A monstrous roar ripped through the air, vibrating the very stones of the Grand Plinth. Zhao Feng, now a grotesque mockery of a man, launched himself at He Chuan, bone spurs gleaming, dark sludge dripping onto the arena floor. The air curdled with a foul, choking miasma. The crowd, which had moments ago been roaring with laughter, now recoiled, a collective gasp of horror echoing across the terraces. He Chuan, however, merely narrowed his eyes. The scent of rot was thick, but beneath it, he perceived a chaotic lack of control, a frenzied thrashing. Zhao Feng’s attack was brutal, but sloppy, driven by rage rather than skill. The bone claws, sharp as dragon fangs, descended with enough force to cleave stone. “Foolish whelp! Do you not see the chaos in his cultivation?” Guci’s voice, a furious whisper in He Chuan’s mind, crackled with disdain. “His core is dissolving into primal savagery. Dodge left, then feign a retreat, but prepare to jab his solar plexus. The brute strength is impressive, but the beast lacks finesse!” He Chuan swayed, a mere hair’s breadth separating his chest from the tearing claws. The displaced wind whipped his hair across his face. Zhao Feng overshot, his mutated arm smashing into the ground where He Chuan had been, leaving a deep fissure that hissed with black bile. Without a moment’s hesitation, He Chuan feigned a stumble, backpedaling a few paces, drawing Zhao Feng further into the arena. “Running, little rat?!” Zhao Feng’s voice was a guttural snarl, his eyes glowing like embers in the dim light. He lunged again, a blur of crimson and black, faster than before, but still predictable in his raw, untamed fury. “Pathetic! You gave up your mind for a cheap imitation of power!” Guci scoffed. “Now! The Ashen Spark! Treat him like the misbehaving, drooling beast he is!” He Chuan didn't just dodge; he *sidestepped*, a subtle, almost dismissive movement. As Zhao Feng hurtled past, a blur of muscle and bone, He Chuan’s hand shot out. Not with a fist, not with a blade-edge strike, but with an open palm. The Ashen Spark, now focused and refined, didn’t burn. It *slapped*. *WHAP!* The sound echoed across the arena like a whip-crack. A film of black, rancid residue visibly *sloughed* off Zhao Feng’s back, burning into grease with a sizzle. Zhao Feng stumbled, a confused grunt tearing from his throat. He turned, his monstrous face contorted, not in pain, but in bewilderment. “What was that, you overgrown badger? Did the little mouse just *pat* you?” Guci snickered, his voice dripping with mockery. “Again! Slap him until the demonic stench peels off him like rotting bark!” Zhao Feng roared, a sound of pure frustration, and charged again. He Chuan met him, not with defensive parries, but with deliberate, humiliating *slaps*. Left cheek. Right temple. Back of the neck. Each contact sent a visible ripple of black mist peeling away from Zhao Feng’s form, making his movements more sluggish, his roars more incoherent. *WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!* The rhythm was relentless, almost comical. The bone spurs on Zhao Feng’s elbows began to retract, his swollen muscles subtly shrinking. The crimson steam lessened. The more He Chuan *slapped* the demonic essence out of him, the more frantic Zhao Feng became, his attacks losing what little focus they had. He was no longer a terrifying abomination, but a flailing, confused brute, being systematically dismantled by open-handed strikes. “Aha! Look at the big beastie losing his pretty red glow!” Guci crowed, utterly delighted. “Perhaps a tickle in the ribs will remind him of his place, eh, grandson?” He Chuan ducked under a wild, sweeping claw and landed a precise, open-palmed strike to Zhao Feng’s exposed ribs. A sickening *squelch* followed, and Zhao Feng doubled over, gasping, a thin stream of black vomit escaping his lips. The monstrous transformation began to unravel more rapidly, his skin tone returning to a sickly pallor, the veins still bulging but losing their oily sheen. Just as He Chuan prepared for a finishing blow, a figure surged from the viewing stands. It was Elder Jin, the same portly Inner Elder He Chuan had seen conspiring with Zhao Feng in the grotto. His face was a mask of panic. “Stop! Stop this madness! He Chuan, you have proven your point! Cease this assault immediately, or face the wrath of the Elder Council!” Elder Jin landed in the arena, attempting to physically interpose himself between He Chuan and the collapsing Zhao Feng. His robes fluttered, and He Chuan noticed a slight bulge beneath his sash. “Oh, look, a little rat scurrying out of his hole!” Guci’s voice was laced with menace. “Don’t let the old fool stop you, He Chuan! Expose his wretched greed for all to see!” He Chuan smirked, a dangerous glint in his eyes. He didn’t hesitate. As Elder Jin took another panicked step, He Chuan moved like lightning, not towards Zhao Feng, but towards the Elder. His hand snaked out, not with aggression, but with a precise, almost gentle tug. The bulge beneath Elder Jin’s sash gave way, and a thick, leather-bound register tumbled out, landing with a heavy thud on the stone floor. “What… what is this?!” Elder Jin stammered, his face blanching. He lunged for the book, but He Chuan was faster. He snatched the volume, his gaze sweeping over the open pages. “Stolen cultivation draughts… diverted spiritual ores… rigged tournament results…” He Chuan’s voice, clear and cold, carried across the stunned arena. With a flick of his wrist, he flung the heavy book into the center of the crowd. It landed with a dull smack, open to a page detailing transactions with a notorious smuggling ring. Gasps erupted from the audience, quickly escalating into an uproar. Inner Disciples surged forward, snatching the booklet and passing it amongst themselves. Whispers turned to shouts, shouts to angry roars. The entire sect turned on Elder Jin, his face draining of all color, his eyes wide with terror. Zhao Feng, now barely more than a whimpering, disfigured man, lay trembling on the ground, the last vestiges of the Forbidden Marrow-Rot leeching from his system. He Chuan stood over him, victoriously. The crowd’s rage was a tangible force, directed squarely at the two disgraced figures. But just as the cheers for He Chuan began to swell, a change rippled through the sky. The familiar dark clouds of a premature tribulation, which had been lurking on the horizon since the Golden Decree, began to churn with an unprecedented, apocalyptic fury. A crimson crack spiderwebbed across the heavens, a tear in the fabric of the sky itself. The air grew impossibly heavy, charged with a devastating, primal pressure that made even the senior Elders retreat two steps. “Grandson! The demonic aura… Zhao Feng’s foul presence… it’s drawn the heavens’ full wrath!” Guci’s voice was no longer mocking, but urgent, tinged with genuine alarm. “It’s not just for you now! This tribulation… it will consume the entire outer valley if you don’t meet it head-on, *immediately*!”

The Grand Humiliation