School Transmigration: I, Chosen as the Saint by Dragons at the Start-Chapter 218 --Forming an Alliance

After taking several turns, Golden entered a secluded alley in the southern part of the city and stopped in front of a dilapidated estate.

After scanning the surroundings to ensure no one was watching, he pushed the door open and entered.

The courtyard was overrun with weeds, and most of the doors and windows of the houses were nailed shut.

Golden made his way directly to a shed on the eastern side and knocked twice.

After waiting a moment, he knocked three more times.

The door slowly opened to reveal a man with a limp.

The room was filled with people, all missing limbs or otherwise disabled.

"How did it go?" Golden asked as soon as he entered.

"We’ve re-investigated. I sent out all the able-bodied individuals, but we didn’t find any oversight. The competitors don’t pose a significant threat to you, and there are no hidden dragons among the city guards," the limping man continued, "The problem lies with Sion. That guy didn’t participate in the competition until the end, seemingly uninterested in the witch."

"Not interested?"

"No, he has a peculiar hobby. Every few days, he either buys or abducts a young woman to enslave. After having his way with them for the night, they’re never seen again. We’ve just located where he buries them; it’s a gruesome sight."

"Indeed, he’s a beast. But exposing his misdeeds now would be pointless. Firstly, there’s not enough time, and secondly, even if exposed, he’d be protected by the nobility of the city."

"What should we do?"

"I’ll find a way to kill him before the elimination round."

"But that guy’s not weak. To kill him without alerting anyone will be challenging."

"It is indeed a tricky situation."

"It’s a shame. If we had more time, we, the wronged spirits persecuted by the city lord and nobles, could always find a way to eliminate him."

"We have to take a risk now. Where does he usually buy female slaves?"

"The west side of the city."

"I’ll attempt to assassinate him. We’ll station our people nearby. If I’m discovered, they must create chaos, spread rumors, start a fire—anything to divert attention away from me. No one must remember or recognize me."

"Understood."

"After the elimination round, I, along with those four, will head towards the magic tower. That’s when you make your move. Once at the magic tower, I’ll find a way to deal with those four henchmen of the city lord, or at least distract them, then return to City of Two to regroup with you."

"Yes."

"Remember, before I return, our forces cannot fully mobilize. We must at least secure the south side of the city, letting those rangers take the brunt."

"Yes."

"With this plan, we’re set. The current city lord is weak. If all goes well, I will reclaim what belongs to our family, and your grievances will finally be avenged."

"Yes, we’ve lived to this day just to witness this moment, young lord."

"Call me the young city lord."

"Yes, young city lord."

Golden stepped out of the shed, lost in thought as if reminiscing about the past.

After a while, he drew his golden sword from its sheath, pressed a mechanism on the hilt, and detached it.

Then, he moved a blue brick on the ground, retrieving an iron box from beneath.

Opening the box, he took out a dark iron hilt and assembled it with the sword blade.

Holding his true sword, Golden headed towards the west of the city.

After scanning his surroundings, he returned to his residence in the north.

All of this was observed by Owen, who found himself increasingly interested in Golden.

He even felt a certain fondness for him, sensing that Golden’s plan for revenge might not go as smoothly as planned.

Aside from eliminating Sion, Owen sensed there might be other obstacles in their path.

Initially, Owen had no intention of intervening, but then he thought of a way to punish Rose, who had been increasingly disregarding her place.

Back at the inn, Owen told Rose he planned to sell her to Sion, the captain of the city lord’s guard in City of Two.

Rose, utterly distraught, protested until Owen finally explained his plan.

"Well then!" Rose said indignantly.

"No need for you to sell me; I’ll sell myself. And you better be late in rescuing me."

Only then did Owen realize that the little person in front of him was no longer just a maid but was nearly his wife—a terrifying realization indeed.

The next day’s preliminaries featured competitors who had registered in the east and west parts of the city, totaling nearly four hundred people.

The morning was reserved for the competitors from the west, and the afternoon for those from the east.

Owen and Rose watched from the VIP seats, noting that each match had significantly fewer participants than the day before.

