Chapter 169

Chapter 169: A Sword Decides All

Midi’s casual remark sounded as natural as if the Red Lotus Arena already belonged to him.

Truth be told, it might as well have. After effortlessly breaking the Red Lotus Arena’s ultimate trump card—"array within array"—while fighting one against five, the gap in power needed no explanation.

The Host of Red Lotus stared intently at Midi, as if trying to pierce through the young man’s soul. Finally, the host sighed deeply and opened his mouth to declare the result.

But before he could speak, the Union President beside him sprang into action. Gripping the host’s arm, the president rasped hoarsely at the arena floor: "What are you waiting for? Attack him together!"

A dangerous glint flashed in Midi’s eyes at the president’s desperate roar.

He’d shown both overwhelming strength and restraint during this challenge. He’d deliberately passed up countless opportunities to crush his opponents, giving them every chance to concede. Yet still these fools clung to false hope?

"If the Union President insists," Midi said coldly, "I’ll oblige."

As the icy words left his lips, the small golden sword inside him stirred. Its energy—a blend of Ultimate Intent and the demon god’s power—flooded through his limbs.

Midi stepped forward.

No one saw him move.

No one could.

The movement happened so fast that time itself seemed to freeze.

One instant he stood still. The next, he loomed before the Sanshou fighter from the president’s arena—his chosen target.

The fighter’s eyes bulged as he met Midi’s gaze. Those once-dark eyes now glowed faintly gold, piercing as sunlight through flesh and soul.

Fear gripped the Sanshou fighter. He tried to block, but Midi’s Black Sky sword struck before his arms even twitched.

The blade’s overwhelming force crushed the fighter’s high-grade armor like paper. Every bone below the neck shattered to powder. The limp body flew backward, smashing into the distant wall with a thunderous crash.

No mortal could survive such a strike. The Sanshou fighter didn’t even scream—just glared hatefully at Midi, then at the president, before choking on his own blood and going still.

The metallic stench of blood filled the arena.

In the heavy silence, only frantic heartbeats and ragged breaths could be heard. Disciples, experts, even the five hosts sat frozen—all rendered speechless by Death’s sudden visitation.

Only Midi remained calm at the arena’s center, an immovable mountain. His expression showed neither aggression nor contempt, yet he no longer seemed merely a mysterious challenger. Now he resembled a demon freshly emerged from hell.

Faero Bay—no, the entire West Coast—had grown soft during years of peace. Even "seasoned experts" here knew nothing of true battlefields. They’d seen death, even dealt it, but never witnessed such brutal, absolute domination. Compared to warriors forged in blood-soaked battlefields, these were mere greenhouse flowers.

When Midi finally unleashed his full might, resistance became unthinkable.

"Any more objections?" His calm question might as well have been the Grim Reaper’s roar.

Silence.

"Then hear my decree: All Faero Bay Union Arenas will close for one month and destroy their plaques. Any dissent?"

The deathly hush persisted.

"The last matter. The Red Lotus Arena must honor our prior agreement and finalize the procedures to become a branch of my Lionheart Arena." Midi spoke for the third time, his pale golden eyes locking onto the Host of Red Lotus.

The cunning host, who usually resembled a grinning tiger, now wore a frozen expression. Under Midi’s piercing gaze, he felt like a rabbit cornered by a predator, utterly powerless to resist.

All the host could manage was a twisted imitation of a smile followed by a hurried nod.

"Good. Since there are no objections, let this be done." Midi nodded in approval, scanning the arena one last time before his voice turned icy. "But should anyone scheme behind my back afterward… don’t expect mercy from my blade."

With those final words, Midi turned and strode from the hall without sparing the five hosts another glance.

Shockwaves rippled across Faero Bay as news spread—the Lionheart Arena elder had crushed nine major arenas, humiliated the Union, and seized control of Red Lotus Arena!

For Lionheart Arena, this was their moment of triumph. While the earlier Lionheart trial had earned some goodwill, true respect came only through hard clashes. Now, their direct assault on the Union had proven both Lionheart Arena’s strength and the unmatched prowess of Lionheart Swordsmanship.

Midi wasn’t the only victor. Randall and Dickson’s teams had forced three rival arenas to shut down completely. From elders to junior disciples, every Lionheart member emerged victorious.

Smaller Commercial Families rejoiced. Their steadfast support for Lionheart Arena had paid off—they’d avoided returning to the days of hiring adventurers while dodging Union retaliation. Now sheltered by this towering tree, they feared no storms.

For Faero Bay’s arena community and the wider West Coast, power dynamics shifted overnight. Though still modest in scale, Lionheart Arena’s reputation and influence now rivaled only the martial-focused Zhenlu Arena among rising factions.

Even West Coast’s major players took notice—none more than the maritime giant Flying Sail Family.

In a cliffside villa reserved for Faero Bay’s elite, a weathered middle-aged man studied reports. His sun-darkened skin, calloused hands, and powerful build betrayed years at sea. This was Syndica Flying Sail, family head and city council member.

"First Zhenlu causes chaos, now this Lionheart Arena." Syndica muttered, reviewing details of Faye’s calculated strikes against Union experts. "At least this one knows when to show restraint."

Through his connections, Syndica had dissected every moment of Midi’s campaign. The young leader displayed not just raw power, but strategic brilliance—reviving a dying arena into a West Coast contender within months.

Normally, Syndica would dismiss such upstarts. Flashy meteors burned out fast; true power stayed with established families. But recent events—shifts in Delos Empire, Belmar’s reforms, whispers from Xuzu and Bantu—put him on edge.

Now he watched closely. What was this Lionheart Arena? Who truly was Faye—mere genius, pawn, or player in the greater game? The report’s scant details about Midi only deepened the frown on Syndica’s seafarer’s face.