Qin Feng received a solid affirmation from Chen Xi, and couldn't help but chuckle internally. He had originally thought he was just dealing with a young, up-and-coming rookie from the Pangu Realm. But now it seemed things were far more complicated—his uncle was a renowned general in the Heavenly Court's military, with a distinguished career spanning thousands to tens of thousands of years, and a loyal core of supporters of his own. The Heavenly Court's situation was truly deep and turbulent. Qingya now regretted her initial assessment. She had always assumed Qin Feng was an indestructible powerhouse—no matter in the Chinese lands or on the Magic Realm's Crystal King Star—he had always been the one dominating others, rarely being dominated. So she naturally believed he would emerge victorious. Chen Xi, too, felt a touch of concern. This was a contest where both victory and defeat carried significant risks—losing meant surrendering his beloved girlfriend, while winning would only bring endless retaliation from the Giant Spirit and the Pangu Realm. Thus, either way, it was a loss. The Colossus gazed at him with a deeply thoughtful expression, hmmed, "Young Chinese, are you about to concede? Very well, I'll gladly accept. A voluntary surrender is always better than taking a beating and still ending up with a defeat." Huh! In my dictionary, there's never been a word for 'surrender'. What about the people of Pangu's realm? What about the nephew of the Giant Spirit? My enemies have piled up, and in the end, they're all under my feet—so will you be. He lifted his gaze, meeting the Colossus's eyes, saying, "Enough with the small talk? If not, I'll give you three minutes—go on, make your points. If you believe that merely moving your lips can make me yield, then I can clearly tell you: no way." "You're quite arrogant, youngster," he declared. "And you'll have to pay for it." "Begin the match on the arena now," he ordered. An elderly man with a hunched back stepped forward from the crowd, speaking in a slightly weakened tone: "Do you all understand the rules of the match? Combat is blind—there's no regard for life or death—yet heaven has a benevolent nature: when one contestant voluntarily yields, the other must immediately halt; otherwise, they will face severe penalties." "Understood," the giant said, already eager. "Young man, did you catch that?" the elder asked Qin Feng. "Yes, I heard you clearly," he replied. The elder then calmly ascended the platform and said, "Then let us proceed with the handprint ritual." In his hands he held a stone-like slab, with a sharp steel needle projecting from a raised point at the location where the handprint was to be pressed. As he pressed down, the needle would pierce the skin and draw blood. After completing the handprint ritual, the elder said, "Then, please begin." "Meanwhile, the giant cracked his fingers with a crisp, snapping sound, saying, 'Young man, are you ready to take serious injuries? Since the fight has begun, I retract my earlier words—should you be a true man, don't give up too soon.' 'The same words, delivered exactly as they were,' Qin Shao replied, already hurling the Haotian Hammer: 'Return to Heaven's Sky.' Swoosh... The young men in the audience instinctively covered their eyes, exclaiming, 'Did Qin's head take a hit from some fierce beast? The stage is so small—why throw the hammer instead of lifting it and charging straight in?' Any technique relying on ranged attacks requires a certain distance; otherwise, the weapon simply can't achieve its maximum speed or impact force. The stage is circular, with a diameter of no more than thirty meters—such a short distance is simply inadequate for the Haotian Hammer. Without sufficient speed, its power cannot be fully realized. 'Overconfident,' he thought." The giant was tall and broad-shouldered, yet his movements were remarkably agile—he sidestepped effortlessly, avoiding the now-ethereal streak of Hào Tiān Chuí. He swung his right fist, his voice deep and resonant: "Your attacks have had no effect. It's my turn now." According to general rules, during a match on the platform, attacks to the back of the head or the crotch are not allowed. But as the old man just mentioned, when it comes to fists and feet, there's no eye for the target—life and death matter, not courtesy. The giant was gasping with golden stars dancing in his eyes; no matter how strong his body, he couldn't possibly make his back of the head as tough as steel. Whether a cultivator, a deity, or an ordinary person, this area remains one of the more vulnerable parts of the human body. The Ho-Tian Hammer smoothly returned to Qin's hands, and he made no pause, launching it again with a resounding cry: "One hammer, and it breaks the sky!" Swoosh… Boom… The giant was struck by the hammer, now magnified several times over, and under the immense force, his body was thrown backward, like a kite whose string had snapped. "Hahaha! That man was sent flying off the platform by me—so I win, right?" Qin shouted excitedly, clearly thrilled. But soon he realized that everyone in the audience was looking at him as if he were an alien, and his heart gave a sudden jolt. He hesitated and asked softly, "Doesn't defeating the opponent and sending them off the stage count as a win?" Chen Xisu nodded. "That's quite common—it doesn't count as a loss." The stage is usually open to immortals, who at the very least can fly. A small stage simply can't contain such abilities, so it's more of a symbolic presence—mostly serving to fulfill the ritual of pressing hands. Man, I didn't know this earlier! He wanted to give the old man a sharp, decisive look, but found himself unable to locate him in the crowd. The Juling God's face grew increasingly displeased. He never expected his nephew, the mighty giant, to suffer consecutive setbacks right from the start, and even more so, to be knocked off the stage in his second move, vanishing into a small black dot in the sky. Of course, he also believed his nephew couldn't have fallen so quickly. Just a few days ago, when he heard that the giant was going to compete in a match against someone, he was thrilled—what a wonderful opportunity for his own people to shine! To boost his nephew's profile and secure him a promising position in the future, he had specifically invited some close military friends to introduce the giant to the Marshal through their connections. Yet now, instead of making an appearance, he's been publicly humbled. Noticing the puzzled glances from his colleagues, he offered a cheerful smile and said, "My nephew deliberately allowed that young man to win. He's a sincere and straightforward person; when he competes, he always gives his opponent three rounds. After all, everyone who's been in the game knows that the one who lasts until the end is truly the winner, doesn't he?"