Douluo Continent: Martial Soul Young Gilas, Sandstorm King!

A month passed in endless killing and vigilance.

Lin Xia's winning streak in the Hell Slaughter Arena has increased to nine.

This number is enough to attract the attention of some truly powerful individuals within the inner city.

That day, when he registered again, the man in black in charge of registration told him in a hoarse voice a rule that had not been mentioned before:

"Number 8888, next match. Your opponent must have participated in at least five fewer matches than you."

Lin Xia raised an eyebrow slightly.

What if everyone had more than five fewer attempts than me?

"Then... you will encounter the strongest one."

A hint of schadenfreude flashed in the man's eyes.

"The killing field will always find you suitable playmates."

Lin Xia understood.

The longer your winning streak, the stronger and more experienced your opponents will become.

This rule eliminates the possibility of quickly racking up matches by brutally defeating newcomers, forcing stronger players to engage in more brutal clashes.

"understood."

Lin Xia spoke calmly, sliding her identity card through the groove, a faint dark red light flashing.

He turned around and walked once again toward that black door that swallowed everything.

Inside the gate, the clamor and bloodshed of the tenth battle raged.

Outside the door, Zhu Zhuqing and the others followed his retreating figure closely, their eyes filled with worry and determination.

one year later.

The icy atmosphere was suffocating. Ten people slowly entered the hellish killing arena.

Lin Xia was the third person among the ten. But he was the focus of attention for the other nine.

Seventy times in the competition, seventy wins.

This is Lin Xia's current achievement, unmatched in the entire Hell Slaughter Arena.

Everyone who comes here to compete, besides the meager right to survive, has the deepest desire for those hundred victories.

With the title of 100 champions, one can become a permanent resident of the Killing City, enjoy extremely high authority, and even become a guest advisor of the Killing King.

In seventy matches, Lin Xia had already taken the lives of over a thousand people.

However, in the past two months, even during the period of weakness after the competition, no one has dared to ambush him anymore.

It wasn't that Lin Xia didn't want to end the hundred battles quickly.

Instead, as he accumulated more and more victories, fewer and fewer people dared to compete against him when he registered.

It often takes several days to barely gather ten people for the Hell Killing Arena without revealing his specific participation time.

Within a year, Lin Xia became a star in the hellish killing field.

This achievement is enough to rank it among the top three since the founding of Killing City.

It is worth mentioning that, with the assistance of the soul tool brought by Lin Xia, Meng Yiran, Ning Rongrong, Dugu Yan, and Zhu Zhuqing also won fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-seven, and fifty-nine games respectively.

Compared to when she first arrived, Lin Xia's expression had an indelible chill, and a faint, almost bone-chilling, bloody aura emanated from her.

Cold, bloodthirsty, and cruel have long been synonymous with him.

Here, it's not simply a matter of having the strongest soul power to win.

Several opponents with soul power exceeding level 80 have already died at Lin Xia's hands.

A Soul Master who cannot use Soul Skills is like a tiger without claws and teeth.

Lin Xia herself is a sophisticated killing machine.

The most dangerous time was when he had just defeated two Contra-level opponents in a match and dragged his nearly exhausted body out of the killing arena, where he was immediately besieged by hundreds of Fallen Ones.

He was struck by knives and axes, leaving countless gaping wounds on his body.

In the end, all one hundred people died, and their bodies were never found.

Lin Xia, covered in blood, his muscles bulging outwards like a demon crawling out of a pool of blood from hell, rose step by step from the pile of corpses. A black killing intent, almost solidified, enveloped his entire body.

Three days later, as if nothing had happened, he calmly stepped into the hellish killing field once again.

That day, for 24 hours straight, no one dared to sign up to fight.

He possesses abilities that ordinary Soul Masters lack, as well as terrifying moves that transcend the Soul Skill system.

That time, Lin Xia became a household name. Now, his nickname in the Killing City is—

Sandstorm King.

Footsteps echoed in the empty corridor, mixed with heavy, uneven breathing.

Lin Xia could clearly feel the nine gazes falling on her back—fear, hatred, greed, and madness on the verge of despair.

They were like a group of trapped beasts, knowing that rushing into the flames meant death, yet still gambling on that slim chance of survival.

The audience erupted in a deafening roar of shouts and curses, the frenzied atmosphere nearly lifting the black building off the ground.

"Kill that monster!"

"Sandstorm King! Tear them apart!"

"Go! Kill him and you'll live!"

Lin Xia didn't even lift her eyelids.

A year is enough time for these noises to become meaningless background noise.

He simply glanced at the nine people opposite him as a matter of habit before stepping onto the field.

Three Soul Saints, four Soul Emperors, and two sinister men with strange auras and soul power fluctuations that oscillated between Soul King and Soul Emperor.

Such a lineup would be enough to sweep aside a small army if deployed outside.

But here, in this hellish killing field, they are merely "feed" forced together, wary of each other yet compelled to cooperate.

The referee's voice came from somewhere, hoarse and brief.

"start."

No spirit rings lit up, and there were no dazzling lights or shadows.

The carnage erupted the instant the voice fell.

The burly Soul Saint closest to Lin Xia roared, his arms bulging with muscles, and swung a heavy axe, as big as a door panel, down at Lin Xia's head!
The wind howled mournfully.

Almost simultaneously, a gaunt, ghostly figure of a Soul Emperor flickered from the side and behind, silently stabbing Lin Xia in the lower back with a poisoned short sword in his hand.

The coordination wasn't particularly sophisticated, but the instincts honed through countless life-or-death battles made the encirclement deadly efficient.

Lin Xia moved.

There was no retreat, no parrying. In the instant the heavy axe was about to strike his head, his body slid half a step to the side like a ghost, the movement was surprisingly small, yet it just barely grazed the tip of his nose as the axe blade crashed into the dark red ground with a "thud," sending shards of stone flying.

At the same time, as if he had foreseen the future, he reached back with his left hand and precisely gripped the blade of the poisoned sword with his five fingers.

"Click."

The crisp sound of bones cracking was drowned out by the surrounding noise. The Soul Emperor, wielding the sword, screamed as his wrist was snapped by a brutal force.

With a flick of his wrist, Lin Xia changed hands with the poisoned sword and stabbed it into the throat of the third enemy who lunged at him from the other side, trying to lock his neck.

Blood splattered.

In their first encounter, the three joined forces, resulting in one death and one injury.

Lin Xia didn't stop walking. He threw his blood-stained short sword, pinning a Soul Emperor who was brewing some kind of insidious scheme to the wall.

He himself was like a tiger among sheep, crashing into the chaotic formation of the remaining six.

Elbow strikes, knee strikes, palm strikes, finger strikes... every part of the body becomes the most efficient killing weapon.

The movements were extremely simple, without any unnecessary frills. Each strike was accompanied by a bone crack, a scream, or the sudden extinguishing of life.

Over the past year, the combat instincts honed through endless killing and ambushes have far surpassed any enhancement brought by any soul skill.

His senses covered the entire area; he could "hear" the slight cracking of everyone's muscles tensing, "smell" the sweat secreted by their fear, and even predict who would back down or who would fight desperately in the next moment.

This is the true hellish killing field. (End of Chapter)