One person: Starting with the Snow Drinking Blade

The tin can skewer container was brought out again.

It was a makeshift contraption made from a discarded tin can, its edges frayed and the paint peeling off. A piece of white paper was crookedly pasted onto it, bearing the two Chinese characters "签筒" (qiān tǒng, meaning "lottery tube")—the handwriting so illegible it looked like a primary school student's—probably scribbled on by one of Bald Bear's henchmen. Several bullet holes were also visible in the tube, remnants of some recent battle. It sat in the center of the hall on a recently cleared patch of ground, the ground still bearing fresh bloodstains and scorch marks. The air was thick with the smells of gunpowder, blood, and a faint, lingering sulfurous odor emanating from the giant's corpse, creating an eerie and unsettling atmosphere.

But at this moment, no one cares about any of that.

All eyes were focused on the ridiculously simple lottery box and the two people about to draw lots.

The final match. China versus Japan. Best of three, deciding the ultimate fate of that deadly missile.

Nie Lingfeng looked at the crowd behind him. Master Wang Ye possessed an air of otherworldly grace, but maintaining the Qimen formation had taken a toll—he leaned casually against a pillar, but a closer look revealed fine beads of sweat on his forehead, and his breathing was slightly heavier than usual. Wang Zhenqiu and Gao Yuhuan had just been rescued, still bearing the marks of their shackles and unhealed wounds. The scab on Wang Zhenqiu's left eyebrow was particularly striking under the light, and Gao Yuhuan's right arm was still in a sling, indicating a reduction in their strength. Chen Duo needed to protect Xiaoyun, and her Phoenix True Fire and Gu techniques were severely limited in this kind of direct combat—those techniques that required time and specific conditions to take effect were difficult to execute in a fast-paced face-to-face duel.

After considering everything, it seems that the only ones who can consistently participate in battles are myself, Zhang Chulan, and... well, Zhang Chulan.

"I'll take the draw! I always have great luck!"

Zhang Chulan volunteered, rolled up his sleeves, and stepped forward. He had just defeated Ivan, one of Bald Bear's henchmen, although the victory was somewhat "unscrupulous"—he used all sorts of tricks, like the Monkey Stealing Peach and the Electric Dragon Drill—but his confidence was soaring, and he felt full of energy. He desperately needed to prove himself on a more exciting stage and, incidentally, show off.

Nie Lingfeng glanced at him but didn't object. He simply nodded slightly and whispered, "Be careful. The ninjas of the Sakura Kingdom are cunning. Don't be careless."

"Don't worry, Brother Nie!" Zhang Chulan patted his chest, making a loud thud. "I'm a man who's watched over 700 episodes of Naruto! I know all about ninjas! Like the Shadow Clone Technique, the Substitution Technique, the Sexy Technique… oops, that last one doesn't count." He accidentally slipped up, quickly straightened up, and cleared his throat. "Anyway, leave it to me!"

On the other side, Hattori Chizo, the taciturn and cold-blooded young ninja from the Sakura Kingdom, also silently walked to the fortune-telling box.

He was still wearing that dark gray ninja outfit and a black mask, revealing only a pair of narrow, indifferent eyes. The two short swords on his back gleamed eerily in the dim light, the ropes binding their hilts blackened with sweat, clearly the result of years of use. His steps were so light that they barely made a sound on the gravel, like a silent cat.

He didn't even glance at Zhang Chulan, as if she were just a wisp of air in front of him.

"Tch, what's with the cool act?"

Zhang Chulan muttered to himself, reaching into the divination tube to pull out a slip of paper. He rummaged around in the tube a couple of times, then pulled out a slip, unfolded it, and saw—"1".

Almost simultaneously, Hattori Chizo also drew his own slip. He used only two fingers, his movements as fast as lightning, the slip being pulled out without even a sound of paper scraping. He opened it, and it was—"1".

"Wow! What a great start! I'm the first one here!"

Zhang Chulan chuckled, his grin stretching to his ears. He tossed the note into the air, and it floated down, which he ignored, shouting towards the Japanese side, "Hey—you masked guy over there, it's our first match! Please be kind to me, and go easy on me!"

His final words, "Go easy on me," were spoken so casually, and coupled with his grinning face, they looked nothing short of provocative.

Hattori Chizo remained silent.

He simply tossed the slip of paper with the number "1" written on it to the ground. The paper fluttered to the ground, and without even glancing at it, he turned and walked back to the center of the lime circle, where he stood quietly.

Like a lifeless sculpture.

He had just defeated Andrei of the Bear Kingdom. Although he had expended some physical strength and energy—Andrei's ferocious fighting style required effort to dodge and block even without a direct hit—he appeared outwardly unaffected. His breathing was even, his heartbeat steady, and his aura remained almost imperceptible. Like a stagnant pool, its depths unreadable.

"Chu Lan, be careful."

Wang Zhenqiu stopped joking and said seriously. He leaned against the pillar, arms crossed, his brows furrowed with an unusual solemnity.

"This guy is fast, ruthless with his sword, and skilled in using poison and hidden weapons. Andrei was slowly worn down to death by his bizarre harassment tactics—one cut after another, not fatal, but the wounds multiplied, the blood flowed more and more, until he couldn't even clench his fists. Don't be fooled by his appearance; ninjas excel at concealment and delivering a fatal blow."

"Okay, okay, I'm not stupid."

