School Transmigration: I, Chosen as the Saint by Dragons at the Start-Chapter 217 --Deception

Revenge!

Revenge!

The arraymancer roared internally, yet his limbs refused to obey, dominated by fear.

I’m going to be killed, he couldn’t help but think.

However, the gray-clothed swordsman showed no interest in him.

Turning away, he headed straight towards the six swordsmen in the southeast direction.

Having witnessed the gray-clothed swordsman’s prowess, the six men, in unison, prepared to face the threat together.

Their six blades unleashed fierce sword auras simultaneously.

All six were strong, closely matched in skill, and together they formed a formidable force.

Yet, they were no match for the gray-clothed swordsman.

A golden aura emanated from around him, as he charged undeterred at the swordsman in the center.

The sword auras from the six swordsmen were completely nullified by his protective glow, while his own thrust broke through the iron sword meant to block him and pierced the heart of the central swordsman.

The gray-clothed swordsman paused, withdrawing his treasured blade, then lifted the dying swordsman by his hair, his victim still spurting blood from his mouth and chest.

Slowly, he used his sword to sever the swordsman’s head.

Witnessing this scene, the remaining five swordsmen were palpably struck with terror, their fragile alliance instantly crumbling as they turned to flee in all directions.

But the gray-clothed swordsman, far swifter than any of them, quickly hunted down and slaughtered each one in turn.

Witnessing this scene, the arraymancer at the center of the arena felt an odd sense of relief.

"Lucky he didn’t target me," he muttered to himself, his heart entirely overtaken by fear, forgetting even the vengeance for his brother’s death.

But inexplicably, blood began to trickle from his mouth.

"It hurts, what’s happening?"

He tried to turn his head, but something was yanked out from atop it, and he lost consciousness, collapsing to the ground.

The madman wielding the ghost-headed axe didn’t pause; he continued his assault on the nearest living contestant.

"Four left," the gray-clad swordsman said, pointing towards one of the masked knife-wielders in the southeast corner, "After you, it’ll be three."

The masked knife-wielder, sensing the disparity in strength, was much calmer than the six swordsmen.

In an instant, he threw all his remaining hidden weapons at the gray-clad swordsman and dashed towards the north.

His comrade from the northeast corner was also moving towards him; if they could unite, there might be a chance.

With only ten meters left, he exerted all his energy to leap forward.

However, the sound of wind growing closer behind him signaled that the next moment his head might be severed by that precious sword.

"It’s over," his mind went blank.

Yet, he landed safely.

"What happened?" He looked around, confused.

The gray-clad swordsman was staring regretfully at the madman with the ghost-headed axe, who was still attempting to strike, now being blocked by dozens of guards from the organizing committee.

A priest in a red robe scolded the muscular giant, "The preliminaries are over. Continue attacking, and you’ll be disqualified."

The giant then ceased his actions.

Having narrowly escaped death, the masked knife-wielder was drenched in cold sweat.

After collecting his qualification badge from the organizers, he sought the gray-clad swordsman but to no avail.

The swordsman, named Golden, was currently seated in the best tavern in City of Two, admiring the Ice sword belonging to the young man at his table.

"What a splendid sword!" Golden remarked as he examined Ice.

"Yours isn’t bad either, certainly quite expensive," Owen replied.

"Ah, right, my name is Golden."

"Owen."

"So, I finally know your name," Golden sighed in relief.

"You arrived just yesterday, right? Among the high-profile experts in City of Two, you and I were the only ones whose backgrounds I hadn’t figured out."

"Oh? You’ve checked on all the notable experts?"

"Not all, to be precise. Except for you, I’ve investigated those who haven’t made an appearance until now."

Golden smiled.

"I see," Owen acknowledged.

"It’s a matter of time, really," Golden explained.

"The southern part of the city is full of scattered fighters and lone warriors. Not many are remarkable, and with so many people of low status, they’re difficult to track. I focused mainly on the north, while also keeping an eye on the east and west."

"And what did you find?" Owen inquired.

Golden appeared slightly disheartened as he took a sip of his drink.

