The next day, at exactly 5 p.m., the announcer’s bored voice echoes through the arena.
“Miner F123569 versus Miner F156987.”
Lin Yu is F156987.
The Nine Nether Sect does not call miners by na.
To them, miners are only numbers.
Until one becos an outer disciple, they remain nothing more.
Lin Yu steps into the ring.
Across from him, Tang Zikun waits, his eyes cold.
Both stand empty-handed.
No weapons are allowed in the arena.
From the stands, voices rise in cruel excitent.
The crowd is already bidding on Lin Yu’s and Zikun’s body parts.
When one dies—or both—the highest bidders will claim the remains.
If neither kills within one hour, both will be executed.
Immortal Lords are not spared.
Their bodies are saturated with energy, their flesh and bones rich with fragnts of the laws they have touched.
To the Nine Nether Sect, even their deaths are resources.
Nothing is wasted.
The announcer says, “Start.”
Both Lin Yu and Zikun let their fingers lengthen into claws, sheathed in Nether energy.
They launch forward at the sa instant.
Claws collide, black sparks spraying as Nether energy grinds against Nether energy.
The shockwave rattles the arena floor.
Zikun’s strikes are heavy, unyielding, his Nether claws harder than steel.
He advanced to the fifth stage years ago.
His body has long since been tempered beyond ordinary limits.
Lin Yu’s claws shudder under the impact, his bones vibrating from the force.
He only stepped into the fifth stage yesterday.
His foundation is fresh, fragile compared to Zikun’s.
But his control over Nether energy is sharper.
Each of his strikes carries precision, threads of power compressed into hair-thin lines.
Zikun drives him back with brute strength, tearing deep gouges across the arena floor.
Lin Yu slips aside, redirecting the force, his movents like blades slicing through gaps.
Zikun snarls, claws hamLin Yug down in relentless arcs, each blow ant to crush.
Lin Yu exhales slowly, narrowing his focus, weaving his energy tighter, faster.
The difference between raw strength and control begins to show.
The clash continues, claws raking against claws, sparks of black energy bursting with every strike.
Zikun’s strength pounds down like a hamr, each blow heavier than the last.
Lin Yu parries, redirects, but his arms throb with the impact.
Then Zikun shifts.
Nether energy condenses along his claws, stretching outward.
A sword of black light forms, sharp and fluid, doubling his reach.
Lin Yu’s eyes narrow.
The first sweep of the sword whistles past, carving a deep scar across the arena floor.
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The second cos faster, nearly splitting his chest as he twists aside.
Zikun laughs, pressing forward, his blade-like strikes cutting the air with ruthless arcs.
Lin Yu’s claws slash back, precise and controlled, but their range is short.
His mastery of Nether energy is fine, but not yet vast.
He cannot extend it as Zikun does.
Step by step, he is pushed back, the ring shrinking around him.
The crowd roars, their bids rising, slling blood.
Zikun’s confidence swells, his attacks flowing smoother, the sword in his hand an extension of will.
Lin Yu exhales, blood trickling from his arm where the edge grazed him.
He steadies himself, but the gap is clear—Zikun holds the advantage.
Zikun presses harder, his Nether sword flashing in ruthless arcs.
Each swing carves the air, forcing Lin Yu to retreat with desperate precision.
Lin Yu counters with claw strikes, but the short reach leaves him exposed.
A slash cuts across his ribs, spraying black Nether blood.
Another strike slices his thigh, his leg trembling under the weight.
The crowd howls with excitent, their voices a storm of wagers and cheers.
Lin Yu grits his teeth, weaving his energy tighter, but Zikun’s mastery crushes his rhythm.
The black sword splits apart, reforms, and lashes like a whip.
It coils around Lin Yu’s arm, tearing flesh to the bone before he rips free.
His claws land a counterstrike, grazing Zikun’s shoulder.
But Zikun barely flinches, grinning, the wound shallow against his tempered body.
The blade cos down again, faster, sharper.
It cuts into Lin Yu’s back, driving him forward to his knees.
He staggers up, claws raised, only to be t by another slash across his chest.
Blood bursts out, hissing as it eats into the arena floor.
Lin Yu gasps, his vision dimming, black light leaking from every wound.
From head to toe, his body drips Nether blood, staining the ground beneath him.
His knees buckle, crashing down onto the stone.
The crowd erupts, chanting for the kill.
Zikun steps closer, his blade humming with condensed power.
