Under the crushing force of the three-headed, six-armed ethereal divine spirit, the last of Dalen's clone immediately shattered into fragments.

The crowd erupted in chaos, especially those women who had supported him. They screamed in anguish, and some even fainted. Watching such a handsome man reduced to dust felt like a tragic waste.

Amid the stand uproar, Fenley remained unfazed in the battle ring. When the ethereal divine spirit struck Dalen, what had exploded wasn't a body but a ball of air.

In other words, the figure who had just shattered was merely a clone. Where was the real Dalen hiding if those nine figures were all clones?

Just as Fenley frowned in confusion, a sudden sense of danger prickled at his scalp. He instinctively looked up and saw Dalen diving toward him headfirst with a folding fan in hand.

Dalen descended silently, like a meteor hurtling toward the ground. The tip of the fan was a half-sheathed sword, and its edge glinted menacingly.

"You're courting death