"For the mid-year show every year, a floating platform drops down, much like the structure of that Sky Inn in Duguli, serving as a stage."

The deputy leader of the Wind Radiance Adventure Team was more concerned about the upcoming performance than the contestants' battles. It was like having a bunch of top celebrities invited over. The Aran Court's guests were all top-tier, with no second-rate, and you could even see that legendary woman! It's not embarrassing to admit having recorded her promotional leaflets!

"Oh, I know."

Galen thought of the Cloud Palace. Such things move very slowly and have no strategic value, only usable in other situations, "Also, with such a platform, logistics is much simpler. Those big shots surely can't be running around the drill ground. It descends and then flies away again?"

"No, after the show, all the artists leave simultaneously, and the championship battle is also fought on the platform."

"Won't those monsters just wreck the setup immediately?"

"It's designed for one-time use, integrated with the arena landscape, ready to be destroyed tonight."

"What extravagance!"

Galen couldn't imagine how many Golden Dragons would be spent on those heavy Magic Energy Industry machines; it was astronomical. But for the treasury of Aran, it's nothing compared to the rake from all the bets during the Continent Martial Arts Competition, just a drop in the bucket.

Galen gave no advice to Gren tonight; this girl now had more than seventy thousand Golden Dragons on hand.

Galen followed Liszt's instructions to speak truthfully, telling Gren a lot about the East Sea, about the herbal poisons obtained from the Mirror Sea, killing and arson are just basics, and if you were to list all the crimes, you wouldn't give a checklist, you'd give a catalog.

Even though Liszt was a heinous killer, Doringger wasn't much better either. At noontime, if no one spoke, no one had a home.

The outside world had many theories about Doringger's cause of death, but it was generally agreed that Liszt used poison and other despicable means to win against the odds.

The main reason was also because of Liszt's terrifying reputation as the OG of the Northern Prison, like an immortal in the underworld, causing many in the gangs to be disgruntled, wanting to tarnish him.

Gren also knew the real cause of Doringger's death, dragged to death by Liszt.

"So, I say go home. That day when I met you, those people in black looking for you must have been going mad, just like I said initially, treat it as a dream. The money won from gambling will be lost through gambling, as it's not a reward for hard work, just passing the flower in a drum of desire's abyss."

Galen said so.

Gren was in a complex mood. She knew her father was like that but found it hard to decide. In the face of unseen aspirations, even truth must step aside.

"I think so too, but... I don't want to give up all my efforts either. I just want a real start and let time flow, not be forever stuck here with growing regrets later, so leave it to fate."

"Leave it to fate?"

"Yes, with no retreat, not even leaving a copper coin. If I lose, I have nothing to say. Before betting, I consulted an oracle, and if I succeed, then it is the will of the Holy Spirit of the Storm and Wave."

Gren only bet on one person. Based on the current official odds, forty thousand is out of the question, but twenty thousand is enough.

Though Galen had become somewhat numb to Gren's madness, he was slightly surprised at this moment.

With all the commission Galen now had, just one-tenth of what she now wagered was enough to buy a not small official position in Aran, starting at Earl, the Lord of a prosperous town.

Galen just chuckled softly, feeling she had no concept of money. If she lost all, he would just return the commission, as it didn't belong to him anyway.

He did not ask whom Gren bet on, only feeling that she no longer had that initial exhilarating thrill but was now just peacefully silent—a little adult.

So then... whether Liszt should die will be left to the Holy Spirit of the Storm and Waves to decide.

First round of group matches.

The fight between Divine Sword Xiaolong and Abyss Exiled Clement had already begun, and the big shots from the Aran Military, including the Second Prince Phoenix, were watching.

The other contestants didn't have to stay in the backstage resting room today, with special seats arranged at the edge of the drill ground.

Louis sighed with relief. It was really the luckiest grouping for him! His opponent later was Bai Xing, Xiaolong was a nice guy, and Clement a reformee—neither were murder-crazed psychopaths. He'd succeeded in reaching the top sixteen and would become an official, muddling along, as if the top spot was never something he could achieve.

Championship night.

The air was filled with voices, and the attention of all the great aristocrats and high military officials, even the Royal Family.

As Xiaolong climbed his way up through the ranks effortlessly, his swordsmanship, his sword moves, could only be described as exaggerated. It was simply inhuman and brimming with intense brilliance.

The weapons used in the duels were all standard issued, but in his hands, the blade felt like a Divine Weapon.

The chaotic dance of the sword flipped the cold stars, the fierce sword light vibrated mightily, unmatched and rare, one move wasn't complete before another arrived, sparks like a waterfall; Clement was also using a sword, repeatedly blocking, yet without any means to retaliate.

Clement spun his steps, retreating eight feet.

The blood had not cooled, the sword already returned to its sheath.

With a click...

A cut appeared on Clement's face, blood splattering, but it was just a scratch; Xiaolong had clearly held back.

"That's enough. You've already washed away your sins fighting your way up from the Northern Prison; there's no need to continue. I have more important reasons."

Xiaolong bore a serene expression. If he wasn't the champion, then the Martial Arts Competition would be meaningless; he only wanted to end the legend of the Sword King.

As customary, some former champions would come to watch. A few indeed came, but Xiaolong hadn't seen the most important figure.

He just hoped his chief disciple Valentina could make it past the group stage and let him see the Sword King's strength.

"Such things, I understand..."

Clement gave a slight grasp, feeling the strength—having been locked away in the Northern Prison for years, not having refined his Magic, his physical condition was no longer what it was. "I just really dislike your laid-back demeanor. Stop holding back, show your true skills!"

Clement's eyes gleamed sharply.

The rules of the Continent Martial Arts Competition were that no weapons, armor, or arcane items were allowed to be brought into the arena, only standard equipment, and entering purely as a person adhered to the rules.

He was called Abyss Exiled not because he was a reformee; he'd been called that years ago.

With a clang, Clement threw the sword in his hand directly, making a resonant metallic sound as it hit the ground.

"Oh?"

Xiaolong showed interest.

"The Magic I've practiced can integrate the strength of Magic Beasts into myself."

Clement didn't hold back, his whole body transforming like a fierce beast.

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