

Her ice-cold aura. Her seductive figure. Her aloof demeanor.

Yet, seated in Qin Fen's embrace, Lin Ling added a layer of unexpected tenderness to that composure.

Many fighters, upon seeing Lin Ling, harbored the thought of killing Qin Fen just to subdue and conquer this woman beneath them.

As the audience grew denser, the atmosphere on Floor Minus One gradually intensified.

When the crowd size reached two-thirds of its usual volume, the first bout of the day commenced.

"The first match today is a spectacle rarely seen in any fighting ring; you are all truly fortunate," the ring announcer, a golden girl clad in a scant three-piece, purred into the microphone. "The first match pits Number Forty-Four, a Five-Star fighter, against Number One Hundred Seventy-Two, a Six-Star fighter. Gentlemen, please take the stage."

The previously noisy stands fell into a sudden, profound silence; many people even suspected their ears had deceived them.

Soon after Qin Fen stepped onto the platform, the quiet audience erupted in a torrent of clamor.

"What is going on here?"

"Has the Five-Star kid finally been weaned?"

"Number One Seventy-Two, torture this kid to death!"

"Exactly! Torture him to death. Since you are a Star higher, if you merely kill him without tormenting him first, you lose!"

The moment Qin Fen stood on the ring, a flicker of surprise crossed his eyes. The platform beneath his feet was not stone, but a massive block cast from steel.

Compared to Five-Star fighters, Six-Star fighters carried significantly more destructive power.

Whether the ring was made of steel-reinforced concrete or stacked large stones, neither structure could remain intact for long under their feet. Eventually, the management devised a solution: forge a solid, cast-iron platform.

"Containing several dragon-like movement techniques—that's rather odd." Wang Hao leaned slightly forward, his arms resting on his thighs, supporting his chin, focusing his interest intently on one person.

Qin Fen's eye twitched. He subtly turned his head to glance upward and diagonally, then refocused his attention on Zhang Er Ming.

"Heh, somewhat interesting."

Wang Hao’s eyes held a cool amusement. As a former captain of an anti-drug squad, his perception was superior to the average person. Though Qin Fen’s upward glance moments ago seemed casual, Wang Hao knew it was a reaction to his own gaze locking onto the target.

"To be able to sense my focus through a piece of glass that allows viewing from inside to outside, but prevents viewing from outside to inside," Wang Hao muttered to himself. "I am eagerly anticipating your performance."

"Hurry up and fight!"

"The gong has sounded, why aren't you starting?"

"Number One Seventy-Two, I bet a thousand yuan on you winning! Get over there and maul that kid!"

The audience seats were filled with a chaotic din. Zhang Er Ming remained rooted to the spot, merely circulating his Guangming Gong throughout his body. Although this was a death match arena, for a Six-Star fighter to proactively seize the initiative against a Five-Star opponent would invite scorn from other Six-Star fighters, potentially bolstering the opponent's morale in future encounters.

Seeing the faint arrogance flashing between the opponent's brows, Qin Fen immediately understood his mindset and certainly did not intend to show any courtesy. With a slight shift, the bones in his body vibrated. The Long Xiang Ban Ruo Gong activated the blood within him, causing it to surge and roar ceaselessly. Zhang Er Ming on the stage could faintly hear the sound of Qin Fen's circulating blood.

Facing a Six-Star who fought death matches daily, even one showing a sliver of disdain in his expression, Qin Fen allowed no relaxation.

Driven by the Zhenqi, every compression and beat of his heart sounded like a child’s rattle, emitting a "dong-dong-dong" sound audible even through the surrounding muscle tissue.

Under the powerful suction of the heart, the muscle fibers of the body began to... Qin Fen abruptly straightened his chest, his skeletal structure simultaneously emitting a series of stretching sounds. The dark-green tendons throughout his body inflated rapidly, crisscrossing the surface of his body, forming a bizarre map of the human form.

In an instant!

The audience, which moments before had been filled with constant noise, fell utterly silent. Several martial artists seated in the front row shot to their feet.

Almost everyone stared dumbly at the stage. This young man, who moments ago appeared rather ordinary, had transformed in an instant into something akin to a colossal, ancient ape.

"What... what kind of ancient martial art is this?" Wang Hao seemed electrocuted, springing to his feet and rushing to the massive window, staring intently at Qin Fen on the stage. "No wonder he dared challenge the Six-Star ring. It seems the history of the Five-Star fighter inevitably losing to the Six-Star fighter in this death match arena is about to change."

