School Transmigration: I, Chosen as the Saint by Dragons at the Start-Chapter 215 --The Prince of Snow Kingdom

Leaning against his shoulder, Rose told Owen that although she didn’t understand everything he said, what Owen did must be right.

"Yes, I am justice," Owen declared as he mounted his horse.

By the time Owen reached the City of Two, only one day remained before the commencement of the witch’s tournament.

The city was already abuzz with activity.

A massive square in the city center had been temporarily transformed into an arena due to the extensive number of challengers vying for the witch’s hand, relocating the original plan from near the northern magic tower to here.

Notices plastered around the city announced that due to the overwhelming participation, preliminary and qualifying rounds had been added to the competition, with only the final eight qualifiers granted the chance to challenge the nine-tier magic tower.

To Owen, these changes were inconsequential to his assured victory; he spent the last day before the competition shopping and wandering the streets with Rose.

The commercial streets of the City of Two thrived with bustling activity, attracting merchants from every corner of the world, prompting Owen to reflect on the city’s casual nomenclature.

He found the name "City of Two" somewhat arbitrary, wondering about the lack of creativity from whoever named it, especially considering the previous City of One, deeming the namer a fool.

After about an hour of browsing, Rose grew tired, so they stopped at a restaurant in the center of the commercial district for a lavish lunch.

Rose was eating with gusto, but Owen barely touched his food.

Since the forest where he had brutally killed Steven, he would occasionally become lost in thought.

Is he really the embodiment of natural justice?

He would ask himself, always affirming the answer.

He convinced himself that the powerful are the natural order, that they should do as they please.

Yet, a different voice whispered in the depths of his heart.

"Why aren’t you eating, my lord?"

Rose’s words brought him back to reality, and Owen put a large piece of crab roe into his mouth.

He had eaten less than half of his bowl of crab roe noodles when the peace was disturbed again.

A young man with the air of nobility swaggered into the restaurant, followed by a group of ironclad soldiers.

With a wave of his hand, the ironclad army began to clear out the patrons, even those high-ranking officials upstairs were not spared.

Owen, sitting in a corner of the first floor, had cast an illusion as soon as these people entered.

To everyone else, the table where he and Rose sat might as well have not existed.

After the room had been cleared, the young man took a seat at a table in the center of the hall, ready to order.

Another figure, looking every inch the military officer, entered and approached the young noble, speaking in a tone of deference, "Your Highness, we are not within our own borders here. Perhaps less fanfare in dismissing the common folk would be prudent for your safety."

"For my safety? Isn’t your purpose to ensure my safety? What use are you if you cannot even protect the prince?" The young noble retorted.

"You are right, my lord. But at the very least, please consider dining upstairs. Dining in this hall, allowing the common folk to gaze upon the prince so freely, is disrespectful."

"Hmph, are you implying that as a bastard son, I lack the decorum, and being seen by outsiders in an unseemly manner would tarnish the royal dignity?"

"That was not my intention."

"I’ll have you know, I’ve always enjoyed dining in the hall since I was young. Anyone who dares stare too much, I’ll gouge out their eyes!"

"As you command."

The officer ordered the soldiers to surround the restaurant, guarding the staircase and the main entrance carefully.

He scanned the hall and was about to leave when suddenly, he froze, staring in Owen’s direction.

He rubbed his eyes as a cold sweat dripped down his face, but still, he approached Owen.

"You possess considerable strength," Owen remarked after finishing his bowl of noodles and setting down his chopsticks, "far greater than those ants."

"Your Highness, you are...?" The officer was momentarily at a loss for words.

"I am the one who will marry the witch," Owen declared, noticing Rose’s displeasure and finding it amusing.

"What are you mumbling to that pillar for? Come and stand guard while I dine!" the oblivious young noble shouted towards them.

As Owen dispelled the illusion, the young man’s initial shock quickly morphed into a savage expression.

"Audacious commoner! Daring to perform tricks in front of me and disrupt my meal," he pointed at the officer and continued, "Blight, kill the man.

Keep the woman for me; I want to have my fun with her all day."

"Your Highness, please hold your tongue," the officer, clearly panicked, blocked Owen’s line of sight as he spoke, "We should avoid bullying with our power. This man’s strength is unfathomable; perhaps we should find another establishment."

