Chapter 671: Blindly following orders… is it right?
The sound of drums filled the vast hall like rhythmic thunder, vibrating off the stone walls and reverberating in the hearts of all present. Each beat seemed to mark the rhythm of something grand about to begin. Gradually, conversations fell silent, eyes shifted from the silent contests between competitors, and all attention was drawn to the stage set up in the background.
The stage was not extravagant, but its presence dominated the space. Heavy red curtains, embroidered with ancient symbols of dragons and phoenixes, fluttered slightly in the draft that passed through the columns. And then, from behind them, a man emerged.
An old man.
His gait was slow but firm, each step echoing with authority. Age was evident in his wrinkled face and the gray beard that fell to his chest, but there was something about him that transcended the fragility of years. His gaze was piercing, full of vitality and power. He seemed to carry with him not only decades of experience, but also an invisible weight, as if he were a living part of the tournament’s history.
Murmurs spread among the competitors:
“Who is he?”
“Is he one of the hall’s guardians?”
“No… he could be the tournament supervisor…”
The elder didn’t bother to respond to their curiosity. He simply raised his hand, and the drums abruptly ceased, plunging the hall into an almost sacred silence. His voice then boomed, strong and clear, piercing the air like thunder:
“THE DRAGONS AND PHOENIXES GATHERED HERE… CONGRATULATIONS ON COMPLETING THE FIRST TEST!”
The echo of his words echoed throughout the space, vibrating in the chests of everyone present. Some of the nobles smiled arrogantly, as if it were obvious they would be there. Other competitors simply looked at each other, still in disbelief that they had made it this far.
In the midst of this, Samira let out a low, amused laugh. Her amber gaze shifted to Strax, who remained as calm as ever, his golden eyes assessing every detail of the stage and the elder.
“Apparently… you were right all along,” she said, almost teasingly, but without hiding her respect.
Strax turned slightly to her, a corner of his lip lifting in a restrained smile. “I always am.”
She rolled her eyes, laughing again, but deep down she knew: there was something in the way he saw the world, as if he deciphered secrets hidden in the details others overlooked. From the painting to the inscription, even the veiled presence of the infiltrated nobles—nothing escaped Strax’s eyes.
The elder, still on the stage, raised his arms, drawing attention back to himself. “You, who have made it this far, have proven not just strength or luck… but perception, courage, and above all, the ability to see beyond appearances.” The first test wasn’t about combat. It was about vision.” His voice lowered a notch, but still echoed clearly. “Many have failed before even realizing the truth. Not you.”
Samira raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “So… this was just the beginning.”
The hall, which seconds before had vibrated with the weight of the elder’s words, was filled with a maelstrom of voices.
That same reckless young man, still bearing the subtle marks of the wounds Strax had inflicted on him, struggled against the guards holding him by the arms. His eyes were red with rage and humiliation, and his voice echoed with more desperation than conviction.
“This test is unacceptable!” he shouted, spitting the words like embers. “How is it possible that people who touched what was forbidden were not punished?! We followed the rules! We were instructed not to touch anything!”
Strax turned slowly, his golden eyes blazing with an unnerving calm. He merely raised an eyebrow, watching the young man as if watching a child throw a tantrum.
The old man on the stage remained motionless for a few seconds, but when he answered, the weight of his voice changed completely. The previously ceremonial and grandiose tone transformed into something grave and icy.
“Unacceptable… you say?” The echo of his voice sounded like distant thunder.
The young man straightened, seizing the opening to continue:
“Yes! Unacceptable! When we entered that place, the instructors were clear! They told us not to touch anything! We obeyed their orders, and now? Those who ignored them have been rewarded! This is unfair! This is a fraud!”
With each word, more voices rose in the hall. Some nobles—especially those hiding their mana, feigning fragility—began to stir.
“He’s right!” shouted someone in the back.
“This was rigged from the beginning!” yelled another.
“It’s a disgrace for such a grand tournament!” echoed a third voice.
