School Transmigration: I, Chosen as the Saint by Dragons at the Start-Chapter 221 --A Cruel World

On the other side of the arena, four combatants engaged in a fierce battle, none appearing particularly skilled.

The fight had been raging for about a quarter of an hour, with no sign of ending among the four—two fistfighters against a swordsman and a knifeman.

One of the fistfighters, clearly growing impatient, yelled at the knifeman who kept swinging at him, "Back off! I don’t want to fight you."

"Ha, you probably just realized you can’t beat me," the knifeman retorted, his blade moving even faster, a sneer forming on his lips.

"Kneel before me, and I might let you off..."

"Go to hell!"

The word "kneel" seemed to particularly enrage the fistfighter, who didn’t wait for the knifeman to finish speaking.

He launched a punch that connected squarely with the knifeman’s face.

The force and speed of the punch were evidently of a high standard; the knifeman, lacking the ability to dodge, was immediately knocked down.

Seeing this, the other fistfighter quickly disarmed his swordsman opponent of his iron sword and sent him flying out of the arena with a single palm strike.

The series of movements were executed so fluidly that the swordsman was disqualified before he could even comprehend what had happened.

It then became clear to the audience that both fistfighters were hidden masters, merely conserving their strength until now.

The two fistfighters exchanged glances, nodded to each other, and then leaped together, positioning themselves between Elvan and the three black-clad knifemen.

The knifemen ceased their mock battle among themselves, having not sustained a single injury up to that point, almost as if they had been performing.

Now, holding their curved blades, they silently faced the direction of Elvan and the two fistfighters.

A cold light seemed to emanate from Elvan’s eyes as he sized up the two fistfighters.

"State your names," he commanded.

"It seems you two are here to kill me."

"Correct, I am Oae, and he’s Paul. Today marks your end," one of the fistfighters, Oae, declared.

"This matter doesn’t concern you three," addressing the knife fighters, "our quarrel is solely with this dog, Elvan. I swear on our father’s grave, once this deed is done, we will forfeit our right to advance. If you three wish to move forward, feel free to stand back and watch. Fewer competitors can only benefit you."

The three knifemen exchanged glances and looked towards the Jinn brothers and Elvan, sheathing their knives for the moment as if ready to observe.

"Oae, Paul brothers," Elvan said, staring intently at them.

"Which family do you belong to? I can’t seem to recall."

"You scoundrel, our father is Siro, whom you brutally murdered fifteen years ago," Oae spat with fury.

"Siro? And who might that be?" Elvan laughed, "I’ve killed many. How am I supposed to remember a Siro, especially from fifteen years ago? Was he some important figure?"

"He was... he was..."

Paul, too enraged to speak, while Oae clenched his fists tightly at his side.

"You two fools," Elvan’s eyes suddenly gleamed with a fierce light, "might want to consider your current predicament."

A dense, dark aura slowly began to emanate from Elvan, indicating his strength was of a shocking and extraordinary level.

Oae and Paul, though startled, were not thrown into disarray.

They concentrated their power into their fists, fully focused on Elvan.

The two masters, together, still saw a chance for victory.

They were even prepared for one of them to sacrifice themselves to entangle Elvan, giving the other a chance to deliver the killing blow.

The standoff continued, yet Elvan couldn’t help but laugh.

"Do you think mere passion is enough for revenge? You must be from a minor family, right?"

"Ha, you’ll know soon enough," retorted Oae.

"Indeed, just wait and—"

Paul’s words halted as a chilling sensation pierced his ribs.

A gush of blood spilled from his mouth, and instinctively, he pushed his brother aside with great force.

Oae narrowly avoided the curved knife that was aimed at his chest.

The three black-clad knifemen had stealthily approached the brothers while their attention was fully on Elvan, attempting a surprise attack.

"You three fools, even if you ambushed us, what good would it do you?"

Oae glared angrily at the three knifemen, one of whom still had his blade embedded in Paul, who now knelt on the ground, seemingly poisoned.

"Idiot, where are you looking?" Elvan swiftly moved in front of Oae, his left hand poised to strike.

Startled, Oae leapt up, but felt an icy chill in his legs mid-air.

