At his command, over thirty disciples in embroidered robes rushed out from the main hall.
Without uttering a word, they silently cordoned off a deathmatch arena in the open space before the hall using wooden stakes and ropes. Their swift and efficient movements indicated that each was highly trained—far from ordinary low-level disciples of the Seven Mysteries Sect.
As the dueling ground took shape, Li Feiyu grew restless and asked Han Li, “Are we just going to hide here and do nothing but watch them fight? That doesn’t seem right!”
“What’s wrong with it? Your sweetheart isn’t in any danger right now; she’s perfectly safe. Once the duel is over and the Wild Wolf Gang withdraws in chaos, we’ll sneak Miss Zhang out. Then the two of you can flee far away, find a place where they can’t track you down, and avoid being made scapegoats for a crime you didn’t commit.” Han Li spoke calmly, clearly lacking any deep sense of loyalty to the Seven Mysteries Sect.
“Isn’t that eloping? No, Xiuer would never agree!” Li Feiyu shook his head vigorously.
“Then knock her out, take her by force, and let the deed be done. Once it’s a *fait accompli*, what can she do?” Han Li replied nonchalantly.
“You—!” Li Feiyu was left speechless, glaring at Han Li in frustration.
As the two argued, Sect Leader Wang solemnly received two blood-red documents—the contracts of life and death—from a disciple. He kept one for himself and had the other delivered to Jia Tianlong across the way.
Jia Tianlong accepted it with a grave expression. He carefully opened the document, scrutinized its contents, and after confirming everything was in order, nodded and closed it again. He then began selecting warriors for the deathmatch.
After some consideration, he chose thirteen elite experts from the Wild Wolf Gang. To minimize his own losses, he also picked over a dozen skilled members from smaller gangs. Whether these individuals were willing or not, once they signed the death contract, they would have to fight for their lives. The remaining slots were filled by his personally trained Iron Guards, experts in coordinated combat. Of course, the Golden Light Master would also participate—Jia Tianlong was counting on his flying sword techniques to turn the tide.
While Jia Tianlong was busy, Wang Juechu on the opposite side had retreated into the stone hall and had yet to reemerge, likely agonizing over his own selection of participants.
By the time the deathmatch arena was fully prepared, Sect Leader Wang finally emerged from the hall with three to four hundred people.
They were a mix of old and young, men and women, but each had a sharp gleam in their eyes and moved with steady steps—clearly, they were the elite of the Seven Mysteries Sect. Among them, the three figures closely following Wang Juechu caught Jia Tianlong’s particular attention.
One was dressed in scholarly robes, exuding an air of refinement and bookishness. Another was burly and tall, bare-chested with a face full of steel-like stubble, appearing fiercely intimidating. The last was a cold-faced man in gray robes, carrying a long sword on his back.
At first glance, they seemed to be in their thirties or forties, but a closer look revealed a weathered, almost elderly quality in their eyes, suggesting they were far older than they appeared.
Jia Tianlong understood: these three were undoubtedly Wang Juechu’s martial uncles. It seemed the enemy was willing to stake everything to keep him here.
Turning to the dwarf Golden Light Master beside him, he pointed at the three and asked, “Master, what do you think of those three? Can you handle them?”
“Just a few ordinary mortals. Once my flying sword is unleashed, their lives are over! What is there to worry about? Do you doubt me?” The Golden Light Master glared, his tone turning sharp.
“Not at all, not at all! I was merely asking casually. Please don’t take it to heart, Immortal Master,” Jia Tianlong hurriedly replied with an ingratiating smile, fearful of offending his greatest asset.
“Hmph!” The dwarf grunted, his anger gradually subsiding.
Jia Tianlong breathed a sigh of relief. This so-called immortal was truly difficult to please.
He smiled bitterly to himself, then turned and shouted, “Are you ready? Begin signing the contracts of life and death!”
At his command, the participants from the Wild Wolf Gang stepped forward and solemnly signed their names on the contracts, pledging their lives to the fight.
Not to be outdone, Wang Juechu coldly declared, “Sign the contracts!”
Dozens of pre-selected warriors from the Seven Mysteries Sect stepped forward to sign their own death contracts.
As these individuals emerged, Han Li naturally turned his gaze toward them, scanning for any familiar faces. He noticed Sect Leader Wang’s three martial uncles but paid them little mind, his eyes quickly shifting to an elderly man in blue robes.
At the sight of this old man, Han Li couldn’t help but exclaim softly, “Elder Li!”
It was none other than Elder Li—Ma Rong’s master, whose life Han Li had once saved. To Han Li’s astonishment, Elder Li was among those participating in the deathmatch.
Recovering from his surprise, Han Li turned and grabbed Li Feiyu’s shoulder, shaking him urgently. “Did you see that? Elder Li is there too! He’s signing the death contract!”
Li Feiyu stood motionless, his eyes fixed blankly into the distance as if he hadn’t heard a word.
“Hey! What’s going on?” Han Li asked, puzzled. “Even if Elder Li is signing, there’s no need to react like this!”
Finally, Li Feiyu turned his gaze back to Han Li, his expression dazed. He uttered words that left Han Li momentarily stunned: “Xiuer… Xiuer is there too. She’s also participating in the deathmatch!”
As he spoke, Li Feiyu’s face twisted into a mask of anguish.
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