Wu Rong slowly stepped off the dueling stage, his hands clasped behind his back as he made his way toward the elder of the Second Moon, who was frozen—his face a mix of shock and confusion.
"Did your young master ask who he was dealing with?" Wu Rong's voice was calm, almost pitying. "Or did he just dive in head first?"
"W-What?" The elder blinked, snapping out of his daze. "What are you talking about?"
Wu Rong narrowed his eyes. "Did you know who Kazel is?"
"The young master of the Immortal Sect?" the elder replied, unsure. "That's what we were told."
Wu Rong tilted his head, his gaze sharpening. "Is that all that you know?"
"We only asked about his background…" the elder said, growing nervous. "Don't tell me there's more to it?"
"The Immortal Sect is a relic sect, yes. One that only recently resurfaced," Wu Rong began, glancing at Kazel, whose stance on the platform remained lazy—his shoulder still slightly lowered, bowl shards scattered at his feet. "And yes, he is the grandson of the late progenitor. But that alone doesn't explain what you're seeing, does it?"
The elder's brows twitched.
Wu Rong turned his head back, his voice dropping as if afraid the truth itself might chill the air further."Around here, he is known by another name."
The elder looked at him, unsure he wanted to hear what came next.
"The Sect Slayer."
"…The—what?"
"That's right," Wu Rong said, eyes not leaving the battlefield. "He vanquished two sects in a single day. Wiped them clean. Left nothing but ashes."
"W-What…" The elder's lips parted, his throat dry. His thoughts scrambled, grasping at denial—but the truth was loud. It stood right in front of him in the shape of a boy who held a bowl moments ago, and now faced his master with a Frostfang behind him.
An aura that could crush lungs.
A gaze that could silence hearts.
( No… It can't be...)
But the title echoed louder than doubt.
Kazel.The Sect Slayer.
Wu Rong took a deep breath. "And now, your young master is about to face that monstrosity."
The elder's knees nearly buckled, his breath hitching. He looked back toward the platform—
Where Kazel finally moved.
One hand stretching.One foot sliding forward.The Frostfang growled behind him.
Wu Rong turned toward the crowd.
"Let it be known," he declared, voice carrying through the stunned silence,"Kazel, the Sect Slayer—versus the Young Master of the Second Moon—begins now."
And Kazel struck.
"Don't get cocky!!" Agabah roared, veins flaring across his temple. He brought his sword down in a vicious arc.
CLANG!
But Kazel didn't flinch.
He casually slapped the incoming blade aside with his forearm, redirecting it mid-swing—its edge slicing nothing but air.
Then came the counter.
KTHUMP—KTHUMP!
A twin tap of fists, swift and precise, struck Agabah square in the chest, forcing him to stagger back with a grunt. His feet skidded along the stage's tiles as he struggled to regain balance.
Kazel took one step back.
Not out of fear.
But to taunt.
His blue eyes, as cold as winter moons, glimmered under the rays of morning light. With a slow tilt of his head and a half-smile tugging the corner of his lips, he dared Agabah to try again.
"Tch…!!" Agabah growled, lifting his blade horizontally.
He slashed the air.
Once.
Twice.
Then again.
And again.
The winds howled as the slashes took form—razor-thin wind blades, like curved claws of invisible beasts, flying toward Kazel in succession. One after another. An unrelenting barrage of slicing gales that shredded the air with precision.
"He's cornering him!" someone shouted from the crowd.
The attacks were relentless. They hemmed Kazel in like a cage of cutting wind—one misstep and he would be sliced to ribbons.
But Kazel?
Kazel didn't blink.
Behind him, the Frostfang's ghostly form loomed, fangs bared. Its eyes narrowed—synced with Kazel's.
Enhanced wariness.Anti-ambush awareness.Superior agility.
That was the core of a Frostfang's buff-type boon.Better than the boar. Better than the rabbit. It was made for the art of war—to evade, to counter, to slaughter.
Kazel's body twisted, bent, and turned.
Slip—duck—pivot—sidestep.
He moved with liquid grace, slipping through the barrage like a shadow slipping through rain. The claws of wind missed—barely—striking only the ground and walls behind him, gouging deep gashes into stone and tile.
The audience held their breath.
Eyes wide.
Hearts racing.
And then—
He emerged.
Unscathed.
Like a phantom.
The crowd erupted.
"YEAHHH!!!"
Ondira leaned forward, her jade eyes shimmering with the reflection of Kazel's movement. Her lips parted slightly, caught in awe.
( That flow… ) she thought, one leg now bouncing on the other. ( That precision… )
Even stoic Jin Shui clapped once in astonishment, while Mei Rong gasped aloud.
