School Transmigration: I, Chosen as the Saint by Dragons at the Start-Chapter 216 --The Advancement Matches

"I am Prince Chandler of the Snow Kingdom. Kneel and bow now, and I’ll merely cripple your hands, take your woman, but spare your life. Otherwise, hmm, this thousand-strong ironclad army is not for show."

"Your father is Bladen?"

"Nonsense, you dare to utter my father’s name?"

Owen wasted no more words and drew Ice.

"Hahaha, you think you can defeat my thousand ironclad soldiers? Fire the arrows!"

"Stop!" Blight shouted in desperation, but it was too late.

Hundreds of arrows flew towards Owen, who concentrated his power into the blade and slashed down.

The commercial street turned into a bloodbath; Prince Chandler didn’t have a single bone left intact under Owen’s strike.

Not one of the thousand ironclad soldiers survived.

Amidst his sorrow, Blight immediately mobilized the remaining guards to clean up the blood on the street.

Due to the overwhelming force of Owen’s sword, only bloodstains and dust remained, ironically simplifying the cleanup.

"You should participate in the competition in his stead. Replace that fool," Owen clapped Blight on the shoulder, "You have the strength for it."

"He deserved his fate," Blight said, "But those soldiers... you have a demon in your heart!"

"Perhaps," Owen glanced at Rose’s calm, large eyes.

The first day of the preliminaries saw the melee battle among those who had registered in the south of the city.

The spacious square was crammed with over five hundred people, each surrounded by enemies.

Casualties occurred even before the competition officially started.

In the four corners of the square, competitors were ambushed, but the casualties were mainly concentrated within a circular area of five meters in the center, where anyone who entered was poisoned.

Those of higher strength quickly leaped out upon realizing someone had set up a poison array.

The weaker ones, however, fell directly within the formation.

The four corners were each occupied by masked individuals in uniform attire, their curved blades drawn, emitting a sinister aura.

Coupled with the bodies lying nearby, this deterred others from approaching.

Owen secured two VIP seats in a high tower adjacent to the square, affording a clear view of the entire scene.

Initially reluctant, he was persuaded by Rose’s eagerness to witness the spectacle.

Rose clapped excitedly at each downfall in the arena, while Owen, sitting beside her, smiled in accompaniment, feeling no thrill within.

The organizer of the event showed no intention of intervening, which Owen had anticipated.

Learning from Blight that the preliminaries were allocated by region, he understood that these adventurers from the south, not of noble birth, were hardly considered significant.

After standing in the arena for over ten minutes, the priest overseeing the preliminaries finally made an appearance.

He raised his hand from atop a platform on the north side of the square, signaling for silence.

The competitors quieted down, but Owen could sense their unrest and agitation.

"Today’s preliminaries will have 524 participants, with only 16 advancing. Those standing in the square at the end will advance; there are no other rules," announced the high priest in a raspy voice, his words echoing across the square.

Such a limited number of advancement spots did not incite chaos but heightened the competitors’ vigilance, intensifying the tension in the arena.

Owen recalled Blight mentioning that the competition was divided into several groups, with each group determining one winner.

However, it was clear the organizers found this meticulous approach unnecessary for the impoverished adventurers of the south.

These lowly individuals, faced with any form of injustice, would cling to the slightest hope of success and adhere to the rules, fighting to the death.

After all, for the bottom dwellers, the rewards of abundant gold and rare weapons for the top eight were perhaps more valuable than life itself.

After delivering his brief announcement, the high priest descended from the platform and left the square, heading north.

The numerous guards, armored from head to toe, encircling the square remained silent, plunging the arena into a deadly quiet.

"When does it start?" someone finally asked.

Many turned towards the voice, but those who reacted slower only saw the speaker’s head flying off, blood spraying upwards.

A muscular giant, wielding a ghastly large axe, continued to launch deadly strikes at the surrounding competitors indiscriminately.

Those in the arena, confused until that moment, finally understood the meaning of "no other rules" – the contest had already begun.

The smart ones had been gathering their strength, waiting for the right moment to fight, while the fools, like slaves, waited for an official commencement.

