The Third District backstage.
The next round would feature the man at the center of all the rumors...
The room was chillingly grim, the walls covered in scratches, the sodium lights from the Imperial City’s industrial district barely illuminating the space—flickering dimly and on the verge of going out. These products, now landing throughout the nation, were a result of the local industry.
Many places within the country were constructing telephone booths, and Aran Imperial City had already achieved full coverage; it wasn’t just medical, other fields had also reached mid-20th-century standards.
But there was no long-distance service, only specialty telephone booths set up in the city with an automatic switchboard that connected them, allowing public telephone users to dial directly before an operator transferred the call.
And not every home had a dial-phone, only individual residential buildings or office units.
The utility was quite limited.
But as a transitional measure, it was more than sufficient.
The national network infrastructure wouldn’t be completed anytime soon; making a call from Chenxi Port to Aran would take at least a few more years.
What was well known was that by the time the common folk learnt of these advancements, the project would have already reached its final stage.
Inside the contestant’s preparation room.
Breathing out created a mist in the air, highly abnormal given it was early summer.
With limbs elongated like a stick insect, wrapped in cracked and peeling leather straps, and wearing a tattered rag head cover.
This was an exceedingly bizarre man who, despite the presence of chairs, just stood in the corner of the room, seemingly without breathing, his chest not moving an inch, like a discarded dress mannequin in a clothing store, the deadest of the dead.
Even among other contestants, towering monstrous figures, he had a terrifying presence.
Other contestants subconsciously kept their distance from him; standing beside him brought an inexplicable chill, as if entering an abandoned house at night.
Kun Lan triumphantly returned to the preparation room after a big win.
Rag Head was his friend, but Kun Lan knew very little about him, not even sure if he was human.
Their acquaintance wasn’t due to any particular friendship but rather because the first task Kun Lan received from the Life Weaving Society was to confirm whether this man was still alive.
He was some kind of crucial interweaving point of destiny.
After confirming his existence, the Society took no further action, the higher-ups believing more in an existent or non-existent destiny than shamans did.
Besides, Kun Lan knew nothing about Rag Head’s name, age, background, or race; he only knew he held the most ominous and least desired job in the world, wandering amid various lands because he was mute. Communication at work was tough, often getting him dismissed from one place and heading to another,
always seeking the position of Executioner, obsessively fixated on decapitation. Though he wasn’t notorious on the streets, anyone who knew him called him the "Death God." Read full story at Nove1Fire.net
Ironically, the Death God himself survived on a measly salary of eight silver coins a month and could even... save money, a true miracle.
That was all Kun Lan knew; sometimes, he couldn’t help but wonder if the man was intellectually challenged. With his skill level, he could live comfortably anywhere. Seven or eight years ago, Kun Lan had invited him to freeload with him at Doringger’s for an easy life, far from the Emperor’s reach, but he had ignored the invitation.
No one knew what he thought, or if there was even a brain beneath that rag head cover, and that was the question.
The event staff were checking the information for the next contestants to enter.
However, unexpectedly, Rag Head’s opponent, after hearing about yesterday’s events and seeing his companion, the Golden-eyed man’s battle earlier, simply forfeited, giving up the competition eligibility.
Staff also explained the situation truthfully to Rag Head.
"Not bad, advancing to the next round without lifting a finger."
Kun Lan mused, although he had some skills and didn’t see himself as champion material for the Continent Martial Arts Competition, this man very well might be.
Kun Lan came to the competition seeking a patron and also to invite Rag Head, expecting him to refuse, but to his surprise, he agreed. Kun Lan couldn’t fathom the man’s thought process.
Rag Head just remained silent, a mute.
"Alright, today’s fights are over. Fight one more battle tomorrow, and we’ll have successfully advanced to the first round."
Kun Lan called for Rag Head, preparing to head back to the hotel together.
But things didn’t go as smoothly as expected.
Not only had the commoners heard the rumors from yesterday, the Aran official authorities had also come to know of the previous day’s competition events.
How should I put it...
The Continent Martial Arts Competition isn’t completely fair; there are political factors at play.
Given the momentum of the Golden-eyed man and Rag Head, making it to the finals of the Stargazing Festival should be no problem.
