The hardwood gate leading to Floor 10 didn’t open with a gentle creak. It slid apart with a deep, grinding shudder that sent ripples through the misty pool beneath the challengers’ boots.
Behind the barrier lay the Bramble Colosseum.
Spanning three hundred paces in every direction, the circular arena was framed by the stone-hard, moss-choked roots of ancient iron-banyan trees. Thorny briars as thick as a man’s torso curled around the outer edge like sleeping pythons, their black barbs glistening with sticky, amber resin. everyone could feel the rich, pungent scent of pine sap, crushed ferns, and the clear, rotten-egg musk of an apex hunting beast.
Standing at the entrance threshold were the five members of the Thunder Tiger Vanguard, an elite strike team from the Thunder Mountain Sect.
Led by Senior Brother Lei Bao, a late-stage Foundation Establishment prodigy wielding a pair of crackling bronze war-hammers, the party had swept through the introductory floors with ruthless, easy speed. They had flattened the shadow hares of Floor 1, bypassed the creeper vines of Floor 4. Then they scattered the mud-badgers of Floor 7 with thunderous blast waves.
Outside on the northern plaza, and across thousands of water-mirrors in distant royal taverns, spectators watched the Thunder Tigers’ rapid ascent with wide, admiring eyes.