Soon, dozens of voices joined in protest, the sound becoming a dissonant chorus of complaints and accusations. Some stomped their feet, others raised their fists in the air. The chaos grew like a fire in dry straw.
Samira, beside Strax, chuckled softly, crossing her arms as she watched the scene. Her amber eyes gleamed with amusement.
“And here we go again…” she murmured. “There’s always an idiot who doesn’t understand when they’ve lost.”
Strax sighed, almost bored, but didn’t take his eyes off the stage. The smile on his lips was thin, sharp, like a blade about to be unsheathed.
He already knew: what came next would reveal far more about this tournament than the initial test itself.
The elder, still motionless, slowly raised a hand. The hall, filled with clamor, was silenced as if an invisible wave had drowned out all the voices. Even the air seemed to freeze.
The old man’s eyes burned like live coals as he stared at the young man still struggling against the guards.
“So…” he said, each word filled with terrifying calm, “you believe that blind obedience, without question, without observation, is the mark of a true competitor?”
The silence that followed was heavier than any answer.
Strax, of course, chuckled softly. “This is going to hurt…” he murmured only to Samira, who smiled back, eager to see the spectacle.
The old man took a step forward onto the stage. The simple movement seemed to weigh heavily on everyone’s shoulders. The pressure emanating from him wasn’t like Strax’s murderous aura—savage, predatory—but something ancient, suffocating, like the weight of a mountain that has watched humanity since the beginning of time.
The young man, even with all the artificial courage of his anger, shivered. The guards didn’t need to restrain him; His legs gave out on their own, forcing him to kneel on the floor.
“So you believe…” the elder repeated, his voice thick with contempt, “that this tournament is about blind obedience? About following rules without even questioning their reasoning?”
The hall remained silent, but the old man’s gaze burned into the boy as if undressing him completely.
“You think that, on the path of the Dragon and the Phoenix, there is room for cowards who dare not take risks? For lambs who wait to be led by the hand?” His voice rose, echoing off the vaulted ceiling. “YOU ARE AN INSULT TO THOSE WHO TRULY DESERVE TO BE HERE!”
The boy opened his mouth, but no words came out. His throat felt dry as dust.
The elder raised his hand. A wave of mana, cold and sharp, swept through the room like a gust of wind. Everyone felt the impact, but their focus was solely on the young man. The energy struck him with invisible force, throwing him to his knees against the polished floor.
The crack echoed loudly, and the boy groaned in pain.
“Look closely!” the old man continued, spinning his body to face all the competitors. “This is the fate of those who confuse discipline with servitude, those who mistake fear for wisdom! He saw nothing beyond the empty words spoken to him… and that’s why he failed from the start!”
The words cut through the silence like blades. Some of the competitors shifted uncomfortably, especially those who had protested moments before.
Strax laughed openly this time, the deep sound carrying contempt. “Hah… pathetic,” he muttered, not even trying to hide it. Samira, beside him, leaned in slightly, a mischievous smile on her lips.
“He wanted to impress, he ended up being an example,” she commented, almost laughing.
The elder looked back at the fallen youth, the guards now merely watching, for there was no longer any need to restrain him. The boy trembled, his eyes brimming with tears—not from pain, but from shame.
“You are disqualified,” the elder decreed with a coldness that left no room for argument. “Not for touching what you shouldn’t, but for being unable to see beyond the surface. Leave.”
Two guards lifted him by the arms and dragged him like a sack of potatoes. His sister, pale, could do nothing but stare after them.
The elder then turned to the rest of the hall. His voice, now firm and implacable, rang out:
“Keep this scene in mind. The path before you will not be paved with easy-to-follow orders. Dragons and phoenixes are not born to obey. They are born to dominate, to see beyond, to create their own destiny.” —
Strax smirked, murmuring to Samira:
“He can actually give a speech.”
Samira let out a short laugh, her amber eyes shining with excitement. “I already liked this tournament…”