Stronger with More Jobs

The silver mask on his face had long since shattered more than half.

Half his face, twisted and deformed by agony and disbelief, was exposed, blood spurting madly from his mouth.

Boom!!!

Lin Boyue’s body crashed down onto the already devastated arena like a falling meteor.

Smashing out yet another deep pit several meters in diameter.

Smoke and dust and shattered stone mixed with bloody froth and blasted into the sky.

And the instant he hit the ground, another figure was already on him like a shadow, tearing through the turbulent air that had yet to settle, descending with a mountain-heavy sense of oppression.

Shi Hao!

He landed steadily on the edge of the pit, his dark gray metal mask completely intact, his breathing not even the slightest bit disturbed.

He lowered his head, his eyes calm as he looked down at Lin Boyue at the bottom of the pit, sprawled like a torn sack, blood spilling from mouth and nose, right arm completely ruined, eyes filled only with boundless fear and confusion.

Then, Shi Hao raised his right foot.

The movement wasn’t fast.

That foot, wearing an ordinary combat boot, came down in refusal upon Lin Boyue’s neck.

The cold sole pressed hard against his fragile throat bones and trachea.

Lin Boyue’s body went stiff in an instant.

A choking "huh huh" sound came from his throat; his remaining left arm futilely tried to push that foot away, but it was like an ant trying to shake a tree.

Shi Hao leaned forward slightly, and that voice, so flat it held not the slightest ripple, carried clearly through his mask across the deathly silent arena, and crashed down like a Heavy Hammer on every single heart:

"Concede."

"Otherwise, die."

The hundreds of thousands of spectators were as if collectively strangled.

Their eyes bulged wide, their mouths hung open.

Only rough breathing and the mad pounding "thump thump" of hearts smashing against ribcages echoed in their ears.

One punch.

Just one punch.

From the start of the fight to its end, it was no more than the span of a breath.

One of the Twelve Celestial Kings, Lin Boyue the Star Shattering Hand, famed for his vast, tyrannical palm strikes.

Had actually been smashed by Shi Hao, in the most brutal, most unreasonable fashion, his arm blown apart with one punch, trampled underfoot, his life hanging by a thread.

How was this a dragon-tiger clash between Heavenly Kings of the same tier?

This was clearly an adult absolutely crushing a child.

In the rest room, the atmosphere had dropped below freezing.

With the exception of Fang Qingyu and Jiang Wei.

All of the Twelve Celestial Kings who had yet to go on stage or had already advanced.

No longer had the slightest trace of their previous composure or the look of waiting to enjoy a good show on their faces.

They were all Heaven’s chosen standing at the Peak of Third Tier.

Even if there were gaps between them, they had never imagined the gap could be this huge.

So huge it was like a chasm, a gulf between heavens.

That one punch from Shi Hao hadn’t just shattered Lin Boyue’s arm and pride.

It had ruthlessly crushed the illusory balance in their hearts of Heavenly Kings standing as equals.

Forcing them to clearly recognize just how laughably vulnerable the strength they were so proud of was in front of a true monster.

Put themselves in his place.

Put themselves in Lin Boyue’s position?

The result would be no different.

Might even lose faster, more miserably.

They were all Twelve Celestial Kings, all at the Peak of Third Tier.

They more or less knew each other’s battle strength.

The gap shouldn’t be that big; after all, the ceiling of the realm was right there.

And they were all prodigies—how could they possibly not be able to withstand even a single clash against someone of the same tier...

Where the hell did a monster like this jump out from!?

In that suffocating silence.

Fang Qingyu’s Melted Gold vertical pupils narrowed slightly.

His gaze locked tightly onto Shi Hao.

Earlier, when Jiang Wei said Shi Hao’s aura was off, he hadn’t felt much directly.

But now, after witnessing that overwhelming punch.

Fang Qingyu also felt that something about this man seemed off.

When Shi Hao traded blows with that guy.

Fang Qingyu saw very clearly that Shi Hao looked like he didn’t feel anything at all.

First, rule out his Qi Blood and Qi Force being far beyond the opponent’s.

After all, they were the same tier; to reach this stage, their Qi Blood Technique and Observation Method levels were all roughly on par.

Nor was it that Shi Hao’s fleshly body had become so strong it could crush Tier Three.

After all, if his physique were that overwhelmingly powerful...

Shi Hao wouldn’t have needed that brief pause in midair.

He could have followed up in midair, finished the opponent before he even hit the ground.

Ending the match.

No need to wait for him to land.

So that punch of Shi Hao’s...

Was more like there was something inside his body.

Letting him blast against others recklessly...

And remain completely unaffected.

Thinking of this, Fang Qingyu turned to Jiang Wei and asked softly:

"Is there any chance it’s a Divine Armament!?"

Jiang Wei’s beautiful brows knitted tightly; she thought for a while, then slowly shook her head.

Her voice was equally lowered, carrying a trace of uncertainty:

"Doesn’t feel like it. The Power and Attributes of a Divine Armament would be more manifest, more domineering. That wrongness is very restrained, very heavy. Like some sleeping ’core’ being forcibly driven for an instant. I feel it’s more like a part of his body—or rather something parasitic in his body?"

She struggled to find words to describe that eerie sensation, her delicate face full of confusion and wariness: "Very ancient, very repulsive. Like some thing forcibly stuffed into a living human body?"

Listening to Jiang Wei’s description, Fang Qingyu’s brows beneath his mask furrowed even tighter.

Not a Divine Armament?

He then slowly nodded, a thoughtful look on his face, and fell silent.

This opponent was even more interesting than he’d imagined.

...

On the arena.

The deathly stalemate didn’t last long.

"Huh...huh..." Lin Boyue’s throat was pinned brutally under the boot; his face turned from bluish-purple to ash-gray in an instant, his eyeballs bulging, his remaining left hand clawing uselessly at Shi Hao’s boot, unable to shake it in the slightest.

The cold of death gripped his soul with perfect clarity.

"Con...cede... I concede!!!"

He used up every last shred of strength, squeezing out a broken, shrill scream from his crushed throat.