The token isn't just an ordinary token, but a token that contained a Body Cultivation Art… an art so powerful that it can rival the Nine Stages of the Energy Condensation Realm experts. The faint glow within it pulsed like a living thing, as though it held a will of its own.
But the art is graded into three, which are the Bronze, Silver, and Gold…
The Gold, being the highest, makes it the strongest and purest form of the art, and naturally, everyone seemed to covet it, their eyes filled with greed whenever its name was mentioned.
Had it been Mr. Jaggers that acquired the golden token, with the level of strength he displayed in the second test, nobody would have disturbed him. But the person that acquired the token was a young teenager with broken meridians, who can't even connect with the energy in the token.
A lot of people wanted to retrieve the token from him, their intentions hidden behind smiles and whispers, but as the Champion of the House of the Northern Gladiator, he was being protected by the House, and no one from the same House could challenge him or steal from him, with direct orders from the higher-ups.
They could only wish in vain while training with their own Silver and Bronze tokens, their frustration buried deep within.
But the Northern Gladiator isn't united… they're divided into four pavilions…
The Earth Pavilion…
The Sky Pavilion, which ranks next…
The Heaven Pavilion…
And the Northern Pavilion…
The Earth Pavilion is the lowest, and they are dressed in yellow robes, the fabric coarse and simple. This is followed by the Sky Pavilion, dressed in blue robes that flutter with a sense of authority… The Heaven Pavilion comes next, dressed in pristine white robes, exuding calm dominance… while the Northern Pavilion are the direct disciples of the Northern Gladiator, their presence alone commanding respect.
Socrates belonged to the lowest house, which is the Earth Pavilion… That means gladiators from the Sky Pavilion and above have more authority than him, despite him being a champion…
Unfortunately for him, after defeating Mr. Jaggers and being hailed as Champion… Socrates' fame rose among everyone in the Northern Gladiator Guild due to the way he had secured his win…
Many felt that his win wasn't earned… Many argued that he only got lucky to be here…
Then, many talked about how he had killed the man that had saved his life…
A lot of different rumors spread like wildfire as his background was dug out without hesitation… finding out that Socrates had actually consumed an energy pill and killed a Cultivator, which later destroyed his meridians…
Some acknowledged his bravery…
While many mocked him…
Many claimed that he can't even win a fight, and if not for the title of Champion protecting him, he would have been long dead…
After all, in the past three days after winning the fight, he had been lying on the hospital bed with no sign of getting out…
The one pissed off the most was the Champion of the Sky Pavilion… He was frustrated that someone like Socrates was being hailed as Champion… gaining the same title as him with nothing to show for it…
And most of all, he intended to also covet Socrates' Golden Token for himself… He is also a Champion of the Sky Pavilion who won a golden token, though through a different means…
He theorized that if he combined his golden token with that of Socrates, it would maximize the effect of the token and increase his cultivation drastically…
His name is Merkules, and he is at the 4th level of Body Tempering Arts.
He was seated in his room with his eyes closed, his back leaning against the door, when the door suddenly opened and his two lackeys walked inside quietly.
"Greetings to Brother Merkules." They both bowed curtly, their heads lowered. The two lackeys were at the 2nd stage of the Body Refinement Arts…
"I believe you're here to deliver a good report." Merkules stated without opening his eyes, his voice calm yet authoritative.
"Yes, Brother Merkules… The Son of Trueblood has been discharged. He's currently in the Earth Pavilion," said one of the lackeys, and Merkules' eyes snapped open, a faint glint flashing within them.
"That's indeed a good report…"
Slowly, he rose up from the floor, his movements deliberate and controlled. He turned around and walked toward his two subordinates, who were grinning from ear to ear, clearly anticipating what would come next.
He tapped them on their shoulders as he walked past them, the gesture casual yet commanding, before folding his hands behind his back.
"Let's go pay the Earth Pavilion a visit…"
.
.
.
(Earth Pavilion)
The Earth Pavilion is structured in a way Socrates hadn't seen before in his life… The entire settlement stretched outward in a wide, open layout, low buildings scattered like fragments of a forgotten village. Everything, both the buildings and equipment, seemed to be made out of clay-like materials, giving the place a rural, almost primitive vibe that contrasted sharply with the grandeur of the arena he had just left.
