Chapter 705

I accepted the wooden token handed to me by a martial artist from the Alliance.

After presenting the one I already had, they stamped it with an insignia.

The token bore a number etched in clear characters: Seventeen.

‘Hmm.’

It seemed they were assigning numbers to all participants.

How many would there be in total?

‘Roughly over two hundred, perhaps?’

Given that the preliminaries spanned three days, that number seemed about right.

‘So they’ve gathered over two hundred fighters at the Jeoljeong (Peak Level) level or higher….’

It was an absurd number.

Even a single fighter at Peak Level was a rare find, yet they’d assembled hundreds of them.

‘The only time I’ve seen this many was during the conquest of Sichuan in my past life.’

Or perhaps the initial gathering to capture Cheonma.

Yes, that seemed accurate—when martial artists from every sect had converged.

‘Though they all ended up swept away by Cheonma’s hand.’

To think that this was my first memory in a crowd of martial artists. I had to admit, I was a bit unusual myself.

“Gu, what’s your number?”

“Seventeen. And you?”

“Mine’s sixty-eight.”

“I got ninety-one!”

All different numbers.

It wasn’t purely sequential, and there seemed to be some sort of rule for their distribution.

Or perhaps it was entirely random.

If there was a rule, what purpose did it serve?

Various thoughts flitted through my mind.

‘Tch.’

I clicked my tongue inwardly. Here I was, overthinking whether even the numbers held some hidden meaning.

It was absurd—was my suspicion becoming pathological?

I’d have to be careful.

To clear my head, I took a moment to observe my surroundings.

It was noisy, as expected.

“We’ve got to figure something out.”

“Damn it. I can’t go back home like this….”

With matchups posted and numbers distributed, the noise around me grew louder.

Most of it came from people consumed by anxiety.

Those who had lucked out with their matchups seemed relaxed or indifferent, while the less fortunate were vocal with their concerns.

“Damn it! Six-Segment Fist? That guy’s said to be close to Hwagyeong! How am I supposed to beat that?”

“…My technique doesn’t match well against spears. There’s got to be a way….”

“If I lose and go back now… my clan will….”

It was a pitiful sight.

‘They’re all destined to lose.’

They’d already resigned themselves to defeat, their minds stuck on the thought of losing.

It wasn’t half of them—it was seventy percent.

‘Young people these days.’

I couldn’t understand why they’d enter a tournament with this kind of attitude.

If they were going to give up before even trying, why did they bother participating at all?

What was the point of reaching Jeoljeong only to behave like this?

Sighing at their despair, I muttered inwardly.

‘…Not that I can’t understand it entirely.’

The preliminaries were over, and now it was the main rounds.

Even though there were too many participants to really call it the “main” rounds, the key difference was this:

‘The matches will be watched by others.’

Unlike the closed-door preliminaries, the main rounds allowed spectators.

The Martial Alliance had even reconstructed part of their grounds to accommodate an enormous arena.

With over a dozen sponsors involved,

with incredible prizes at stake,

with the revival of the Alliance’s historic Shinryongdae,

this event was intended to solidify the Alliance’s shaken prestige.

The tournament’s significance was unprecedented in history.

Losing in the main rounds was one thing,

but to do so under the watchful eyes of countless spectators,

as well as the heads of the greatest trading companies and the Alliance’s leaders?

That kind of pressure would be crushing.

‘Hmm.’

I could understand their reasoning, but as someone who didn’t care much about public opinion or the prospect of failure, it was hard to relate.

‘Not that I plan on losing anyway.’

I turned my gaze to the surroundings.

Leaving behind those who sulked, I focused on the ones preparing themselves.

‘Hmm….’

There were several seasoned fighters at Jeoljeong and a few nearing Hwagyeong.

There were even some who had already surpassed it.

What was truly fascinating, though,

‘They’re hiding their strength.’

Some of these individuals were concealing their full power.

‘They must be elders.’

They were likely elders from prestigious sects or noble families.

Figures of such standing wouldn’t normally appear in a tournament like this.

To think there were this many hidden masters in the world—it was astonishing.

As I observed the scene in quiet fascination,

Wooong.

‘Hmm?’

I felt gazes on me.

Not just one—several.

I could sense them scanning me briefly before moving on.

‘What’s this about?’

Why were so many eyes on me?