Zhang Er Ming, Qin Fen's direct opponent, involuntarily took half a step back. As the one closest to him, he felt things more profoundly than anyone else.

Faster than the blink of an eye, the young man's eyes, like searchlights, illuminated him, sending a chilling sensation through his body.

Looking at Qin Fen, Zhang Er Ming felt an indescribable absurdity wash over him. In that split second, Zhang Er Ming knew he had retreated, and it was due to timidity, a reaction born from an inability to directly withstand the sheer imposing aura emanating from his opponent.

Could a Six-Star be afraid of a Five-Star?

Zhang Er Ming quickly discarded that absurd notion. All previous condescension and arrogance were violently ejected from his system. He activated his San Guang Gong with absolute seriousness, and the moment it ran at full capacity, his skin emitted a radiance even brighter than before.

Before Qin Fen could move, Zhang Er Ming launched his attack first. He had entirely dismissed the idea of waiting for his opponent to make the opening move.

He took a lightning-fast step forward and whipped out his arm like an ancient spear, aiming directly for Qin Fen's throat.

Many spectators didn't even register the movement of his body, only perceiving a streak of white light shooting forward, accompanied by sharp pa-pa sounds as his clothing sliced through the air.

Wang Hao's eyes showed a trace of admiration. The San Guang Gong was not called the Three Lights Gong merely because, upon reaching certain cultivation thresholds, the internal Zhenqi caused the skin to emit different glows, culminating in a faint three-color radiance at its peak. The Three Lights Movement technique of the San Guang Gong was named so because its speed was incredibly fast, like pure white light.

"How will he block this punch?"

The thought flashed through Wang Hao's mind at the exact moment Qin Fen moved. Years of sparring against veteran Six-Star fighters had eliminated any psychological pressure Qin Fen felt when facing a Six-Star. He chose the simplest, most direct attack method he consistently employed.

He stomped his feet down with explosive force, unleashing the power of Yi Xiang that launched him forward like a cannonball.

The instant his foot connected with the steel platform, a loud, muffled impact resounded, making several people feel a tightness in their own chests just hearing it. The carpet covering the ring was shredded into fragments by the force of Yi Xiang.

A cold smirk played on Zhang Er Ming's lips. He suddenly flicked his wrist, and a light, sharp glimmer shot out from his sleeve, heading straight for Qin Fen's throat.

The Sword of Light from the San Guang Quan technique!

This was Zhang Er Ming's ultimate, life-saving secret move, one he had never used in the arena before. He had practiced this strike hundreds of times, confident that there was no discernible precursor before the attack. Even a Seven-Star fighter had a fifty percent chance of being instantly killed by this sudden strike, and of the remaining fifty percent, another forty would be severely wounded. Zhang Er Ming was confident that even a Seven-Star warrior had less than a ten percent chance of dodging this attack unscathed.

How much less a Five-Star opponent?

As the sword thrust out, Zhang Er Ming could already smell the metallic tang of blood passing through a throat.

Witnessing this strike, all the death match fighters watching from below broke out in cold sweats, secretly contemplating their own chances of survival if they were the target of this sudden, eerie blade.

In this moment that decided life or death, Zhang Er Ming looked up at Qin Fen, eager to see the look of terror on the face of the warrior who had dared to insult him with his mere aura.

This is...?

At the decisive moment, Zhang Er Ming could not believe his eyes. The young man, who moments before resembled a giant demonic ape, wore an expression of utter disdain.

Disdain? How could it be disdain? He saw through it? Impossible!

Qin Fen pivoted his advancing foot on the steel plate, executing the Long Zhe Shen (Dragon Conceals Body) movement from his fitness boxing regimen!

The chilling sword light instantly lost its target. Zhang Er Ming suddenly felt an icy cold sensation against his throat.

He rushed forward two steps, stabilized his body, and watched a mist of crimson spray erupt from his own neck.

"The Path of Slaughter? You are unqualified in concealment."

In Qin Fen's hand, a military knife had appeared from somewhere unknown.

All the Six-Star fighters below froze, stunned. Like Zhang Er Ming, they had absolutely no idea where Qin Fen had produced the military knife from.

A cold dread seeped into the marrow of every death match fighter. Compared to Zhang Er Ming's strange sword trick, this hidden, decisive killing blow concealed beneath Qin Fen's overwhelming power was the truly terrifying element.