Reaper of the Martial World

Book 12: Chapter 68: I Don’t Like the Number Nine (2)

Empyrean Baron cleared his throat beneath the silence of the crowd who apparently was still at a loss for how they should be reacting. A part of them wanted to sound a loud chorus of boos, but Dyon’s previous words struck a nerve with them. What if the Nightwell Clan took offense?

Thinking to this point, they didn’t dare to say a word. They only silently put their support behind the others.

“We’ve decided that it would be more convenient if I, as one of the judges of this competition, took the reins from here. As is tradition, there will be six rounds, each of which will tackle a different topic. Three of these rounds will test the foundation of your Clans’ secondary profession and the final three will test your Clans’ battle prowess.

“Each round will be judged on points. The first three rounds will give 10 to first place, 5 to second place, and 0 to last place. The next two rounds will work on the same system. However, the final round, the highly anticipated Extermination Round, will reward 1 point for any single victory and will continue until every Clan no longer has any to send up.”

Clearly Empyrean Baron wasn’t here to entertain, because he got straight to the point and didn’t embellish his words. He even directly spoke of the later rounds, completely dispelling all anticipation the crowd had for them.

That said, when he mentioned the Extermination Round, the fire was lit in the crowd once more. It was clear that this final round held a grand place in their hearts despite its simplicity.

This, however, had nothing to do with Dyon. His only task was to get the Nightwell Clan 30 points then be on his way. He wasn’t interested in fighting battles for them. Even if they asked, he would refuse.

“This first round will be… talismans.

“In a moment, 16 blanks will appear before you. You are tasked with working with your partners to create a defensive formation of ten metrics wide. The bare minimum requirement is that it defend against 3 full powered assaults from a Higher Immortal Essence expert. You must use all 16 blanks. You have 3 days.”

A ‘metric’ wasn’t exactly a unit of measurement, though it could be considered one. In colloquial terms, a metric represents a single layer of a formation. Ten metrics obviously referred to 10 layers. How large those layers were would obviously depend, which is exactly why it wasn’t a true unit of measurement.

This said, the closer and more tightly bound a layer was in relation to another, the more powerful a formation would be. Though who could make a multi-layered formation seem to have just one were the absolute best.

The true difficulty of this task, however, was the forced use of all 16 blanks and the fact there had to be 10 layers.

The Heavens had particular numbers that it liked. Said numbers, when incorporated into formations, made them extremely powerful. While, other numbers made the formation fragile. It was the same reason why humans found groups of 3 to be more pleasing than 4, and so on.

The Heavens especially loved numbers like 3, 9, and multiples of them – with a particular emphasis on multiples of both. However, 10 and 16 were especially jarring. Crafting a formation around these numbers was like trying to jam a key into the wrong keyhole. It was borderline impossible, and all the more amusing since Dyon hadn’t gotten around to testing himself in drawing talismans yet. He didn’t know why he had to have so many firsts during such important events. historical

But, even still, 3 days was simply far too long. This competition would bore him to death if every round took so long. What a bother.

When Baron finished speaking, the talismans appeared. They seemed to be higher quality than the ones Crystella had been using, so it seemed the three Clans had splurged a bit on this competition.

“I don’t like this.” Crystella’s mother frowned as she observed the projection from the underground.

Dyon wasn’t actually meant to take Saru and Lilith on with him, they had others of their own prepared in case Dyon was fool’s gold. On top of this, seeing Dyon with other women pissed Mistress Nightwell off. If it wasn’t for the importance this event held, she would have already blasted Dyon into a cloud of blood.

Dyon’s actions were beyond reckless, but there was something about his gaze when he stepped by them that made their minds go blank for a moment. They had realized that Dyon had no intention of leaving Saru and Lilith behind, nor did he apparently feel like storing them in that spatial treasure Crystella mentioned he had.

However, what was even more infuriating was the fact Dyon sent a single glance toward the 16 talismans and completely ignored them.

A flash of gold pulsed to his back before he fell back into a comfortable couch as though he was already exhausted. The Nightwell Clan could only watch on, speechless.

“Is this really what I came here to watch?!”

An older man with dark grey eyes swung his sleeve in a huff. He was the Spiritual Sage of the Nightwell Clan and the only Spiritual Sage of their bubble world. Everyone called him Sage Ademar.

However, he wasn’t a member of the Nightwell Clan. He was only a Spiritual Sage they managed to hire from the Spirit Sage Association. He was incredibly irritable and even more difficult to handle.

But this time, a strong pressure suppressed him before he could say more.

“I’ve been very tolerant, Sage Ademar. We’ve already paid you quite well just to be here. Take it as free payment for having to do nothing and be quiet.”  

Everyone looked over shocked as the usually amiable retired Patriarch sent down these words from his throne.