The rules of the Bloody Battle quickly revealed one thing—
In this kind of melee, personal strength was no longer the decisive factor.
Instead, what truly determined life and death was background… and resources.
For ordinary cultivators, the outcome seemed predetermined.
They were nothing more than stepping stones.
Sacrifices.
Fuel for someone else's rise.
Naturally, voices of protest began to spread.
Many called on the authorities to revise the rules, to restore fairness, to give lone cultivators a chance.
But the response they received—
Was silence.
After the nine Blood Spirit Arrays were activated, the authorities made no further announcements.
No adjustments.
No explanations.
Nothing.
That silence itself was the answer.
Fairness?
It didn't matter.
The rules were already set.
If you couldn't accept them—
Then leave.
If you chose to stay—
Then endure.
In the bluntest terms:
If you're weak, train harder.
If you can't handle it, don't play.
After all, the purpose of this Bloody Battle had never changed.
It was to reduce the number of cultivators.
To eliminate those who occupied resources yet contributed nothing.
This was nothing more than a massive "raising gu" experiment—
Throw countless insects into a jar…
And let them devour each other.
Only the strongest would survive.
As for the rest?
They were insignificant.
…
…
And yet—
It was precisely this cruelty that made the battlefield even more alluring.
Because in a world where the strong preyed on the weak,
only by becoming stronger could one survive.
And perhaps—
Just perhaps—
Someone might rise from the bottom and become a true powerhouse.
So, while some were still protesting—
Others had already acted.
The moment the Blood Spirit Arrays opened, countless cultivators rushed in without hesitation.
Anyone with even a shred of awareness understood one thing:
The earlier you enter, the better your chances.
Early on, opponents were weaker.
Factions were less organized.
Opportunities were greater.
Boom! Boom! Boom—!
Explosions echoed endlessly within the arrays.
Battles erupted everywhere.
Screams, clashes, collapsing bodies—
All of it blended into a chaotic symphony of slaughter.
The blood mist surrounding the arrays grew thicker and thicker,
until it seemed as though it could drip from the sky.
Time passed.
More and more cultivators entered.
But only a handful ever walked out.
And those who did—
Returned laden with spoils.
Their bodies overflowing with newly acquired spiritual energy.
They headed straight for the central island.
Spent everything.
First—on cultivation methods.
By now, everyone understood:
Having a proper technique and not having one—
Were worlds apart.
Second—on weapons.
Powerful, body-integrated artifacts that could determine victory in an instant.
A single superior weapon could crush countless opponents.
In order to dominate the battlefield,
cultivators spent recklessly.
Some even went further—
Deliberately suppressing their own realm.
Those who had reached the second or third layer of Qi Refining would expend spiritual energy,
equip themselves with overwhelming gear,
and forcibly lower their level—
Just to enter the lowest-tier battlefield.
To slaughter the weak.
…
…
As time went on, the situation grew more intense.
Those who had initially remained calm—
Watching from the sidelines—
Finally began to waver.
Because they saw it with their own eyes.
More and more people walking out alive.
More and more people growing stronger overnight.
Inside the blood mist, nothing could be seen.
No one knew what truly happened within.
But the results?
They were obvious.
Those who returned were all richly rewarded.
And gradually—
A dangerous idea began to spread.
Survivor bias.
The victors spoke.
And what they said sounded… effortless.
"The enemies inside? Weak."
"Just a few moves and it's over."
"Easy gains."
To them, the battlefield was nothing more than a shortcut to wealth.
A place to rise overnight.
And that version of the story—
Spread.
What people saw…
Was only the winners.
No one saw the countless corpses left behind.
Those who entered and died—
Left nothing.
No bodies.
No warnings.
No truth.
And so—
More people were tempted.
More people stepped in.
Chasing the same dream.
To get rich overnight.
But reality was merciless.
Out of every hundred who entered—
Perhaps one would return.
But no one paid attention to the ninety-nine who vanished.
Everyone's eyes were fixed on that one survivor.
On their power.
Their wealth.
Their success.
Day after day—
Someone broke through.
Someone rose.
And those who had hesitated…
Could no longer endure it.
They began to think:
"If he can do it… why can't I?"
Even those who had escaped by sheer luck—
Who tried to warn others of the truth—
Were ignored.
Dismissed.
Because humans—
Were naturally overconfident.
Especially when someone of similar strength suddenly surpassed them.
That gap—
Was unbearable.
So, in the end,
countless cultivators threw themselves into the Bloody Battle.
Without hesitation.
And the result?
Only a tiny handful rose.
The rest—
Became stepping stones.
The harsh truth soon taught them a lesson:
Just because someone else succeeds—
Doesn't mean you will.
Sometimes—
Luck is everything.
Timing.
Opportunity.
Courage.
Choice.
All of it combined into a miracle.
And even for those who succeeded—
If asked to do it again—
They would only shake their heads.
Because once…
Was already enough.
A second time?
That would be walking straight into death.
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