Zhang Chulan waved his hand and stepped into the circle. He stopped five meters away from Hattori Senzo, his feet crunching on the gravel to find a stable foothold. A faint golden halo began to appear on his body, as if a thin layer of golden water film covered his skin; at the same time, white lightning crackled across his body, making tiny "crackling" sounds, like countless miniature fireflies dancing around him.

"I've activated both Thunder Magic and Golden Light Spell. Let's see what he can do to me."

He spoke casually, but his body was already in battle mode—his center of gravity was slightly lowered, his feet were spread apart, his knees were slightly bent, and his hands hung naturally at his sides, ready to switch between offense and defense at any time.

Nie Lingfeng didn't say anything more, but just gave Wang Ye a wink.

Master Wang nodded slightly and took a half-step forward without making a sound. He had chosen a clever position—neither too far nor too close to the limestone circle, so as not to attract the attention of the other party, yet to be able to clearly perceive all the movements within the circle. The faint shadows of the characters "巽" (Xun) and "坎" (Kan) flashed by beneath his feet, like ripples on the surface of water, disappearing in an instant.

He was always ready. In case of any unexpected events—such as the opponent's poisoned needle flying out of the circle, or any underhanded tricks that exceeded the rules of the arena—he could intervene immediately using his magical arts. Although this violated the rules of the arena, rules are rigid, but people are flexible. The lives of his own brothers were more important than any rules.

The man in the suit adjusted his glasses. His gaze swept over Zhang Chulan and Hattori Chizuru before finally settling on Nie Lingfeng, as if assessing something. His fingers tapped lightly twice on the tablet, as if recording some data or calculating some probability.

He did not announce the start.

They simply stepped back a few steps, completely clearing the space.

The atmosphere suddenly became tense.

Like a bowstring stretched to its limit.

"start."

The old man with the sword, Sato Ittosai, uttered two words in a voice as sharp as a blade scraping against the ground.

The sound wasn't loud, but everyone could hear it clearly.

Before the words were finished—

Hattori Chizou made a move.

No, it's less about "moving" and more about "disappearing".

Where he had been standing, only a faint, almost invisible afterimage remained—like the distorted heat of a summer asphalt road, barely perceptible. He had appeared like a ghost behind Zhang Chulan's left!

There were no signs whatsoever.

There was no sound of wind breaking.

It didn't stir up even a wisp of air.

It was as if he had always been standing there, but had simply gone unnoticed.

"So fast!"

Alarm bells rang in Zhang Chulan's mind. This speed was even faster than when he faced Andrei earlier! Had he held back then? Or was it that an opponent like Andrei, a brute force type, wasn't worth his full effort?

There wasn't time to think it through.

Almost instinctively, lightning crackled beneath his feet, and with a "sizzle," a white arc of electricity exploded into a blinding spark on the ground. He activated his Swift Movement Technique at full power, and his figure suddenly darted forward to the right!

"Sizzle—"

A dark, gleaming blade almost grazed his left rib.

The blade's light wasn't dazzling; rather, it was dark and dull, as if something had absorbed its light, leaving only a faint gray trail in the air. The sound of the blade cutting through the air was also extremely subtle, like a snake flicking its tongue, hissing and almost inaudible unless one was paying close attention.

Zhang Chulan's T-shirt was ripped open, running from his left rib to his waist. The fabric was rolled up, revealing a pale golden protective aura underneath. Where the blade touched the golden aura, ripples spread out like pebbles thrown into water.

A cold sensation traveled through the golden light, as if someone's finger, dipped in ice, had brushed against his skin. Zhang Chulan's hair stood on end, and his scalp tingled.

If the reaction time is even 0.1 seconds slower...

This one cut could rip him open.

"Thunder Magic - Palm Thunder!"

In his shock and anger, Zhang Chulan, while charging forward, slammed a highly compressed white lightning ball backward! "Bang—" The lightning ball flew out of his hand, trailing a blinding tail of light, and crashed into the dark remnant of the sword light behind him.

however.

The lightning bolt hit nothing but air.

After his attack missed, Hattori Chizo did not pause for a moment. His figure once again blurred as if merging into the shadows—not running, not jumping, but like a drop of ink falling into water, silently dissolving and dissipating.

next moment.

He had already appeared to Zhang Chulan's right.

The two swords crossed.

It twisted towards his neck like scissors!

The angles remained sharp and ruthless—one slashed upwards, the other downwards, the trajectories of the two blades converging to form an intersection, trapping the target's neck in the middle. This was the classic ninja killing move, the "Cross Choke," which, once closed, could even sever the cervical vertebrae.

And—it remains completely silent!

"Again?!"

Zhang Chulan gritted his teeth. This time he didn't dodge—he knew he couldn't keep up with his opponent's pace, and the more he dodged, the more passive and dangerous it would become.

He suddenly twisted his waist and turned around!

His body shone with golden light!

"Clang! Clang!"

Two crisp, almost overlapping sounds of metal clashing rang out! Hattori Senzo's twin swords slashed fiercely at Zhang Chulan's suddenly lit, incredibly solid golden light shield! The golden light flashed brightly the moment it was struck, as if it had been enraged, its brilliance so dazzling it made one's eyes sting.

The golden light fluctuated violently, rippling outwards like the surface of a lake tossed with a boulder. But ultimately, it averted the fatal attack.

A tremendous recoil force came from the blade, and Hattori Chizo's figure paused slightly—his hands holding the blade went slightly numb from the recoil, and the blade was deflected about two inches by the golden light.

"Got you!"