The massacre quickly spread; enemies surrounded everyone on all sides, with no one sparing thoughts for the lives of others.

Those of lesser strength didn’t even realize how they met their end.

A bloody mist filled the air, and those who fell hardly ever rose again.

Soon, less than a hundred individuals capable of movement remained in the square.

Perhaps the real contest had only just begun.

From the onset of the contest, the four individuals stationed at each corner had not moved an inch, functioning like executioners.

Anyone who dared approach was swiftly slain by their sinister curved blades within a few strikes.

While their strength might not surpass a few other elites in the arena significantly, those driven into the corners were usually of lesser ability, making these four appear exceedingly formidable to onlookers.

The spectators’ enthusiasm surged as many placed heavy bets on these four combatants.

Besides them, a few others were also favorites for advancement.

After the contest began, a pair of brothers entered the central poison array; one was an arraymancer, and the other, a greatsword wielder clad in armor that only revealed his eyes.

They had arrived at the square early to tamper with the central area.

Now, the poison array zone had virtually become no man’s land, with nobody willing to voluntarily challenge the brothers.

Some competitors even deliberately forced their opponents into the poison array during the melee.

Those pushed into the array faced certain death, battling both the toxic invasion and the greatsword wielder’s massive blade.

After a few rounds, they either perished within the formation or fled with severe injuries.

Thus, up until only less than a hundred were left standing, the brothers had not sustained a single injury.

The muscular giant who initiated the fight was also a crowd favorite, his ghastly large axe cutting through enemies as if they were mere vegetables, creating a sea of blood around him.

He seemed like a madman, as if killing, not competing, was his true purpose.

No one dared approach him, so he actively sought out others, stirring up a storm of blood and carnage in the northern part of the square.

The performances of others were not as notable, with only six swordsmen standing out besides the aforementioned seven.

Interestingly, these six seemed to have developed a tacit understanding among themselves, occupying the southeastern part of the square.

They refrained from attacking each other, focusing only on eliminating those who approached them.

The southwest part of the "battlefield" was relatively calm, yet Owen’s attention remained fixed on that area, as if he had spotted something intriguing.

With eighty competitors left, the four masked blade wielders began to converge towards the center.

They weren’t merely moving to the middle ground but aimed to eliminate anyone within throwing range of their deadly darts.

Despite being only four, they pressed inward like an army, their poison needles continuously dispatching the weaker contestants.

Seeing this, the six swordsmen hesitated to challenge them directly, instead, moving closer to the inner circle.

The pair of brothers in the circle tensed up as if facing a formidable enemy, while the madman continued his reckless slaughter, targeting anyone who came near.

At that moment, a disturbance arose from the northwest corner of the square.

One of the masked blade wielders approaching the center from the northwest let out a scream as a sword thrust through his back and emerged from his chest.

He was lifted off the ground and flung towards the center, dead before he hit the ground.

Behind him appeared a swordsman in grey, the hilt of his precious sword almost entirely crafted from gold.

After delivering his strike, he immediately surged towards the center.

The remaining ten or so competitors in the northwest corner were shocked at the sight, abandoning their current battles to scatter to the sides. 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

However, the swordsman in grey paid them no heed; his focus was solely on the central poison array.

The body of the masked swordsman had barely flown into the poison array when it was bisected by the greatsword wielder within the array.

Yet, at the same moment, the grey swordsman’s blade had already arrived.

The greatsword wielder, unable to retract his sword in time, caught the tip of the grey swordsman’s blade with his armored left hand.

The grey swordsman paused in mid-air outside the poison array, his body emanating a dense, aqua glow.

The light continuously flowed towards the tip of his sword.

Sensing danger, the greatsword wielder swiftly swung his massive blade towards the grey swordsman.

However, fate was sealed the moment the greatsword wielder cleaved the body of the masked swordsman.

Infused with tremendous power, the precious sword cut through iron as if it were mud, mercilessly piercing the greatsword wielder’s hand armor, then through his left shoulder, and into his neck.

The greatsword clanged as it fell to the ground.

"You! You..."

The arraymancer, both shocked and enraged at witnessing his brother’s brutal demise, found himself at a loss for words.