The contract sealed with the Tartaros Royal Family's emblem has been prepared.

Soloren used his own blood for the final seal.

Unlike a bout.

What is called a duel.

Continues until death.

Gedre remained silent; his journey aimed to prevent Beima from repeating past mistakes. The Emperor's court was filled with experts, leaving the question of whether a Witch King's Curse Poison assassination hidden in the crevices would succeed.

But for now, as long as Soloren is killed, it will unbalance the forces within Aran and cause internal turmoil, which could delay Beima for a long time.

"The national succession duel is valid, with this document as evidence."

Soloren summoned the organizer to bring two standard swords, ready for life and death combat with Gedre.

Cicero knew that Soloren had once won the 13th Continent Martial Arts Competition under a false identity, yet the world remained unaware.

Soloren had rushed here as though in an emergency.

Some time had passed, and that man must have heard the news by now. What is he thinking?

Does he hope that Soloren dies here? Impossible.

Has he accepted the legitimacy of this duel?

Indeed.

This truly is a national succession duel.

A duel passed to Soloren.

Phoenix, as such a "moderate" person, is the popular choice for a successor. If Soloren turns the tide here, Phoenix will never be able to hold his head up again.

Soloren will always be the top successor, and any re-election will have to consider other princes.

Because of the gambling on the Continent Martial Arts Competition finals, some people raked in profits while others lost everything, but at this moment, it no longer matters. Whatever Golden Dragon was spent is completely worthwhile for tonight's spectacle.

All spectators have been cleared from the arena.

Xiao Long stared fixedly from the special seats. Was this, as he claimed earlier, a turning point in history?

Saleret and Kai Deng were also numb; this stateless person could be considered a hero of the age, a continental hero.

And the Eldest Prince Soloren was no ordinary person. Even without having met the Emperor, one could feel that imperial majesty emanating from Soloren, a reflection of the Emperor.

Despite being the First Prince.

Yet Soloren lacked the scholarly air of royal education, his brows furrowed coldly, eyes devoid of warmth, gaze penetrating to the bone.

"To ensure the absolute legitimacy and fairness of this duel, I accept your three swords, having battled repeatedly to the championship. You may start at any time.

So, I ask all Aran citizens present, and visiting allies, to serve as witnesses of this duel between me and this hero, continuing until death... ends it."

Soloren picked up the standard sword blade, keeping a close watch on Gedre's movements.

Both exerted an extraordinary aura as they stood like pillars of heaven and earth, the murderous intent washing out all the colors from the scene of flowers and golden foil, stripping away any gilded fragrant dream, leaving only the oppressive and manic foreboding of a world nearing its end.

Many suspected if they heard wrong, was this the Continent Martial Arts Competition champion, with Soloren taking three swords from him?

Rumors spoke of Soloren's imperial bravery, but those were just rumors after all.

No one had yet recovered, everyone's heads still buzzing.

Gedre could not miss this heaven-sent opportunity.

The teacher, possessed of great martial skills, hid away from the world's affairs, roaming everywhere, ultimately dying.

Not a shred of dignity; he must not follow in those footsteps.

He had already made his move.

Revealing his aura completely, holding nothing back, his strength managed to its utmost limit.

The sword cut with strength, sweeping across in a slicing motion, instantaneously collapsing with the weight of ten thousand pounds, stormy clouds rolled back, majestic sword cries resonating, penetrating the air into flames.

Soloren stood his ground, unflinching, lowering his stance, only for the thunderous explosion to shake the ground, blocking it with raw force.

"One sword."

The crowd, having never seen Soloren, gasped in surprise.

Unforeseeable that Soloren was not posturing, and had indeed inherited the most bravery from the Emperor, the rumors were true.

He bullied the close-approaching Gedre with a forceful half-step, lowering his stance like a charging tiger, pushing forward with the left shoulder and swinging back the right, the sword slicing diagonally down, scraping the ground and sending up a trail of dust and stone, the enormous force bending the longsword into a strange arc.

Soloren remained unyielding.

