With these four people acting as judges, no matter what unexpected incident occurs in the arena, there’s basically no need to worry.

The four judges in the arena have faces as dark as coal.

They’re reluctant, thinking, what is our cultivation level? Why are we judging these youngsters?

However, this was a simultaneous request from Yan Nan and Dongfang Sansan, so the four have to comply whether they agree or not.

There’s no choice; both of them are not ones to be trifled with.

"Next is the Marquis Level combat, both sides prepare."

Yun Du, who serves as both judge and host, speaks up.

The atmosphere settles into silence.

Both sides consist of nine people each, with the Guardians dressed in white and the Wei Wo Zheng Sect dressed in black robes.

White as pure as snow, black as inky as ink.

The contrast between the two factions is intense and reaches a peak visibly.

The eighteen people lock eyes, and in an instant, a fierce intent to kill suddenly rises.

Fang Che stands among the King level nine, with a hint of worry in his eyes; from his perspective, the overall strength of both sides is about the same.

Then it comes down to combat techniques.

The competition rules are simple but brutal.

It’s one-on-one combat, lose and you’re immediately disqualified; the winner continues to fight. In the second round, the nine winners will inevitably face each other. Even if it’s an odd number, there will be no byes.

If after you finish, only two of you are left, while the opponent has seven winners remaining, you’ll still have to fight against each of the seven, one-on-one.

If both lose during this process, the remaining five from the opposing side will fight among themselves to determine the champion, runner-up, and third place.

The fight continues until only one person is left, who becomes the champion, followed by the runners-up.

There’s no talk of fairness: for example, even if you are indeed the best in the arena, but when it comes down to the final three, you fight through one by one, exhausting your strength and losing, then you are not the champion.

Because luck is also a part of strength.

The core of the rules is cruelty.

After both sides draw lots, the battle begins immediately.

Although it’s a sparring match, no one chooses to use fists or feet; instead, they all reveal their weapons brightly.

Dongfang Sansan sits calmly in his seat, listening to the combatants reporting their names on both sides; he picks up a tea cup, takes a sip, his eyes light up, and he says lightly: "Vice Sect Master Yan indeed has good tea. This tea can calm the mind, help one comprehend the Great Dao, and also enhance cultivation. Good tea, good tea."

Yan Nan responds indifferently: "If you like it, and you don’t have it over there, I can have someone send you some."

Vice Sect Master Yan’s tone carries a hint of mockery, implying the Guardians’ poverty and lack of insight, with a certain sarcasm in his voice.

However, Dongfang Sansan shows no sign of anger; instead, he nods cheerfully: "Good, then I’ll wait for Vice Sect Master Yan’s good tea. How much can you send? I trust Vice Sect Master Yan won’t be stingy."

Yan Nan is taken aback, then can’t help shaking his head with a wry smile, realizing that trying to gain the upper hand in verbal exchanges is impossible.

Each side is a life-and-death enemy, so how could Dongfang Sansan care about face? Obtaining resources for his side is his real goal.

He won’t give up any chance.

Thus, with a chuckle, Yan Nan shakes his head, "I underestimated, since I’ve said it, I’ll give you ten pounds, how about it?"

"Thank you. I’ll accept it gladly."

Dongfang Sansan smiles, "In that case, send someone quickly to get it, or else you might forget, and Vice Sect Master Yan will have to send someone to make a long trip."

"You really have the nerve."

Yan Nan rolls his eyes and waves his hand. A black-clad person standing behind him disappears instantly, and soon returns with a large package of tea.

Dongfang Sansan takes it with a smile, immediately handing it over to Yang Luoyu behind him to put away.

Yang Luoyu suppresses a laugh, placing the tea into the Space Ring.

Yan Nan actually flaunts wealth in front of the Ninth lord... seems he truly doesn’t know the Ninth lord’s plucking nature...

Dongfang Sansan feels joyful at securing ten pounds of good tea right at the start.

Internally, he’s already considering how to distribute the tea to maximize its effect.

For those experts who have been at bottlenecks for centuries, such tea is invaluable.

The tea drunk by Vice Sect Master Yan isn’t ordinary, is it?

These are the most top-grade spiritual teas in the world, and to Dongfang Sansan, using these ten pounds of spiritual tea on the most suitable people makes its value exceed a small Spirit Crystal Mine.

"This time for the martial match, it’s just people from your Weiwo Sect headquarters, right?" Dongfang Sansan, sipping his tea, seems to ask casually.

"There are also affiliated sects." Yan Nan answers without revealing anything, observing Dongfang Sansan’s gaze carefully.

"Same with us, we have that too."

Dongfang Sansan shows no expression, watching the field: "Looks like our Guardians are going to take the first victory."

Yan Nan’s lips curve slightly: "The Guardians are teeming with talent; securing the first victory is just as it should be."

Dongfang Sansan says no more.

Yan Nan reflects on the conversation.

He gained the upper hand slightly.

Just the phrase "there are also affiliated sects" is enough for Dongfang to ponder over, isn’t it?

Indeed, the first match at the Marquis level was won by the Guardians.

The faces of those from the Wei Wo Zheng Sect are all darkened; losing the first match is too inauspicious. A rough voice angrily shouts: "Little brat, you’ve brought shame to me... just wait until we get back!"

The defeated disciple of the Wei Wo Zheng Sect looks ashen with embarrassment...

But in the next second and third matches, the Guardians lose. Two young men return crestfallen, with deep shame on their faces, hanging their heads low.