"Change nothing! No matter how strong, can he defeat a thousand of us? Shoot him into a honeycomb," the young man maintained his arrogant demeanor.

"You’re called Blight?" Owen spoke again.

"Yes, please, let’s be reasonable," Blight lowered his voice, "He lacks manners, but we will educate him in time."

Owen thought the name Blight sounded familiar, as if he had helped him in the past, but he couldn’t quite place it.

Thus, he decided, "For your sake, I’ll spare his life, but let me educate him a bit."

With that, Owen released a sword aura, which Blight instinctively prepared to defend against, his body glowing with a blue light.

However, the sword aura split into two, circling around Blight—one destroying the table in front of the young man, and the other pushing him out the door, where he tumbled several meters across the ground.

"You’ll pay for this," the young man cursed as he scrambled up like a dog and vanished from Owen’s sight.

Owen ignored the distant barking and said to Blight, "Stay with me for a while. You, as a guard in City of Two, must have a clear understanding of the current situation."

"You there, quickly find the prince and stop him from causing any more trouble!"

Blight ordered the stunned ironclad army, then sat down at the same table as Owen, upon his gesture.

Strangely enough, Owen felt as though they were long-lost friends catching up over drinks.

Blight ordered a plate of peanuts, half-eaten, half-spread on the table to represent the distribution of people in City of Two.

It seemed this officer also harbored deep dissatisfaction with the reckless young prince.

A quarter-hour of conversation gave Owen a comprehensive understanding of the situation in City of Two.

The number of individuals coming to compete for the witch exceeded a thousand, specifically ranging from one thousand to one thousand and fifty.

More than half of the contestants were staying in the southern part of the city.

These people were mostly wandering heroes, with varying levels of strength but one common trait: poverty.

The southern part, being the impoverished area of City of Two, had relatively rudimentary taverns and lower costs for lodging and dining.

Moreover, due to the relatively poorer security, some contestants took the opportunity to pickpocket and steal from others, leading to an increase in violent incidents recently.

A minority of well-off contestants like Owen stayed in the northern part of the city.

These individuals tended to act more decently, at least on the surface.

Thus, the security in the north remained as good as ever.

Blight didn’t delve too deeply into the strengths of these contestants; partly because it was unnecessary, and partly for fear of attracting trouble.

The remaining contestants were scattered across the eastern and western parts of the city.

These people were neither rich nor poor, and their strength did not surpass Blight’s, leaving little noteworthy to mention.

Additionally, Blight, through relentless investigation, clarified the specific procedures of the tournament.

The preliminary and advancement matches were all to be held in the city’s central square.

The preliminaries consisted of group melee fights, with only one victor from each of the 64 groups being chosen.

Registration points for the competition were set up in various locations throughout the city, with actual groupings divided by region, leading to uneven numbers in each group.

Essentially, the preliminaries offered no fairness to the impoverished.

By the time of the advancement matches, the large square would be divided into four sections for simultaneous battles.

The 64 qualifiers would duel in pairs for elimination until the top sixteen were drawn and decided, leaving the final eight.

These eight would then proceed to the northern magic tower to challenge the nine-tier magic tower according to the witch’s rules.

Blight had not registered; his role was to protect the prince during his participation, intervening only when the prince faced danger.

The illegitimate prince, lacking significant strength but overly confident in his abilities, was someone Blight hoped to teach a lesson through this opportunity.

It was his wealth and status that were formidable, not the prince himself without these advantages.

"Get out here, bastard! Blight, you come out too!"

As Blight finished explaining the situation in City of Two and the tournament, the foolish prince returned.

He had evidently heard from the ironclad army that Blight and Owen were getting along well, prompting him to insult Blight as well.

"There are some things you can’t tolerate, like when a true bastard calls you one," Owen stood up, holding Ice.

"Snow Kingdom only has this one heir, please be merciful," Blight pleaded.

"Snow Kingdom?"

A murderous intent flashed in Owen’s eyes as he swiftly moved out of the inn to stand in the middle of the street.

Opposite him stood the prince of Snow Kingdom and his summoned thousand ironclad soldiers, arrayed like lambs to the slaughter.

"What’s your name?"

Owen inquired, facing the Snow Kingdom prince and his ironclad army, poised for confrontation.