Chapter 497: Team Melee

The Great Drill Ground was clamorous with noise; the shouts of tens of thousands of spectators surged down from the surrounding stands like a tide, crashing against the bluestone floor and splashing back up, leaving one's ears buzzing.

Cheng Feng followed Wang Ji and her group in through a side gate, only to discover that this Great Drill Ground was far larger than it appeared from the outside.

The entire venue was divided into several large zones, each separated by low wooden stakes painted with vermilion lacquer; the stakes were only knee-high, serving merely as boundary markers—they could neither stop a person nor block a blade.

The main stage in the center of the venue was already surrounded by flags of various colors, looking from afar like a rolling sea of brocade.

"Call out the numbers and names." An official in a cyan uniform at the front shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice hoarse and strained, yet it was still rendered intermittent by the surrounding din.

"... White Crane Sect of Jiangzhou, enter A Zone; Northern Pacification Army of the Northern Border, enter C Zone; Hejian Cui Clan, enter B Zone..."

Team after team walked out from the waiting area, following designated paths into their respective zones.

The number of people was even greater than Cheng Feng had anticipated; just this batch alone had twenty teams entering simultaneously, lining up within different wooden-staked grids.

Each team had as few as three or four people and as many as seven or eight, but the rules of the Martial Dao gathering dictated that each team field five fighters, with any extras remaining outside the arena as substitutes.

Some small sects could not scrape together five capable fighters, so they only registered three or four, yet they still bit the bullet and came up.

Cheng Feng watched with a cold eye and discovered that many teams showed signs of cowardice the moment they entered the arena. There were young disciples not yet twenty, their hands pressed against their sword hilts, their fingertips white, their eyes darting to both sides, their footing unsteady; they were already three parts panicked before the fighting had even begun.

"These are all here to be fodder for others in the first round." Huo Luan had approached Cheng Feng at some point and said this in a lowered voice. Cheng Feng tilted his head to look at her.

Wang Ji stood at the very front, whispering something to an official responsible for guiding them. She was still wearing her black riding outfit today, covered by a worn purple sable cloak; she wore no pearls or jade in her hair, having used only a plain silver hairpin to secure it.

Yet even so, her standing there still caused many surrounding teams to cast sidelong glances. Some recognized her and discussed her in low voices, their gazes filled with curiosity and wariness; others did not recognize her and simply moved further away from her by instinct.

After all, the Zhennan Prince and the Qingyuan Sword Body were names that thundered in the ears.

Liu Yu stood at Wang Ji's side, his narrow saber hanging at his left hip; the blade was not yet drawn, but he himself was like a string pulled to its limit.

His eyes were constantly moving, from left to right, from near to far, taking in the positioning, numbers, weapons, and faces of every team around him, as if he were cataloging his opponents.

Gu Niangzi lagged slightly behind, holding a small celadon bottle in her hand, from time to time pouring out a bit of gray-green powder to grind between her fingertips before gently flicking it away.

She looked clean and refreshed today, with only that Black Jade Snake on her ankle still coiled around, clinging to her lower leg and flicking its tongue from time to time.

"It's about time." Wang Ji turned and walked back, her gaze sweeping over the three of them. "We are in the seventh batch, at the north end of A Zone. Let's watch how the ones ahead fight first."

The group stood at the edge of the waiting area, looking across the low wall toward the zones where the fighting had already begun. In just this short while, the teams that had entered first were already engaged.

Twenty teams were fighting in pairs within their designated zones, though to call it fighting in pairs was a misnomer—once the real fighting started, it was impossible to tell who was on whose side.

Some teams had just charged a few yards out when they were intercepted by a group cutting in from the side; once the sounds of slaughter began, it was difficult to break free.

Blade light flashed white in the sunlight; some screamed as they fell, blood spreading from beneath them and quickly seeping into the cracks of the bluestone, turning into dark brown stains.

Some of the wounded crawled on the ground, their hands pinned down by several blades simultaneously before they could even reach out.

Cheng Feng's gaze followed one team. The five members of that team were all dressed in gray cloth martial attire, and none were very old.

The leader wielded a long spear, and his spear technique was not bad; he led his companions in charging and breaking through, actually managing to knock down two or three opponents in the chaotic fray, and it looked as if they were about to break out of the encirclement. But just as he thrust his spear tip forward, a caltrop flew in from an oblique angle, striking him squarely in the back of the head, and fresh blood splattered.

He stumbled forward, the spear slipped from his hand, and he was subsequently hacked to the ground by several blades that lunged from behind. The entire team was swallowed up in the blink of an eye.

"That team is finished." Gu Niangzi said softly, her face devoid of expression, as if she were talking about the weather.

Cheng Feng did not reply. He had seen death and injury, and he had killed people with his own hands, but the sight of thousands of people fighting in the same arena still made a certain place deep in his heart tighten slightly.

It was not fear, but a more primitive clarity seeping from the marrow of his bones—in this place, life was like paper; once a fire touched it, it was gone.

At this moment, Cheng Feng was actually glad that he practiced Horizontal Training.

If he added the defense of the Blood Scale Garment formed by his Flood Dragon Bloodline,

Cheng Feng felt that his chances of keeping his life were still quite good.

Another batch of new teams entered the arena.

There was an Amplification Artifact on the main stage, its voice booming as it announced team names and zones.

The cheers from the sidelines came in waves, one higher than the next; gamblers screamed at the top of their lungs for the teams they had bet on.

The scions of noble families on the stands waved their fans and chatted and laughed;

The people from the Immortal Sect still sat on those high, plain stands, as if they had come from another world, their eyes only on those they deemed worth watching.

Huo Luan drew her Steel Saber half an inch from its sheath and pushed it back in, repeating the motion over and over. Her thumb rubbed the coarse hemp rope wrapped around the hilt, her eyes fixed on the teams fighting in the arena, like a wolf that had been hungry for a long time staring at a flock of sheep.

Cheng Feng glanced at her: "Hands itching?"

"Itching terribly." A restless, irrepressible tone permeated Huo Luan's voice. "With these kinds of goods, if it were me going in, I could clear a patch in the time it takes for one stick of incense to burn."

Liu Yu suddenly turned his head back, his voice cold and light: "You'll have your turn to fight soon enough. Watch first, don't just look for the excitement. Pay attention to those who can take on many while still having strength to spare, especially those who seem casual but are actually stepping on the Array Eye with every move. Those are the real formidable enemies."

Huo Luan raised an eyebrow and said nothing more, but her gaze clearly deepened, no longer just watching for the spectacle.

Cheng Feng also composed himself and refocused his attention on the arena.

The melee continued; hundreds had already fallen, their blood spreading into pools of dark red on the bluestone floor, splashed about by the footsteps of those who followed. More teams filled in, and new blade light shone once again.

"This is hardly a martial arts competition." Cheng Feng suddenly said in a low voice.

"It's a sieve." Wang Ji stood beside him, her voice so light it was almost swallowed by the wind. "Sift out the sand, and what remains is the gold."

"For the sake of Immortal Fate, everyone is fighting with their lives."

Cheng Feng did not speak again, only watching that blood-red battlefield.

Their number was the seventh batch, 793. It wouldn't be long before it was their turn to enter.