Xie Lian, normally reserved and indifferent, blinked with a rare grin. A whisper left his lips:
"He dances through death…"
And Kazel…Kazel simply rolled his shoulder, eyes locked onto Agabah.
Not a single scratch.
"I never knew he was that good with his hands," Mei Rong murmured with a gulp, her lips barely parting as her eyes followed Kazel's every movement. "Is this the difference between those born with privilege… and those born with purpose?"
Kazel, amidst the cheers and stunned silence, clutched his stomach. One palm on his belly, the other covering his mouth, his cheeks puffed as if something fought to come out. Then—gulp. He exhaled a long breath of relief.
"Sorry," Kazel smirked. "The noodle almost escaped the clutches of my stomach."
Laughter burst from a section of the crowd, nervous and amazed all at once. But not from Agabah.
"You bastard!!" Agabah snarled as he slashed again—once, twice, thrice! Relentless swings sent more of his slicing wind technique screaming through the air.
"You talk a lot for someone who hasn't landed a hit," Kazel said under his breath, his voice a blade of its own.
He dodged again—fluid, agile, uncanny. Frostfang's buffs surged through his limbs: wariness, anti-ambush, speed. A silver blur danced through the storm of cutting winds, leaving only faint shadows behind. Each slash missed. The walls cracked. The floor bore deep claw-like gouges. Kazel was untouched.
"Unlike yours, my beast doesn't have fancy moves…" Kazel muttered with a grin forming on his lips. His blue eyes glinted with challenge. "But two of them have this."
He whispered, "Amplify."
A brief shimmer pulsed behind him—twin, spectral lion-dog figures, the Shishi, roaring in silence. Then he was gone from Agabah's view.
A blur circled him.
"What—?" Agabah gasped, spinning with wide eyes, trying to keep up. "W-What were those…? Another beast?!"
Too slow.
Kazel was already in range. His breath whispered against Agabah's ear.
"That Four-Eyed Grizzly is strong," Kazel murmured. "But too bad it can't hit me."
CRACK!
Kazel struck.
One blow. Two. Three. All four limbs surged like weapons—fists and feet creating a flurry of brutal, precise impacts. Each hit stole air from Agabah's lungs and strength from his legs. His stance shattered. His footing faltered.
WHAM!
An uppercut forced Agabah's limp body upward like a ragdoll. But Kazel wasn't done. His strikes resumed before gravity reclaimed his opponent—elbows, knees, fists. Blood sprayed, his robe tore, his limbs flailed with every impact.
The crowd had forgotten to breathe.
"That's enough!!" a voice thundered through the chaos.
A shadow swooped in—a hand raised to halt Kazel.
The elder of the Second Moon stood before his broken young master, his expression trembling with desperation. But his eyes widened in horror.
Kazel's arm was already in motion.
But it never landed.
SNAP—!A hand caught Kazel's wrist.
It was Wu Rong.
Calm. Silent. His grip unyielding.
Yet the elder felt a chill crawl up his spine.
Kazel's punch had stopped a breath away from caving in his skull.
(He… He was going to hit me…) the elder's thoughts swirled in disbelief. (He really intended to strike… me?)
But Kazel's expression wasn't wrathful.
It was calm.
Too calm.
Ondira, seated like royalty above it all, gave a graceful nod of approval. Her jade eyes glittered as she turned away, her lips curling into the faintest smirk.
"Perhaps he could do my bidding," she whispered.
Then, like mist dissolving into the wind, she stood up and left the fourth level, her entourage following wordlessly.
Back at the duel platform, Wu Rong lifted the hand he had caught mid-strike.
"Winner, Kazel of the Immortal Sect!" his voice rang out.
Cheers erupted like a tidal wave, but Kazel didn't bask in the glory.
"W–" he barely managed before his eyes widened—his face turned pale.
Then—
BLEAARGHH!!
He vomited. Violently. Right on the platform floor.
A steaming mess of half-digested noodles, broth, and regret.
The crowd recoiled.
"Ugh…" Kazel wiped his mouth, groaning as he stared at the mess. "That doesn't feel good..."
He looked down at his puke, then at Wu Rong, then cracked a smile.
"...But at least I got a free weapon."
Wu Rong sighed, half-amused, half-exasperated.
"Next time, eat after the battle," he muttered under his breath.
Somewhere in the crowd, Jin Shui let out a loud snort of laughter.
"That's so him!" he grinned, hands behind his head. "Puking after beating the crap out of someone—classic."
Mei Rong blinked, dazed. "He even wins disgustingly cool…"
And thus, Kazel stood—not the most graceful victor, but undeniably the last man standing.