"Mostly as I expected. There’s one formidable expert each in the west and east, and four in the north. Among those who advanced from today’s preliminaries, there are four..."

"Which four?"

"Three masked ones, and that madman with the ghost-headed axe."

"Your strength surpasses theirs," Owen stated confidently.

"Perhaps, but they do pose a potential threat to me, especially that madman with the knife."

"Because you couldn’t thoroughly investigate those from the south, you intentionally registered there, aiming to directly assess their strength during the preliminaries. Then, you planned to eliminate those who could pose a threat to you, right?"

"You’re very astute," Golden acknowledged.

"Anything else?"

"That’s all."

"Really, that’s it?"

"Well, actually..." Golden hesitated before lowering his voice, "I made a deal to ensure those of lesser strength advance as much as possible..."

Owen cut him off, "And then rig the draw in the elimination rounds to make them face your clients’ opponents."

"Exactly, that’s the plan. The competition is hosted by the witch, but in reality, only a few priests are from the witch’s faction; the rest are under the City of Two authorities, with whom I have a longstanding collaborative relationship."

"You’re quite cunning."

"I dare not claim so. It’s you who has the keen eye," Golden unconsciously wiped the sweat beads from his forehead.

"But this is just a side hustle for you, right? Your main goal is still to win this competition."

"Indeed." Golden sighed softly, "Before you arrived, I was confident I could easily make it into the top eight, and with some luck, even defeat the guardians in the magic tower to become the ultimate winner. But now, I guess I’ll have to settle for second place."

"You’re so sure my strength surpasses yours?"

"To me, it’s quite evident; in your presence, I instinctively feel tremendous pressure," Golden cleared his throat before continuing, "After conversing with you, I’ve also noticed your sharp wit and keen understanding of matters. Facing an opponent like you, I stand no chance."

"You speak well," Owen responded without a hint of modesty, looking directly into Golden’s eyes, "You’re quite a character yourself. However, I think there’s no need for you to deliberately hide your less noble origins."

Golden paused for a moment, then drew his Golden sword.

The scabbard and hilt were made of gold, but the blade itself was crafted from fine steel.

"Yes, my background is humble, just like those paupers in the south, perhaps even more so. My precarious and tough life honed my instinct for sensing danger. Through unimaginable effort, I acquired wealth and entered high society, only to be mocked by the nobles for my origins."

A look of resentment appeared on Golden’s face, "To blend into their circles and make money from them, I had to forge this incongruous thing, buying a noble identity from a fallen aristocrat, thus hiding my past."

"But if you succeed this time, you won’t have to hide anymore."

"Who knows?" Golden offered a meaningful smile.

Rose, having listened to the two men for a while, was clearly bored.

Munching on a chicken leg, she mumbled to them, "Let’s eat, you two."

The men exchanged a smile, no longer speaking, and quietly finished their meal.

After the meal, Golden repeatedly expressed his admiration for Owen, declaring that should they meet in the competition, he would certainly forfeit.

Owen just smiled, not exposing any thoughts.

With Golden’s ability to arrange the matches in the elimination round, avoiding Owen would naturally be within his capabilities, as long as Golden wished to avoid him.

After Golden took his leave, Owen playfully patted Rose on the head, noticing how she had become increasingly casual, far from the typical demeanor of a maid.

However, Owen found he didn’t dislike it.

He inquired about Rose’s opinion on Golden.

"That man? He’s quite smart, but not as smart as you," Rose commented.

"But his type of cleverness differs from mine; his experiences have made him better at scheming and plotting. And these are exactly what I neither excel in nor care for. Living with two identities is painful; I hope his current schemes don’t backfire on him."

"And if they do backfire?"

"Then we’ll dance around the flames," Owen found himself surprisingly saying without a second thought.

Why did he say that?

The Owen of the past wouldn’t have uttered such words, or would he?

What was he like before?

His thoughts became muddled, perhaps signaling that it was time to act.

Owen told Rose to head back to the inn on her own, as he followed Golden, who hadn’t gotten far.

Unaware of being tracked, Golden visited several places unrelated to his current schemes before finally heading towards the southern part of the city.