"Very well, Senior Brother Long Aoxue Wushuang Zhizun, since you’re so eager to fight..." Qingyi smiled, a hint of mockery dancing at the corners of his lips.

Long Aoxue remained silent for a long moment, the veins at his temples throbbing visibly beneath his skin.

Irritation burned in his eyes, but he swallowed hard before responding.

"You may call me simply Long Aoxue."

"Not at all, Senior Brother Long Aoxue Wushuang Zhizun. I would never dare act so casually toward someone of such distinguished stature.

Long Aoxue Wushuang Zhizun is the name your honorable parents bestowed upon you, and I utter it with all the respect it deserves, Senior Brother Long Aoxue Wushuang Zhizun."

Aoxue’s face darkened, and he clenched his teeth hard.

Bai Hu Lie let out a hearty, booming laugh, making no effort to hide his own delight.

Even the second representative of the central region, bit down on his lower lip in a half-hearted attempt to stifle his laughter.

Names that long were simply not common throughout the Celestial Heavens, especially when they carried as much arrogance as Aoxue’s full name.

If he were at least an elite talent, such pretension might be admired. But he barely qualified as an outer disciple within the Heavenly Orthodox Martial Alliance.

Possessing such an arrogant name alongside such mediocre talent was a combination that only invited ridicule.

In the end, Long Aoxue chose to remain silent, staring at Qingyi with cold eyes.

The young dragon did not press the matter.

He stepped into the arena and took up a position opposite Aoxue, his black robes billowing gently around him.

"Be careful, Brother Qingyi. Aoxue’s fists should not be underestimated." Fa Yun’s voice, coming from a corner, cut through the murmur of the crowd.

Qingyi nodded without taking his eyes off his opponent.

Soon, every soul present was completely focused on the arena.

On one side stood an envoy representing the central region, the heart of orthodox cultivation and the region densest in Qi in all of the Celestial Heavens.

On the other, likely the most incredible talent to emerge from the northern region in the last million years: at the fourth stage of the Celestial Origin Realm at only twenty-three years old, and bearer of the title of emperor despite not yet being a Celestial Emperor.

Aoxue felt every gaze pressing down upon him, and he drew a deep breath, forcing the rage in his heart to retreat into the shadows.

He was a noble white dragon, the pinnacle of his race’s power and refinement.

He could not allow—and would never accept—Qingyi infiltrating his mind so easily.

"I’ve heard much about you, Long Qingyi. Show me that you are not merely a frog in a well who, by a mere whim of fate, has claimed the title of emperor!" Aoxue growled, his voice hoarse with restrained fury as he raised his fist in a guard.

Both wore swords at their waists, but neither would draw them unless the other did so first.

"Just try not to disappoint me. To carry such arrogance, I expect power at least equal to it." Qingyi smiled, raising his own fist in a relaxed stance.

The two locked eyes for a brief moment. Then, they advanced.

Neither used Qi, yet the air around them detonated, their bodies blurring as they accelerated to the speed of sound in a fraction of a second.

Fists collided at the center of the arena with terrifying force.

A thunderous boom erupted from the impact, and a visible shockwave rippled outward, kicking up dust in furious, swirling spirals.

The spectators’ hair and robes whipped violently in the gale, their eyes gleaming with feverish excitement.

To generate such energy through physical strength alone, dragons were, indeed, the pinnacle of brute force among all races.

"Damn..." Aoxue growled low, forced to take a step back.

The impact reverberated through his arm, waves of pain shooting up to his shoulder and rattling deep against the bone.

It felt as though he had punched a fucking wall of spiritual steel forged with the power of a Celestial Emperor.

To make matters worse, Qingyi hadn’t retreated a single step.

"Is that all?" Qingyi asked, an expression of pure disappointment etched on his face. "You’re well below Bai Hu Lie."

That was a half-truth. The white dragon was, without a doubt, not much inferior to Bai Hu Lie in raw power, and Qingyi, too, had felt that punch all the way down to his bones.

Still, Aoxue was inferior.

In a fight between experts, a five-percent difference in power already constituted a massive advantage.

"Shut up!" Aoxue roared, lunging forward once more, his leg whipping through the air in a devastating kick.

Qingyi answered with an equally powerful kick of his own. Their shins collided mid-air in an explosion of force, the impact ringing through every corner of the arena.

This time, however, Aoxue didn’t grant Qingyi a single moment to recover.

The instant the power of their blows dissipated into the air, he surged forward, pulling his arm back and firing a punch straight at Qingyi’s face.

The beautiful black dragon tilted his head to the side with effortless grace, his long hair fluttering wildly through the massive wave of air displaced by the strike. Aoxue’s fist produced a sharp crack despite hitting absolutely nothing.

With a smile and his feet firmly planted on the ground, Qingyi delivered his own blow.

His fist sank deep into Aoxue’s stomach, and the white dragon let out a strangled grunt as the air was brutally forced from his lungs.

Aoxue’s body was hurled hundreds of meters backward, his feet scraping across the concrete floor and carving deep grooves into the stone, his face contorting in pain.

’How the hell does this bastard have so much physical strength?’ Aoxue wondered, confusion and anger growing in equal measure within him.

If he knew that Qingyi was also surprised by his physical strength, he would be seething with pure rage.

Aoxue clenched his teeth, feeling a bitter emotion well up from the depths of his chest.