The dust exploded, and despite being Gedre's full-strength attack, Soloren's fingers turned a bit white, but he still withstood it.

"Two swords."

Soloren's tone was calm.

Gedre retracted his aura, retreated nearly a hundred steps, and shifted his weight back, no longer giving Soloren the chance, exhausting all his strength to the point of implosion.

Leaping a dozen feet into the air, the practice ground beneath him forming a V-shaped fracture and instantly collapsing, fragments shot like rain, countless golden foil erupted into showers of gold, ascending flowers bloomed into murderous intent.

Twisting his body half-turned in the air, waist and abdominal muscles straining like cast iron, forming a line capable of destroying everything, pouring all the immense force into the sword.

A shadow, carrying a sense of destructive oppression, flashed and swept across the sky like a fleeting cloud.

Soloren stood still like a steel tower, his arms straining with bulging veins.

As if inheriting the Emperor's brave stance.

The moment the champion of the 13th Martial Arts Competition unleashed his move, his identity would be exposed, and there was no other choice.

The thunder clap resounded and the sky split, Soloren's entire body erupted in strange lightning, silver mixed with gold, of unmatched might, locking horns with Gedre in a direct collision.

The scene was astonishing, even with the barrier's protection, it felt shaky, and one could vaguely sense the tremors while seated.

"Three swords."

Soloren had blocked three moves.

Only now did the duel truly begin.

Gedre's gaze was extremely grim.

The Aran people were clever; they never exterminated entirely, always managing to seize what people recreated time and again.

The cycle had repeated countless times.

On the night of the Stargazing Festival.

The solemn moon overhead, the wind without a trace.

In a duel of life and death.

Golden foil danced, flowers shattered in flight, the sword's sound whistling, figures leaping.

At this moment, anyone familiar with the Continent Martial Arts Competition saw the identical style in Soloren's battle from the 13th Competition.

He was called the strongest Demon Swordsman of the age, mythologized as an envoy of the Clear Sky and Thunder Saint Spirit; no wonder the champion of that year vanished.

Was it... Aran's First Prince?

Tonight, explosive news came one after another.

Like the elevated solution to Xiao Long, only more so, for just a moment, hundreds of shell-like holes appeared across the barrier's walls in the practice ground's surroundings.

Gedre's erratic maneuvers swept across the arena multiple times.

In this Killing Formation, Soloren moved seamlessly in countless evasions, flipping up and down, his form darting like a shadow, sword meeting sword, sparks flying in torrents, the narrow margin between attack and defense completed numerous thrilling gambles of life and death.

Both would leap, spiral down, and swing with precision in one motion.

The immense force pushed both back, pausing in confrontation for a half-second.

Until the tense silence exploded again, frenzied swordplay raining down like a storm, countless afterimages clashing, sword blade reverberating in a line, to the onlookers, it became an exquisite series of blows, as the fighting skills unfolded fully, each punch landed solidly.

A spinning kick smashed toward Soloren's head, such extreme force that the pressure plowed the earth again.

Soloren's sword blade hadn't yet returned, and he retaliated with a scorpion's tail lash, raising thunder pillars skyward.

Under the destructive clash, the entire scene turned to dust.

Petal fragments and golden powder whirled, like blood-covered sandstorms.

At that moment, Soloren suddenly noticed something amiss, during the previous engagement, Gedre's movement delayed half a beat, though quickly corrected, yet Soloren caught it. What had he secretly done?

Gedre also realized, Soloren, Igphies's eldest son, was the strongest opponent encountered to date, bar none, even immensely challenging to defeat.

But tonight...

He could only succeed, he could not fail.

The Aran people were clever; always managing to seize what people recreated without completely exterminating.

People merely lived out of instinct, no fault to this.

He would die here.

This is...the only means to contend with the Emperor.

In the slowed movement earlier, Gedre took a blade, his clothing sliced open, his chest split, blood seeping from a finger-thick wound.

The Curse Poison given by the Gate of Truth's Witch King was already tempered onto the blade.

This is...

The final strike.