Upon landing, he couldn’t maintain his stance and fell to his knees.

Two poisoned darts had struck Oae’s knees, courtesy of the black-clad knifemen.

One of the knifemen ran towards Elvan, knelt on one knee, and asked in the tone of a subordinate, "My lord, how shall we deal with these two?"

Elvan didn’t respond to his underling but instead addressed the Jinn brothers, "Do you understand now, you two fools?"

Paul’s consciousness began to blur, the substantial blood loss and poison eroding his senses.

Kneeling on the ground, Oae’s body started to numb.

He stared at Elvan, eyes filled with grief and rage.

"These three are, of course, my subordinates. They’ve occupied the western part of the square from the beginning, allowing me to comfortably watch from the corner. A match like this doesn’t necessitate my involvement, nor does dealing with you two require my hand. When seeking revenge, one should engage their brain first!"

Oae’s mouth moved, but no sound reached the others around him.

"Human beings should avoid conflict when possible. By engaging, you expose yourself to danger. Schemes and machinations are the best weapons, and subordinates are the ideal tools to face death for you. Do you have any rebuttals?"

Elvan licked his lips as he gazed at Oae.

Oae’s eyes had lost their spark, reflecting only regret and despair.

"Kill them with random slashes; there’s no need for an encore. They don’t deserve another minute in this cruel world."

"Yes!"

The knifemen, like automatons, first slew Paul with repeated stabs, then riddled Oae with holes before tossing him atop Paul to bleed out. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

"Alright, you may leave now," Elvan told the three knifemen.

"Yes!"

The knifemen exited the arena one after the other, forfeiting their chance to continue competing.

Elvan watched their departure closely, wary of betrayal from his own men.

After all, making it to the top eight promised a substantial reward.

In Elvan’s eyes, these desperate souls might do anything for money.

While such a notion might seem implausible to the average person, Elvan was no ordinary man; he was a demon from hell, and demons cannot trust humans.

Owen, from his seat in the VIP section, witnessed each unfolding scene, already having etched Elvan’s name in the book of life and death.

The brothers’ doomed attempt at vengeance was inevitable, a result of their fervent yet misguided passion.

Without understanding either themselves or their enemy, how could they possibly succeed? In a world devoid of divine justice, Owen decided it was up to him to administer fairness.

Preparing to leave, Owen noticed someone carrying Oae and Paul off the field on stretchers, a familiar figure stealthily tending to Oae’s wounds.

Owen allowed himself a slight smile, momentarily setting aside the task of dealing with Elvan.

He lifted Rose from her chair and they returned to the inn for rest.

The selection battles lasted three days, with the fourth day dedicated to narrowing down from sixty-four to thirty-two contestants.

The arena was divided into four sections with wooden planks to simultaneously accommodate four matches.

Due to the first day’s incident, where a madman with a ghost-head saber continued his onslaught even after the priest’s intervention, only eleven contestants from the southern group advanced, resulting in five byes in the first round.

Naturally, these included the city lord’s four lieutenants: Skes, Moxis, Joel, and Elvan.

The last one was Owen, which he hadn’t anticipated, suspecting Golden had maneuvered to spare him a match.

A closer look at the detailed groupings revealed that the stronger contenders were kept apart, ensuring they wouldn’t meet until the quarterfinals.

Since the preliminary rounds were only to determine the top eight, who would then compete in the magic tower’s challenge, it was clear the arrangement was manipulated by the nobility.

This way, without deciding a champion through elimination, they allowed each other’s affiliates to advance, maintaining harmony and saving face for all involved.

Golden had a hand in these eight groupings, yet his influence extended only to less critical rearrangements.

Untouchable were the nobles’ favorites; meddling with them would not only prove futile but also draw unwelcome scrutiny, jeopardizing his covert plans.

Not only was he unable to shuffle the deputies’ groups, but he also couldn’t place the strongman known as "Hammer" among them.

Owen, having instantly advanced during the selections, caught the nobility’s eye.

Though only a few witnessed his first match, and his prowess may not match the rumors, the nobles still isolated Owen in a group by himself.

Golden’s contribution was ensuring Owen’s bye in the first round, reducing his exposure—a gesture of gratitude towards Owen.