The dust on the ground was yellowish-red, dry and loose, spreading outward every time he stepped on it, rising in faint clouds that lingered briefly before settling again.
It was as if he was in a mini desert…
The air felt dry, the wind light but constant, brushing against his skin as he walked forward.
He walked past a group of disciples… many of them mature men with hardened expressions, while some were young men around his age—but there was one thing common among them all…
They were all dressed in yellow robes…
Simple… unadorned… and stained faintly with dust.
Many eyes turned toward him as he passed, their gazes sharp, their whispers low but cutting through the silence like blades.
'Isn't that the Son of Trueblood?'
'That should be him… That should be Socrates Trueblood…'
'He's this time's Champion of the Earth Pavilion…'
'Rumor said that he's a broken teenager that can't cultivate…'
'He damaged his meridians just to kill someone from the House of Ashur…'
'That was how he killed Candidate 160… The innocent old man who had been helping him…'
'He's not fit to be here…'
'He's not fit to be our Champion…'
'His title was given and not earned…'
'I'll fight him… I'll strip him of his title…'
'Unfortunately, you can't do that. He has privileges as a Champion. No one can touch him except if that person is also a Champion…'
Socrates gritted his teeth as he walked past them, his fists tightening unconsciously at his sides.
The emotions came crashing down on him like a tidal wave…
He had been awake for so long… thinking… crying… reliving everything over and over again while lying on the hospital bed…
'They're all right… Everything they're saying is the truth… I'm the cause of everything…'
'I turned into a pest to the old man… He finally stepped into the realm of Cultivators, but instead of condensing his energy… he allowed it to dissipate…'
'I shouldn't be alive… It was because of me… Everything is my fault…'
Socrates almost collapsed under the weight of those thoughts, his steps faltering as his vision blurred slightly.
His very existence now stood on the sacrifice of another…
A life exchanged for his own…
He almost stumbled to the ground, his knees weakening—but he quickly regained his balance, forcing himself upright.
At that moment—
The face of Mr. Jaggers flashed in his mind…
That calm… smiling face…
The warmth in his voice…
His final words echoed again in his ears, clear and unwavering…
Socrates had thought about it again and again…
And he knew—
Mr. Jaggers would never want to see him like this…
So he straightened his back, forcing strength into his posture, even as his heart trembled.
He continued walking forward, trying his best to ignore the voices, though each word still echoed painfully within him.
He entered the main hall, a wide but nearly empty space, its walls rough and worn. The air inside was still, carrying a faint scent of dust and age.
Apart from him, there was only an elder seated behind a counter, his posture relaxed to the point of carelessness, with his legs dropped loosely on the table.
The elder wore the same yellow robe, but his had black linings along the edges, marking his status. His hair was slightly disheveled, and his expression carried a lazy indifference.
His eyes squinted slightly as he saw someone stride into the hall—
Then widened a bit as he recognized the red-haired teenager.
"Oh… Here comes our Champion…"
The Elder said in a sarcastic voice, his lips curling faintly as he watched Socrates draw closer without any change in expression.
"Greetings, Elder…"
Socrates bowed politely after reaching the man's front, his voice steady despite everything weighing on him.
"At least you've manners… No wonder the old man was willing to die for you."
The Elder reached into a drawer, pulled out a box, and handed it to Socrates without much care.
"That box contains your items and the things you'll be needing… Follow this way—it'll lead you to the stairs that will take you to Room 2… That's your private space…"
The Elder informed lazily, already leaning back again as if losing interest.
Socrates bowed politely once more.
"Go, go…"
The Elder waved his hand dismissively, and Socrates followed the direction he pointed, walking toward the inner corridor.
The hallway was quiet… almost too quiet…
Each of his footsteps echoed faintly against the walls.
On his way, in the narrow corridor that led to the stairs…
Socrates' eyes suddenly widened.
There, standing silently in the dim light, was a statue…
A golden statue…
But it had lost its shine, its surface dull and worn, covered with cracks and holes as if it had endured countless battles or the passage of countless years.
It was the statue of a female silhouette… standing tall… holding two battle axes in both hands…
Despite its damaged state, it still carried an imposing aura, as though the figure it represented had once been unstoppable.
"This is the statue Mr. Jaggers was talking about…"
At that moment, he recalled what Mr. Jaggers' true last words were…
The words whispered into his ears as he watched the body of Mr. Jaggers turned into ashes…