He looks down at Lin Yu, lips curling in triumph.
“Ti to end the fight.”
Lin Yu lifts his head, eyes burning cold, blood dripping down his chin.
“Yes,” he says, his voice steady. “The ti to end the fight.”
A shiver runs down Tang Zikun’s spine as instinct warns him of danger.
Lin Yu’s lips curl into a thin smile.
“Thunder armour.”
Black thunder erupts from his body, coiling like serpents, each crackle shaking the arena.
The air burns with destructive power as arcs of lightning weave into his flesh, sheathing him in crackling armour.
His Nether claws surge with the sa power, reshaping into black thunder claws that vibrate with annihilation.
Gasps ripple through the audience, their whispers sharp with disbelief.
“Nether elentalization…”
“But his control over Nether energy is too shallow!”
“How can he refine Nether into thunder?”
Zikun’s face twists from shock to dread.
Every instinct screams he is facing sothing unnatural, sothing that should not exist.
Fear gnaws at him, but madness burns brighter.
If he retreats now, death is certain.
If he charges, there’s still a sliver of hope.
With a roar that shakes the air, Tang Zikun hurls himself forward, Nether sword blazing with killing intent.
His eyes blaze with defiance, unwilling to accept this fate.
But Lin Yu moves twice as fast as before, thunder armour boosting every fibre of his body.
He seizes Zikun’s wrists mid-swing, the Nether sword frozen in place.
Before Zikun can even process the trap, Lin Yu’s other hand slams into his chest.
Once. Twice.
Each strike lands like thunder, exploding inside his body, ribs cracking, ridians shattering.
In the span of a breath, a hundred palms rain down, every strike tearing through his defences.
At the final palm, black thunder condenses in Lin Yu’s hand, compressing into a blazing sphere.
“Fall.”
The energy bursts forward, a beam of concentrated thunder piercing Zikun’s chest clean through.
The blast exits from his back, vaporising blood and flesh, leaving only a smoking hole.
Tang Zikun staggers, chest still smoking, but no one in the arena is surprised.
The crowd barely stirs; a few cultivators don’t even bother looking up from their betting slips.
They have seen the fourth stage of the Nether Body too many tis to count.
Immortal Lords do not die so easily.
Lin Yu’s expression remains steady, his black thunder still crackling around him like a mantle.
He knows exactly what cos next—because his own body is the sa.
Tang Zikun’s wound bubbles with black light, threads of Nether energy stitching muscle and bone, dragging the ruined flesh back into place.
Every breath knits him closer to wholeness.
Among the audience, voices rise again, impatient rather than impressed.
“Just finish it already.”
“At this rate, they’ll both waste the hour.”
A handful of higher-stage cultivators watch with narrowed eyes, gauging Lin Yu’s control over the thunder elent rather than Zikun’s recovery.
To them, regeneration is nothing.
Only innovation, only mastery over energy, holds value.
Lin Yu glances at the tir—twenty minutes remain before the hour ends.
If Tang Zikun still lives, then both of them die.
He moves.
Spirit fuses into his Nether thunder claw, the crackling energy hardening into a weapon inscribed with shifting restrictions, as if a phantom magic treasure has taken form.
The claw blurs through Zikun’s chest without resistance.
Gasps ripple faintly, but most of the crowd already knows what has happened.
The phantom claw curls, and when it pulls back, Tang Zikun’s struggling soul writhes within its grip.
His body collapses lifelessly to the arena floor.
Lin Yu’s earlier strike had drained Zikun’s energy reserves, and the desperate self-healing bled even more from him—his soul’s defences now paper-thin.
In Lin Yu’s hand, the black thunder tightens.
There are only two ways to kill an Immortal Lord—reduce the body to particle dust, or destroy the soul.
Lin Yu opens his mouth and swallows Tang Zikun’s screaming soul.
Inside his stomach, it crushes apart, dissolving into raw essence that floods into his sea of consciousness.
The energy nds last night’s deep consumption—forming the Nether Spirit, severing his anger emotion.
Strength steadies.
Lin Yu steps off the arena floor and starts toward the exit.
Before he reaches the doors, a woman blocks his path.
She wears the robes of a Nine Nether Sect outer disciple, but the aura rolling off her is Immortal King realm.
“Number F156987,” she says coldly, “follow .”
Lin Yu lowers his gaze.
Without a word, without hesitation, he obeys—because refusal in this sect is death.
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