As the trial progressed, it became a revolving door of participants stepping onto the platform.
One by one, the fights unfolded with varying degrees of skill.
Yet, as the moments of decision came, an undeniable pattern emerged—99% of the participants chose mercy.
Something Feng Shen wasn't too pleased with.
His mood soured further with each passing fight, the air around him practically crackling with his growing disdain.
Feng Shen crossed his arms tightly over his chest, his fingers tapping impatiently against his bicep.
He couldn't bear to watch anymore.
The endless displays of so-called mercy gnawed at Feng Shen's very core, each act a painful reminder of what he deemed the pathetic state of the new generation of cultivators.
He scoffed under his breath.
"What a joke," Feng Shen hissed, his golden eyes narrowing into slits:
"No spine, so pathetic. Just weakness wrapped in the guise of righteousness."
