“Interesting. It looks like this match won’t be boring after all.” From his seat at the Sword Union, Glenn narrowed his eyes. A rare spark of interest broke through his indifferent demeanor.
As a swordsman, he thrived on the challenge of facing strong opponents. The more formidable his rival, the more it ignited his excitement. Watching an elite swordsman in action only intensified his desire to fight.
Of course, ordinary fighters wouldn’t capture his attention. But Dustin’s earlier performance had drawn him in.
Those two quick, fierce strikes showcased a sharpness of sword aura that was truly impressive. Glenn realized that an elite like Dustin would be an excellent sharpening stone for his skills.
Glenn wasn’t the only one who noticed. Dustin’s impressive win over Jeremiah had left everyone in awe, and they began to see him as a dark horse in the tournament.
While most might not consider him a contender for the championship, they recognized he had the strength to break into the top three. His value skyrocketed as major guilds were willing to invest heavily in Dustin while extending lucrative offers to him.
After all, a talent like his could become a dominant force with just a little guidance and potentially lead their guild to greatness. However, attracting such talent was one thing; successfully nurturing it was another challenge entirely.
The search for the top eight concluded with Dustin’s victory in the eighth round. All three foreign challengers were eliminated, with none surviving.
This match was a true rollercoaster, as it was filled with breathtaking moments. Until the very last second, no one could predict the outcome, given the numerous twists and turns.
Whether it was Caleb defeating Kendricks, Dalen overcoming Jude, or Dustin clinching the final victory, all three emerged as dark horses. Initially overlooked, they ended up winning spectacularly.
Beyond these three dark horses, the other contestants also delivered commendable performances while showcasing their unique strengths.
Ultimately, the eight strongest contestants were determined after multiple elimination rounds. One of them would be crowned the champion the following day.
The merit of the Combat Tournament far surpassed that of the Legendary List. The list merely gauged a martial artist’s strength based on various factors. It lacked the accuracy to serve as anything more than a reference.
In contrast, the battles in the ring provided an accurate measure of power. Strength and weakness, victory and defeat, became immediately apparent as there was no room for deception.
In essence, the outcome of the following day’s match would determine who would claim the title of the strongest legend in the martial world.
The once-bustling Sacred Wrym Summit returned to a serene calm as night descended. The eight finalists either rested to regain their strength or plotted secretly and planned their strategies for the battles ahead.
Tomorrow’s matches were critical, as this would draw the keen attention of all guilds. Securing a spot in the top three was the ultimate goal for every contestant.
This was a shot at fame in the martial world, and the pressure weighed heavily on the forces behind these fighters.
Breaking into the top three would bring significant rewards from Sacred Wrym Summit, elevate their guild’s standing, and attract elite talent.
This tournament was about more than personal glory, as it was a matter of survival for entire guilds. There was no room for complacency.
Guilds brought forth their most prized possessions and entrusted them to their disciples. They hoped for standout performances that could lead to victory and, ultimately, the championship.
In a secluded mountain manor about 20 miles from Sacred Wrym Summit, Bailey sat at the long dining table eating large chunks of meat and washed them down with gulps of ale. Grease dripped from his mouth and smeared his lips as he feasted.
The 16-foot table before him was piled high with every kind of meat imaginable. Dozens of dishes stretched across its surface, and no vegetable was in sight.
“Mr. Bailey!” Hank, the god of the Hall of Gods, burst through the door with urgency written all over his face.
“What’s the matter?” Bailey didn’t bother to look up as he devoured his meal while savoring every bite.
“Mr. Bailey, Plan A has failed!” Hank said solemnly. “The three elites we sent to challenge the Dragonmarsh martial artists are all dead, and none survived.”
“Hmm?” Bailey paused and slowly lifted his head. “Are you sure they’re all dead? Even Jeremiah Price?”
“Yes.” Hank nodded. “I brought back their remains. Do you want to see them?
“Bring them in.” Bailey’s face darkened.
With his permission, Hank gestured, and several men entered while carrying three bodies draped in white cloth.
Bailey stepped forward, pulled back the cloth, and grimaced at the sight. These weren’t bodies but were just mangled remains.
Bill and Jeremiah had been reduced to grotesque piles. No sign of their human forms was left-only two heaps of shredded flesh.
Among the three, George’s body was the least damaged. Even so, his upper body was blown apart, and only his lower legs were intact.
“How could this happen? What went wrong?” Bailey’s anger boiled over.
He never imagined his meticulous search for these three elites would end tragically and brutally just before the finals. It was a humiliation he couldn’t bear.