Feigning indifference, I expanded my Qi perception slightly.

In an instant, the gazes vanished.

‘Interesting.’

As soon as they noticed that I knew I was being studied, the attempts to probe me ended.

I don't think it was deliberate on their part - rather, they reacted instinctively.

"Hmm."

It wasn’t strange for others to observe me, but this simultaneous focus from multiple directions was peculiar.

What could have motivated them to do this? I pondered for a moment before an answer came to mind.

"Was it because of the preliminary round?"

Perhaps I had drawn some attention with my performance during the preliminaries. However, the issue was:

"Weren’t there restrictions in place to prevent others from knowing the results?"

Only those who were in my group during the preliminary matches should have known what I did.

"Hmm."

But who could it have been? Identifying the observers among this many people was nearly impossible.

For now, I would have to settle with the knowledge that someone was keeping an eye on me.

"How long will the main rounds take?"

The number of participants was significant, and while it wouldn’t be as drawn out as the preliminaries, the main tournament was set to last two days.

It wasn’t clear how many matches would take place, but with the physical toll on martial artists in mind, it was unlikely they’d have us fight twice in one day.

"So it should be over within ten days at most."

It seemed lengthy, but for me, it was the perfect amount of time.

I’d heard that preparations on the Cheonra Lord's side were nearly complete as well.

"I’ll need to find the right moment."

This complicated plan required precise timing. As I was organizing my thoughts—

"Participants holding numbers one to fifty, please prepare!"

A voice called from the exit. Were they already ready to begin?

Hearing this, I stood up.

"I’m heading out."

"Alright! Be careful."

"Good luck!"

The two waved at me with encouragement. I smirked at their enthusiasm and started walking.

I moved along with a group of fifty participants.

Most of them wore expressions filled with despair or intense nerves, as though being led to a slaughterhouse.

"Good grief."

I had to stifle a laugh at the sight of their faces.

"We haven’t even gotten to the real matches yet. Look at them panicking on the first day."

Of course, the disciples of the Nine Great Schools and the descendants of prominent families hadn’t yet appeared.

The tournament organizers had likely separated them intentionally.

To maintain the audience’s interest, they would have placed a few noticeable fighters among the initial groups for a taste of what was to come.

However, they probably hadn’t accounted for those concealing their true capabilities.

As we walked, I caught snippets of a distant voice.

"Thus, the Martial Alliance has resolved to stabilize the unrest in the Central Plains..."

It was amplified, likely using an enhancement technique.

"During this festival, we ask for your enthusiastic support to welcome the future leaders of the orthodox sects!"

The voice grew clearer as we approached the entrance, where the massive doors were slowly pulled open.

"Now, we will introduce the future leaders of the orthodox world!"

The doors swung wide, and—

"Wooooooaaaaaaah!!!"

An overwhelming roar of cheers erupted.

"Woooooaaaaahhh!!!"

The stands were packed with a countless number of spectators, all shouting with fervor.

The sound rippled through the air, leaving my skin tingling.

How long had it been since I last heard such a thunderous roar?

"I was feeling indifferent about this first day, but..."

Despite my earlier dismissiveness of this showcase, I had to admit—this level of enthusiasm was something only the opening day could achieve.

Still, there was one thing I couldn’t quite understand.

"If this was the plan, why not call everyone in at once?"

It would have made more sense to gather all participants for this spectacle instead of just the fifty of us.

And yet, as I rubbed my arm, brushing off the lingering sensation of the crowd’s energy, a realization struck me.

"I guess I haven’t matured as much as I thought."

The roar of the crowd had stirred something in me—a flicker of excitement.

I had thought myself immune to such things. Yet here I was, affected by the sheer magnitude of the moment.

"Don’t delude yourself."

This applause wasn’t for me.

And I wasn’t here to chase that applause, either.

I repeated these words to myself, calming my emotions.

"In my position, what right do I have?"

Life must have become too comfortable if something like this could sway me. I couldn’t afford to falter now.

"Remember what you need to do."

I couldn’t allow myself to forget.

With that resolve, I steadied my breath, my feelings cooling.

As I suppressed my thoughts, the speaker’s final words reached my ears.

"And now, let the Shinryong Martial Tournament begin!"

Cheers erupted once again.

"Wooooaaaahhh!!"

The damned tournament had officially started.