No one had anticipated that everything unfolding before their eyes would take such a turn. Even the burly man never imagined that he'd end up venting his frustration on the very person who had been the source of his earlier rage.
As the host called for token number seven, the towering figure stepped onto the platform. His eyes gleamed with anticipation as they locked onto the short, trembling contestant. In his gaze was the clear message of a hunter to its prey—today, escape was not an option.
Everyone in the crowd could already see where this was going. And yet, they watched, eager for what was to come. A savage scene, no doubt, but who could truly be blamed?
The short, frail participant visibly panicked. Shaken by the sudden turn of events, he rushed over to the host like a dog begging for mercy.
"Senior Brother! I only wanted to become an outer sect disciple! Is this how you treat your juniors? Is this how the Springwater Sect operates? Changing the rules midway and cutting off someone's path to immortality?"
He put on the pitiful look of a wronged victim, voice trembling as if he had been grievously wronged.
He knew full well he had volunteered to bypass the early rounds. But now, seeing the monstrous figure standing across from him, he couldn't allow this to proceed. Maybe, just maybe, if he stirred up enough drama—threw in some ethics, some talk of fairness—they'd cancel this absurd "advanced second round."
But the moment he saw that burly silhouette ascend the stage, he knew. He was no match. That glare alone, paired with those hammer-like fists… There would be no mercy.
So the sect would take the blame. That was his best shot at surviving.
The host, however, remained unmoved. His voice rang out clearly across the arena, carrying a biting righteousness.
"Contestant, you made the decision to directly become an outer disciple. Naturally, there's a price to pay. Even mortals understand a simple truth: nothing in this world comes without a cost."
"It's already a privilege to be advanced to round three. But you—greedy and shortsighted—chose to gamble without even assessing your own strength. And now you want to shift the blame to the Springwater Sect?"
His words cut like a blade, heavy with scorn and authority. But deep inside, he was enjoying every second.
Heheh... just wait, you bastard. You'll be curled up like a worm in the next minute.
The watching participants were thrilled. Their faith in the Springwater Sect solidified. Yes, this was the number one righteous sect. Their hearts burned with admiration as they looked at the host—and Lady Qinru—as if they were divine beings descended from heaven.
No one noticed the faint curve of a smile behind Lady Qinru's veil. She, too, seemed quite entertained.
The host continued, "If you truly wish to walk the path of cultivation, you must be prepared to face countless adversities. And you can't even face a single opponent? Disappointing. I didn't think you were such a coward… Junior Brother, you've let me down."
The sorrow in his voice, the weight in his tone—it was performance art. Many in the crowd felt a pang in their chests, as if they, too, had been betrayed.
The short man's thoughts spiraled.
Why… Why did everything turn against me? This was supposed to be an opportunity! No! I can't fight that brute! He'll crush me to pieces!
But before he could beg further, the host stepped down from the platform, leaving the two contestants to settle it themselves.
The burly man didn't wait for a signal.
With a roar, he charged forward, his fist slamming down like a sledgehammer.
The short man barely had time to react. His vision blurred as pain exploded across his face. The world spun violently before everything went dark.
His body crumpled to the ground. Blood gushed from his broken nose, and his face—his once recognizable face—was now nothing more than a red, mangled pulp.
Even the spectators winced. That was too quick… and too brutal.
The burly man sighed. He looked almost disappointed.
"Tch. I should've let him land a hit before I beat him down…"
He cast a helpless look toward the host.
The host stared at the unconscious figure on the ground and muttered, "Hmph. Lucky you passed out quickly."
Then, he turned to the crowd and raised his voice.
"Token holder number 7 is victorious. He is now officially an outer sect disciple of the Springwater Sect."
He clapped twice.
A female cultivator stepped onto the platform, her arms carrying a neatly folded sect robe. She walked gracefully toward the burly man and halted in front of him. Her cheeks flushed a faint red as she offered the robe.
"Fellow cultivator… from today onward, you are one of us."
The burly man didn't seem to notice her expression or the nervous sparkle in her eyes. He simply accepted the robe with both hands and responded solemnly.
"Thank you, miss."
The girl turned away quickly. But as she stepped down from the stage, she whispered a single word under her breath.
"…Idiot."
With one last pout, she vanished from sight.
The host clapped again. "Let us proceed with the next matches. Shall we begin from number one again—or shall we jump to sixty-nine?"
Before anyone could answer, a figure walked out from the waiting area and stepped boldly onto the stage.
A clear voice rang out.
"I also want to challenge the advanced second round—and become an outer sect disciple."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Another one?
All eyes shifted to the host, waiting for his response.
Would he accept?
Would he reject?
Silence spread across the arena as everyone held their breath...