But Rag Head, as an Executioner, is of lowly status, with a strange appearance; allowing such a demon into the Aran Imperial City for a public athletic display during a grand event of the continent.
It harms... the body politic of Aran Country.
You don’t have to be very handsome, but at least you should look somewhat human. Rag Head looks like a serial killer from a horror movie; it’s a bit spine-chilling.
Looks are a good thing that can benefit someone in the long run, but Rag Head doesn’t have them.
Because of unfounded reasons, Rag Head is now facing the risk of being forcibly disqualified from the competition.
A troop of the official army, fifty in size, burst into the Third District’s backstage area in a grand procession. No one dared to stop them; the Aran Army, all fully armed in fine steel armor, were grim with intent, carrying Magic Energy Rifles and standard long knives. As the group marched, the rattling of their plated boots was unceasing, a show of formidable momentum.
After scanning the preparation room, they found their target.
The other participants in the room looked at each other in confusion, not understanding what was happening. Kun Lan furrowed his brows; it seemed like he and Rag Head were the targets of these official soldiers.
"I am a Vice Admiral of the Aran Army. You... do not meet the competition standards. You are now ordered to withdraw from the competition, and a ship will be arranged to send you back to the Cross Alliance."
The Vice Admiral coldly spoke, presenting a document in front of Rag Head. According to the file, Rag Head came from Forgotten Port, with employment information from the Cross Alliance.
Upon hearing this, Kun Lan was dumbfounded. The Continent Martial Arts Competition has such standards? It seemed that Rag Head’s appearance really did affect the city’s image.
Rag Head remained silent.
Five seconds later, he still had not uttered any response.
The Vice Admiral saw that this person dared to show contempt toward him, not knowing how to spell ’death.’ Although Rag Head had committed no crime and could, at most, be sent back according to the law,
in Aran, where the military and police ruled autocratically, it was very easy for the Vice Admiral to kill someone, especially a foreigner.
Kun Lan felt an ominous premonition. He was currently under the Emperor’s protection, his family did not dare to touch him; otherwise, it would be a contempt of the Continent Martial Arts Competition. If he got implicated with Rag Head, he’d have nowhere to go.
"Officer, he can’t speak. I really don’t understand which competition standard he has violated. Can you tell me?"
Kun Lan and the Vice Admiral began to speak reasoning.
"Of course you don’t understand. If I say it’s a standard, then it’s a standard. Leave the competition area immediately, go back to your own country, or else I can arrest you both for obstruction of official duties."
The Vice Admiral spoke with an icy tone.
Kun Lan felt a massive headache. Was he really getting dragged into this? Should he leave?
Two soldiers from the Aran Army had already picked up irons, and the tension was palpably escalating, Rag Head’s presence was simply too terrifying.
Kun Lan knew that Rag Head was crazy, and if a fight truly broke out, it would be disastrous. The current Boss of the East Sea, Liszt, only dared to rob in the uninhabited areas of Aran. Would you dare him to rampage in the downtown area?
Even an Immortal would meet death.
Just as Kun Lan was about to calm Rag Head down,
Rag Head, far from being intellectually disabled as some may assume, took out a wrinkled document from his chest, which had been stored for a very long time, and handed it to the Vice Admiral.
The Vice Admiral furrowed his brows, puzzled, but still took the old, creased parchment and read it carefully.
His gaze grew heavier.
Slowly, his look of disdain turned to disbelief, and his eyes showed intense shock.
This person’s background...
Was far weightier than that of a Vice Admiral in the Aran Army.
There is a Court Mage in the current Royal Court, shrouded in mystery, rumored to be even beyond the embrace of entities like the Tower Alliance and the Eleven People Pavilion, a towering colossal figure.
Of course, it was just rumor, as this person acted very quietly, holding only two roles: one, as a technical consultant for the Northern Prison; the other, as a Court Mage; no other information could be found.
This person, it turned out, had once worked for that mage, and the red official seal on the sheepskin was unquestionably genuine.
The Vice Admiral thought for a moment; these two, perhaps no longer need to fight in the following qualification matches, for their outstanding performance could warrant direct entry into the final competition of Imperial City.