Today marked a monumental occasion for the young cultivators of Erdu World. The once-in-a-millennium competition, a collaborative effort of the major orthodox and unorthodox sects, was underway within the dominion of the formidable Myriad Sword Sect.
The absence of objections from the unorthodox sects regarding the venue stemmed from their belief that the orthodox sects would not dare to engage in subterfuge under the watchful eyes of the vast audience and, most importantly, due to the presence of the Venerable Overseer. This Overseer has been the guardian of the event since its inception, tasked with selecting the "Young Emperor."
Erdu, a Tier-3 World, boasted its own half-step Heavenly Lord Cultivator as an Overseer—someone who's a full major realm above the world's mightiest, the supreme elder of the Myriad Sword Sect. Duels under the Overseer's gaze were deemed sacred, with no room for deceit or trickery.
The competition was open to all under the age of 100, regardless of their lineage or standing. In the context of the Mahayana Realm cultivators, whose lifespans stretched tens of thousands of years, a century was but a mere blink—an infancy.
'The Glory Arena' stood as a testament to the dedication of countless cultivators, from novices in Qi condensation to the seasoned experts at the pinnacle of the Mahayana Realm. Their collective efforts over millennia had forged an arena where even Divine Transformation masters struggled to inflict the slightest damage, let alone the prodigious youths of the Golden Core Realm or the Nascent Soul geniuses.
Primarily a battleground for the Divine Transformation and Tribulation Transcendent Realm titans, the arena could accommodate over a hundred thousand spectators. Today, however, the crowd swelled beyond capacity, prompting the organizers to allow the overflow of spectators to witness the spectacle from afar. A colossal water sphere, fifty meters in diameter, served as a makeshift screen, conjured by the adept hands of experts wielding basic water spells and Qi transmission.
From over ten thousand hopeful, rigorous screening and elimination rounds whittled the numbers down to less than a tenth, each earning the honor to step into the Glory Arena.
A middle-aged man, his visage lined with the faintest traces of time, stood resolute in his immaculate white attire that danced with the breeze, exuding an aura of distinction.
Beside him, a woman of similar years, garbed in stark black, gazed forth with an unwavering, icy demeanor.
Both were Peak-Divine Transformation Realm masters, embodying the orthodox and unorthodox sects as mediators of the event.
With a single step, the woman sent forth a subtle, spiritual tremor that rippled through the throng of a thousand jubilant participants, forcing them to grasp their heads in agony. Instantly, over three hundred collapsed.
Without delay, she proclaimed the time-honored rules of the competition.
"Though you stand within the Glory Arena, take pride not in your presence alone. Remember, every millennium, a hundred like you have graced this stage, only to be swept away and forgotten like dried leaves."
Her solemn words hushed the once-raucous crowd, now silent in contemplation, as they cheered on their sect's champions and kin. Among the thousand 'talents,' those of fragile spirit felt a shadow of doubt, confronted with the harsh reality of her statement.
Unfazed by the turmoil her announcement had caused, she continued with authority, "You will be organized into ten cohorts, each comprising a hundred individuals. To ensure equity, these groups will be stratified by age. Rest assured, youthful cultivators in their 20s or 30s from the Foundation Establishment Realm will not have to contend with seasoned adepts in their 80s or 90s from the Golden Core Realm."
The simplicity of these guidelines washed over the assembly, instilling a collective sigh of relief among the cultivators. Despite their sects' praises, more than half were from the Foundation Realm, and the prospect of a level playing field was a welcome change.
" Each cohort will be segmented into subgroups of ten, where a simultaneous battle royale will unfold within each faction. This crucible will forge ten victors from every contingent. This process will echo across the board until we distill the ranks back to a hundred formidable contenders."
The announcement piqued the audience's curiosity, and even the participants acknowledged the fairness of the arrangement.
"Once more, the same crucible will refine our ranks, leaving behind ten supreme champions. These elite few will earn the honor of inscribing their names in the revered 'List of Champions' at the Glory Arena.
These ten titans will not clash amongst themselves; instead, they will face the formidable challenge of the reigning champion of the Glory Arena!
But let not despair cloud your valor, for the champion will temper his might, aligning his cultivation to match yours."
Upon digesting the initial declaration, a wave of disbelief rippled through the crowd—'That's preposterous!'—but as the full scope of her words settled, a sense of daunting yet surmountable challenge took hold, akin to scaling a towering peak.
Having finished her explanation she took a step back allowing the middle-aged man to deliver his speech.
In contrast to his partner's stern presence, he exuded a warm amiability. With a leisurely sweep of his eyes over the assembly of young prodigies, he recognized a few notable individuals and nodded to himself, a silent acknowledgment of the potential in the room.
"Let it be known," he began with a tone that commanded attention, "that any attempt at deceit, any use of unauthorized aids during this trial, will result in immediate disqualification. Employing forbidden techniques or consuming illicit substances will incur severe sanctions.
"Furthermore, formation masters must rely solely on their own skills and creations. Borrowed formations are strictly prohibited.
"To be unequivocally clear, should you entertain the notion of subterfuge within the watchful gaze of numerous Mahayana Realm experts—not to mention the esteemed Overseer—then by all means, proceed. But be warned, such folly will only serve to display your naiveté."
He was a man of few words, understanding that those who dared to defy the rules were beyond his concern.
"Let it begin," came a voice, ethereal and omnipresent, its source shrouded in mystery.