Fewer numbers, however, highlighted the cruelty of human nature even more.

For instance, in one match they watched, eleven competitors entered the arena.

A thief attempted a sneak attack on a lavishly dressed swordsman but was repelled twenty meters away by a single sword strike, resulting in instant death.

The power of that sword strike startled the other competitors.

Then, an intriguing scene unfolded as eight individuals, as if by some unspoken agreement, changed direction and surrounded the swordsman, forming an encirclement.

Rose watched with keen interest, curious about the unfolding dynamics on the field.

"Let’s take down this guy first; he’s the strongest among us. No holding back, anyone who does, we all turn on him," commanded a boxer-looking leader among the eight.

He was cunning, having negotiated a temporary alliance with each individually before the match, agreeing to take out others first before turning on each other, except for the swordsman who disagreed.

Each thought the alliance was a private pact between them.

The boxer’s true aim was to make everyone believe they were allies, positioning himself to strike opportunistically, shaping events in his favor.

He hadn’t expected to identify the strongest so soon, but it worked out even better, with an eight-on-one strategy allowing others to wear down the swordsman while he reaped the benefits.

Only one did not join the assault, catching the boxer’s attention.

His instinct warned him that this individual had placed a different bet.

At that moment, the sole non-participant approached the swordsman, inquiring, "You’re Laine, right?"

"Yes, and you are?" Laine responded, puzzled as he didn’t recall seeing the man before.

"I’m Stowe, a close friend of Mithril. He often spoke of his elder brother to me."

"Ah, a friend of Mithril, pleased to meet you."

"There’s something I should mention first, as I’m unsure if we can overcome them, the eight of them." Stowe seemed determined to side with Laine.

"Speak freely."

"Mithril misses you deeply. He regrets leaving home and after mixing with the wrong crowd, he’s learned of the cruelty of the world."

Stowe paused before continuing, "Seeing you as a father figure, he now understands the protection you offered him, though he’s too ashamed to face you."

"The foolish boy, our home is always open to him. How has he been?"

Upon mentioning his brother, Laine’s guard lowered, his affection for his sibling apparent.

"He’s in a good place now," Stowe answered.

"But let’s focus on the imminent threat. I’m a sorcerer and can only support from the back, so I’ll need you, Brother Laine, to take the front."

"Of course."

The two positioned themselves defensively.

"Are these two fools planning to take on all eight of us?" someone from the eight remarked.

"Is that sorcerer as naive as the swordsman? We’re eight against two, and no matter how skilled the swordsman is, he’s but one man with two hands."

"Still, caution is best. Let’s observe before we act," the leading boxer interjected.

"You all seem so timid over the death of a mediocre thief. Scared already?"

His words sharply provoked the others, shifting their mindset from logic to emotion, igniting their fighting spirit, though a few remained hesitant.

"It’s not that, I just think..."

"Enough talk. This is a perfect opportunity to take them down."

"Charge!"

The eight advanced on the duo, with Stowe intentionally retreating to the edge of the arena, leaving Laine to defend in front, as they were corralled into a corner by the semi-circle formed by their opponents.

"Attack now!" the leading fistfighter bellowed, inciting his group into action.

They charged forward with a collective roar, moving as one.

As Laine unsheathed his sword, a swift sword aura sliced through the air, met by the unified defense of the eight men.

Suddenly, from the ground, a black poison gas emerged, creeping towards the group in a thin mist.

"Cough, cough!"

"My eyes... Ah, I can’t see anything!"

"I can’t breathe..."

Five of the attackers, caught unprepared by the toxic assault, found themselves in agony, clumsily covering their mouths and noses, further entangling themselves in the poisonous fog.

This merciless tactic was Stowe’s doing, both cunning and ruthless.

Sweat beaded on the forehead of the group’s leader as he realized the gravity of their situation.

He turned to the remaining two men, "If you don’t want to die, give me your arcanergy. We must unite against our common enemy if we wish to survive."

Without hesitation, the two channeled their remaining arcanergy into the fistfighter.