Simon slowly sipped the healing potion, quenching his thirst while also healing the wound on his lower abdomen.
That Orc warrior wasn't weak; he just made one wrong move and died a quick death.
Here, Simon was prepared for a long stay. The Ten-Race Blood Competition was an ancient ritual, yet the world knew little about it. After all, few who entered ever left. This was merely a long elimination round, not yet the bayonet-to-bayonet final battle.
Everyone wandered Snake Mountain, no one knowing from where or when an attack would come. They either lost their human morality in the long hunt, gradually went mad from fear, or became a treasured sword, sharpened with each forging, until its edge was fully revealed, piercing the chests of countless enemies.
After an unknown period, the thick clouds gradually dispersed. Behind the clouds, the sky vaguely revealed a gigantic, eye-shaped vortex. Red light clouds swirled clockwise towards the center, converging into dark, turbid lines at the eye's edge. The eyeball was roughly a plump spindle shape, with the exposed part appearing grayish, like a cornea, and bright purple lightning slowly growing, resembling blood vessels—suddenly appearing, spreading like branches, then suddenly vanishing, repeating endlessly, silently.
At this moment, from the deep scars of the earth, long snakes emerged, bathing in the gaze from behind the clouds—a very faint light, close to moonlight, which shone down in beams due to the cloud's division. It had a pure, glassy texture, and while it created a soothing and beautiful atmosphere, it also inevitably highlighted the fear of drowning in such light.
An infinite number and variety of long snakes stretched, flicking their tongues or swaying their heads. In the light, the reflections from their scales were dim, their nictitating membranes blinked, and their pupils flickered erratically, in addition to the sinister metaphor of slaughter, perhaps also embodying a simple essence of survival of the fittest.
A sharp shriek came from afar, followed by the roar of a thunderstorm. The violent commotion lasted for about forty seconds, then everything returned to silence.
Simon stood at the edge of a light beam, gently extending his hand. The bright light shone on his hand like the midday sun in midsummer, momentarily dazzling him. He vaguely saw his hands covered in green scales.
He withdrew his hand.
Suddenly, a frantic metal rock song blared in his ears, past its climax, gradually calming down and slowly fading away.
Simon examined his hand again; there was a thin layer of dead skin that could be easily peeled off.
It seemed he had forgotten the passage of time. This light would slowly transform foreign creatures into snakes, so it couldn't be touched. Looking around, large and small light beams projected onto the ground, and countless long snakes writhed in the shadows of the cracks.
The Blood Competition has begun!
Yes, this light was the sign. A victor must be decided before the clouds completely dissipate, or everyone will be trapped here!
Simon found a wide, dark area and ran towards it.
Along the way, he passed some abandoned high towers. Most of these towers were solid, with stone walls inside their doors and windows, though some were hollow. Simon walked through the Forest of Towers, and snakes would occasionally attack, either with lightning-fast bites, by spraying deadly corrosive venom, or by releasing some spell-like abilities, making them very difficult to deal with.
Simon considered hiding inside a high tower, as it was a stable retreat. After spending a long time clearing out the snake monsters, the high tower trembled and began to contract—like hollow bamboo sections closing one by one, the floor and ceiling constantly approaching each other—no wonder some towers were solid, no wonder.
Attempting to confine the snake horde would lead to their fierce resistance, after which they would successively die, turning into stone statues. The high tower would still close; this was a kind of rule.
Simon left this group of high towers and continued deeper into the shadows. Light beams projected down in a messy array, and the black ground became increasingly fragmented—the abyss was death, the light was death, only the flat shadow lands held life, like broken islands at sea; truly a perilous place.
A greeting came from behind him. Simon looked around but saw no one. The greeting sounded again, apparently from a young male.
Someone must be using a sound illusion spell, while remaining hidden.
"Hurry! I've found a way out!"
"To your left, do you see the tower on the horizon? I'm there."
Simon looked at the so-called horizon to his left. The number of light beams there was immense, and there was very little standing room left, making it an unwise destination.
From afar, he seemed to see someone rushing towards that cluster of high towers. That person continuously passed through the light beams, appearing unaffected.
Simon felt a sense of foreboding for that person, because eventually, his form began to swell, bursting the heavy armor he wore. After using Hawkeye Technique on himself, Simon looked closer again. The person running in the distance stumbled, his legs turning into long strips that flapped on the ground behind him. Soon, he became an it, raising its head and sliding into a crack in the ground.
It seemed that blocking the light didn't work, or rather, simple methods of obstruction were ineffective.
Simon could only continue deeper into the shadows.
The ground suddenly trembled. The pupil of the eye in the sky shot out a crimson light, piercing the clouds and the earth. Then, a narrow high tower slowly rose, a tremendous rumbling echoing all around. Simon felt his head vibrate in resonance with the ground, the violent shaking making him very uncomfortable.
The high tower stood vertical, reaching into the clouds.
This seemed to be a tower built from bones, with a sinister, gleaming white oily sheen. Its form was very strange, with a smooth surface and many carved patterns. Simon used Hawkeye Technique to look closer and found that it recorded many stories of slaughter and betrayal—it was a monument of merits, not a high tower!
That red light beam was attracting all outsiders to it.
The final battle was about to begin.
...
By the time Simon reached the edge of the light beam, two people had already decided their victor. A High Elf spellsword in dark gold Elven armor kicked the corpse of an Argonian into the light beam. Simon watched as the Argonian's corpse transformed into an ethereal blood-shadow and flew into the monument of merits, becoming an inconspicuous sculpture in a corner, with its death pose and cause of death vividly replicated.
"Disgusting low-level creature, another one. You foolish Nord whelp." The High Elf spellsword flicked the pale green glass sword in his right hand, dark blood spatters falling to the ground. He showed genuine disgust towards Simon, and a faint green magical glow lit up in his left hand—it was an Iron Armor spell. He cast it on himself, and the High Elf's body was coated with a beautiful, faint blue film.
Simon raised his Ebony Greatsword and grinned.
"Divine Armor, Divine Weapon, Divine Strength!"
The originally short boy suddenly swelled to six feet tall, muscles bulging, veins popping. His heavy, gleaming armor charged forward like a train, the ground faintly trembling.
"Die for me!"
He swung his sword! His aura was like a tide!
Sword Casting Villa's secret technique—Great Que Thousand Jin Sword!
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