The Corruption Dragon God: Lust System Chapter 658 Fa Yun's Power

Qingyi remained in a secluded corner, disregarding the numerous gazes cast his way.

His sole focus was drawn to a majestic tiger, a creature of immense power, exhibiting all the distinct traits of a feline despite its upright stance.

Following a concise address by the elder, who elucidated the competition's rules, the tiger initiated the first bout.

The contests were structured as duels, wherein the victor would remain to face subsequent adversaries until ultimately defeated or choosing to yield.

While admittedly an inefficient approach, given the progressive accumulation of injuries and exhaustion for the winning combatant, this system proved effective for its intended purpose: showcasing martial prowess even with suppressed cultivation.

Curiously, despite requiring only a single decisive blow to vanquish his opponent, the tiger abruptly departed the arena shortly thereafter, appearing thoroughly disengaged and completely indifferent to the elder's summons.

Ultimately, the elder could only express his resignation with a sigh.

The beastfolk were, indeed, a peculiar sort, and it was perhaps best not to ponder their capricious whims.

If the tiger harbored no desire for further combat, so be it. It was unlikely anyone would have selected him as an opponent anyway.

This outcome was, in fact, preferable, as it diminished the likelihood of other competitors sustaining injuries.

As the tiger retreated to its original position, it cast a subtle, knowing smile towards Qingyi.

Truthfully, it held no interest in engaging the lesser combatants; the dragon before it presented a far more appealing challenge, a worthy adversary it intended to confront at a later time.

An immediate confrontation would have been curtailed by the supervising elders, preventing a true fight to the death.

The opportune moment for their clash would arrive during the initial phase of the Secret Realm, a setting where they would be beyond the elders' oversight, allowing for an honorable duel.

Qingyi, however, simply inclined his head and redirected his attention to the unfolding match.

A renowned prodigy, whom Qingyi already knew, ascended the polished platform, his cultivation promptly restricted by the elder.

This contender was Fa Yun, a disciple of the Golden Fist Sect, an individual Qingyi held in considerable disdain.

The monk adopted a stance in a quiet corner of the battleground, eyes closed, his right hand held elevated before his mouth in a reverent gesture.

Upon opening his eyes and fixing his gaze upon the young swordsman from one of the numerous sword sects present, a brilliant intensity flared within them.

Even with their cultivation sealed, practitioners from the Golden Fist Sect were endowed with physical resilience capable of repelling blades and possessing bones as unyielding as steel.

Therefore, despite facing an unarmed opponent, the swordsman did not allow himself to be swayed by misplaced confidence.

His eyes narrowed, and he assumed a posture of vigilant defense.

"Amitabha, concede defeat, my companion. I bear no wish to inflict harm upon you," Fa Yun intoned, his expression serene and unruffled.

"Regrettably, monk, it is I who do not wish to cause you harm," the swordsman replied with a smile.

The monk responded with a gentle shake of his head, a flicker of disappointment crossing his features.

In the subsequent instant, his physique erupted with astonishing speed, his open palm hurtling towards the swordsman's torso.

Even devoid of Qi, the sheer physical force he exerted was extraordinary. His palm made contact with the swordsman's blade, yet its momentum was unabated.

A concussive blast enveloped the immediate vicinity.

The swordsman's incapacitated form was violently propelled backward, impacting the arena's perimeter wall with a resounding thud that reverberated throughout the entire venue. Fractures spiderwebbed across the marble where he struck.

"Amitabha, seek rest and recuperation, fellow Taoist. Learn from this humbling encounter to fortify your body and your resolve," the monk declared with a respectful bow before awaiting his next challenger.

Stunned expressions rippled through the assembled spectators.

Fa Yun was indeed a celebrated disciple, recognized as one of the sect's most gifted talents of his generation. However, the swordsman was by no means an ordinary individual.

He ought to have been able to withstand more than a solitary, devastating blow!

Notwithstanding the widespread admiration and astonishment, the monk remained devoid of any trace of arrogance, his demeanor continuing to be one of placid composure. His gaze intersected with Qingyi's, and a faint smile graced his lips.

He had reviewed the roster of participants and the bout progression alongside his master. He was aware that upon achieving victory over four additional opponents, he would be granted the opportunity to face the dragon.

He harbored a keen anticipation to witness Qingyi's capabilities while his cultivation remained suppressed.

After a brief interlude, a new combatant entered the arena, and Fa Yun's eyes narrowed in assessment.

This individual, too, was a practitioner of fist arts, possessing a level of talent and renown comparable to his own.

After a shared glance, the two exchanged bows and swiftly adopted their fighting stances.

In the span of a single second, their bodies became indistinguishable blurs, propelled solely by unadulterated physical force.

Their fists clashed at the arena's center with a sharp, percussive crack. The very air vibrated with a shockwave emanating from the point of impact, causing the hair of onlookers in the stands to be tossed about.

To generate such a phenomenon, even with their cultivation sealed, it begged the question: was the raw physical strength of these fist cultivators not excessively potent?

The combatants disengaged, maintaining eye contact for a brief moment before hurtling forward once more. An unrelenting storm of punches ensued between them.

"Oh... these two are rather intriguing. What is your opinion, my dear? Do you find either of them to be suitable?" Madame Lao inquired, glancing at Xue Hua by her side, a soft smile gracing her mature and beautiful countenance.

The darkly alluring beauty offered no response, her black lips tightly pressed. Her eyes, however, shifted from the ongoing fight to a young man standing near the arena's edge, his arms crossed and a calm demeanor about him.

It was Long Qingyi.

Madame Lao caught Xue Hua's subtle glance and let out a soft titter, muffling her laughter with the back of her hand.

"Ah... the joys of youth," she murmured, shaking her head as she observed Xue Hua's face flush and her jaw tighten.

The young woman forcefully redirected her gaze away from Qingyi, concentrating her full attention on the ongoing bout.

She, too, had access to the competition's schedule and was confident that Qingyi would be no match for Fa Yun. With this certainty, a sense of relief washed over her.

Soon, he would be out of her sight and dispatched to the infirmary.

Initially, the clash between Fa Yun and his fist-wielding adversary appeared quite balanced. However, the momentum shifted rather swiftly. After absorbing a powerful strike directly to the chest, the monk's opponent stumbled, his breath knocked clean out of him. From that point onward, he rapidly began to fall behind.

Approximately ten more exchanges later, the monk, who had yet to even break a bead of sweat, sent his opponent flying out of the arena.

With a display of grace, Fa Yun folded his arms behind his back, awaiting the arrival of his next challenger.