Chapter 1165

Moreover, the number of warriors on the ship was considerable—fewer than a hundred, but at least seventy or eighty. Such a large group of fourth-rank and higher warriors united was no small force; only a seventh-rank expert could crush them decisively.

But hiring a seventh-rank expert to deal with a group of fourth-, fifth-, and sixth-rank warriors? Unless this Young Master was an idiot.

Why would he spend so much wealth and resources—freeing warriors to board the ship, hosting a tournament on board—just to trap a few low-rank warriors, who were everywhere across the empire?

It's exhausting and gains nothing; logically, it makes no sense.

The tournament on the fifth level was less an invitation for warriors to watch, and more an attempt to assess the strength of the warriors aboard—perhaps having heard of Master Jianong's death, he didn't want to make the trip in vain, so he seized the chance to recruit a few subordinates.

This assumes the Young Master had some connection to Master Jianong; if it was coincidence, then his motive must be reconsidered.

He might simply have spent a fortune just to watch warriors fight.

The thoughts and actions of the rich are always simple and unadorned—only to amuse themselves.

Lin Cheng shared these thoughts with Miss Qianhui and General Ji Xia; they lowered their heads in thought and agreed.

At present, the evidence is too scarce; it's unwise to speculate recklessly.

The specifics can only be known by going to watch the tournament on the fifth level.

Afterward, everyone went about their own business until an hour later, when Lin Cheng and the others remembered they were supposed to go watch the duel.

They were among the last to arrive.

By then, the fifth level was already packed with warriors; only a few scattered seats remained empty.

The fifth level was rectangular in structure, with spectators seated around the central arena where fierce duels took place. On the central platform, the combat was intense, and the crowd below was equally heated, shouting for their favored fighters to crush their opponents with the swiftest punches.

The rules were simple: no killing. Victory came when the opponent surrendered, or was knocked off the platform.

To prevent malicious exploitation of the rules, challengers who doubted the champion's strength could challenge repeatedly.

And the champion who achieved ten consecutive victories would receive the Young Master's ultimate prize!

It was said he would grant anything—so long as the Young Master could provide it.

Of course, one could not maliciously demand extremely rare items like ancient divine artifacts or spirit familiars.

Lin Cheng and the two women sat in a secluded corner to watch the battles on the platform.

On the platform now, two warriors—one wielding a sharp sword, the other a great dao—were sparring, each stepping in bagua footwork, one probing with a sword thrust, the other slashing with a dao strike—a traditional martial exchange, meant to stop short of serious harm.

Unless there was a blood feud, warriors rarely fought to the death; the rules made this clear.

This rule made nearly every warrior with even modest skill want to step up and try—maximizing the crowd's combative fervor.

Suddenly, the warrior with the great dao, sensing the probing was enough, roared loudly, stepped forward three paces, and swung his dao in a swift cross-cut.

But the sword-wielding warrior was no fool; direct confrontation clearly favored the dao.

So he leapt upward, landing behind his opponent and thrusting his sword with blinding speed, pressing the tip against the man's back.

"You lose."

The fight ended instantly. The dao-wielder turned and saw the sword's point aimed at him; he could only retreat in regret.

The crowd erupted in murmurs, deeming the two warriors' performance utterly dull, lacking any spectacle.

In truth, that's exactly what it was—if spectacle were the goal, they could have simply fed each other moves.

But in real combat, it was simple and plain: the goal was always one decisive strike.

The dao-wielder had tried to use his aura and technique to force the sword-wielder off the platform, but the sword-wielder was superior in skill, leaping lightly as a swallow to his back and delivering that thrust.

The dao-wielder had no choice.

The dao was swift and sweeping; the sword was quick, piercing through defenses.

Their chances were evenly matched—only skill determined the winner.

After the dao-wielder's defeat, a warrior wielding a long-hafted warhammer immediately stepped up, dissatisfied.

This time, the sword-wielder was blasted off the platform—the warhammer was even swifter and more powerful than the dao; his sword technique could not counter it, and he lost.

The crowd erupted in loud cheers; the warhammer's swings were too thrilling—watching the sword-wielder being utterly dominated offered immense spectacle and excitement.

But soon after, a spear-wielding warrior stepped up to challenge; their duel erupted instantly into fierce combat, even more intense than the previous one, sending the crowd below into a frenzy, their shouts rising like waves, one crest higher than the next.

Not just the other warriors—even Miss Qianhui and General Ji Xia wanted to step up and test their own strength.

But Lin Cheng felt nothing; he was a forger, not a fighter.

The warhammer warrior won four consecutive duels; by his fifth match, facing a sly-looking dagger-wielder, he began to show signs of fatigue, panting heavily on the platform.