178 Qian Daoliu's tactic of luring the tiger away from the mountain
Just as Chu Feng had expected, when he reached the edge of the arena some people stared and whispered, but most were minding their own business.
These cultivators were the most gifted prodigies of every Sect and kingdom, all slightly above Chu Feng in rank and realm.
Yet how they would fare in real combat would only be proven on the stage!
The six great cities of the human realm—Fusen, Tianyun, Beixue, Dongqi, Xinzhan, and Guye—are called cities, yet each commands territory surpassing a nation, no less than a few hundred thousand square kilometers at minimum.
Each city is divided into hundreds or thousands of districts; the supreme ruler is the Leader, but real military authority rests with the City Lord. Beneath its seemingly underdeveloped civilization, the system is ruthlessly strict.
Thus their status naturally exceeds that of the Sects. Supposedly a "hundred-Sect" grand meet, only thirty or forty had turned up; with the great cities joining, no one wished to throw lives away.
White God Path rose from a viewing stand a hundred meters from the arena. "That so many elite youths have gathered is no small feat, yet I must ask—why are the five kingdoms represented only by such generals? Is this City Lord so frightening?"
He had every right to sound bold; even without counting spectators, over a hundred of the Human Realm's finest stood below.
"My boy! This is a young people's tournament; settle your quarrels elsewhere!" Elder Qie Jiang interjected.
"Exactly. I, General A Gang, come with sincerity. Fusen City and Tianyun City have shared a border for millennia and fought countless wars; if this meet proceeds smoothly, it shows a foundation for friendship."
The man wore black iron armor, twin soaring eagles carved on the pauldrons, battle scars proclaiming him a seasoned warrior.
Several other generals nodded in agreement, clearly choosing sides.
Invisible sparks of war had already flared between the cities.
On the Sect side, Qian Renxue burned with frustration. Learning that three of her Elders had perished and the Heavenly Dao Sect had fallen, she saw this meet as the perfect stage to prove herself.
The Extreme Martial Sword Sect's Elders chatted merrily; Master Qingxu jested, "Our strength is lacking this time—bear with us, everyone."
With Chu Feng's entry, the Sword Sect brimmed with confidence.
Qian Renxue leaned to Chu Feng's ear: "Can you compete in place of Heavenly Dao Sect?"
"Er…" Chu Feng felt caught in a dilemma.
Yet it wasn't an impossible request; Chu Feng knew her father had died to save her, and she couldn't bear to watch the Sect crumble.
Besides, he had no real grounds to refuse Qian Renxue.
Xiao Wu stared in bewilderment. "What's wrong with you two?"
Chu Feng answered, "Sorry!"
Then he stepped onto the stage, every gaze snapping toward him.
"Let me repeat: I wish to fight on behalf of Heavenly Dao Sect," he declared solemnly. For the first time he felt utterly unlike himself—how could such heroic air be called cheap?
"Kid, Heavenly Dao Sect is just some wild-history footnote. Even if you fight under that banner, how can one man defeat us all? Hilarious." The speaker was Yang Shan, chief senior of the Wushang Sect.
They seemed to have no memory of events ten years ago, easing Chu Feng's mind—few knew Qian Renxue's true identity.
Others chimed in, "If you've come alone to die or just to sightsee, there's no need to face me."
…Xiao Wu fumed; Chu Feng's choice felt like betrayal of the inner elixir Hui Xu had given him, yet the words stuck in her throat.
Zhu Zhuqing sealed her mouth with spiritual energy, her own manner turning odd.
Red Fang watched it all. Even as a monkey, he thought his master Chu Feng was overdoing it—carrying the banner alone, how many rounds could he last?
Hearing the mockery and Chu Feng's declaration, Qian Renxue—once a goddess—felt tears slip from her eyes: an emotion only humans possessed.
Master Qingxu's face indeed turned green. "Then I can only wish you good luck."
Heavenly Dao Sect, gone ten years and relegated to ancient texts, now had a mere youth standing for it—making the meet all the more intriguing.
Renowned Sects—Wushang, Qikong, Wanglong—voiced opinions; clearly no one could predict the champion.
An announcer listed the rules: 168 competitors, thirty-seven Sects or kingdoms.
Four rounds total, each eliminating half. First two rounds: four-way melees judged by performance; last two: one-on-one duels ending in a final free-for-all.
Simple, clean rules—yet brutally harsh. Lots decide groups; luck and skill share the stage.
Zhu Zhuqing smiled. "Brother Xu, I hoped to meet you early; with our strength we may not reach the end."
Amid the chaos, the drawing of lots began.
Fortune did not favor Chu Feng: three Integration Stage opponents, only two advancing. Every match would be a life-and-death struggle.
While lots were drawn, General A Gang paced the stage. "In my view, a duel without full commitment is meaningless. If the foe won't yield, fight on—till death."
The instant the rule was voiced, the arena erupted.
Sect Elders protested; these disciples had been raised at great cost—losing them was unthinkable.
Elder Qie Jiang, the most venerated and host of the meet, had to speak amid the uproar.
"I approve. Past tournaments showed restraint, yet some contestants lost heart and quit. Surrender is allowed—life or death is yours to seize."
The old man's seeming kindness actually sided with A Gang, delighting the general.
Yet every contestant knew surrender was a disgrace to cultivation.
The reek of gunpowder filled the air. Chu Feng's lips curled—perfect; he could drain spiritual energy along the way, a welcome bonus.
Qian Renxue prayed unceasingly, regretting she had asked Chu Feng to stand for Heavenly Dao Sect. Alone, with his temperament, it meant victory or death.
Zhu Zhuqing told Xiao Wu, "Withdraw. Second senior is gone; I won't lose you too."
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