The two striding forward were none other than Wei Yanjie and Zhu Jian.
Wei Yanjie, originally a top-ten contender, had lost to Lai Shufeng, missing out on the seeded list.
But this didn’t mean he was weak—only that Lai Shufeng was stronger.
Aside from the top-ten seeded contestants, likely no one could match him, and even among the seeded ten, not all were guaranteed to defeat him.
As for Zhu Jian, he was ranked twelfth in predicted strength, behind Lai Shufeng and Xia Jianren, and aside from the top ten and Wei Yanjie, no one could stand against him.
With the tenth group’s seeded contestant, Xia Jianren, already in place, this group now had three figures of seeded calibre. What chance did anyone else have to reach the first tier?
This wasn’t a lucky group—it was a death group.
In the tenth group, you didn’t even need to fight to know which three would advance to the finals.
The disciples who had just expressed regret for not drawing this group fell silent, secretly relieved. Thank goodness they hadn’t been assigned here, or they’d be done for.
They never could’ve imagined the last two to join would be these two…
Xiahou Lan’s face turned ashen. Moments ago, he’d been thrilled about easily reaching the finals, but now his hopes were shattered.
Still, realizing that even if he couldn’t make the first tier, he could likely secure the second tier, he felt some relief.
Reaching the second tier was already his best possible outcome.
Of course, Lin Xiao and his group didn’t buy into this “death group” nonsense. Who would advance could only be determined through battle.
After the grouping, at Baili He’s announcement, the disciples from the ten groups dispersed.
The real competition would begin tomorrow, the true start of the spectacle. The earlier matches were merely warm-ups.
That night, taverns were packed, buzzing with heated discussions about the competition. Some even started betting pools—on who would go undefeated in each group, how many matches they’d win, which new disciples would reach the first or second tier, and more.
The betting options were numerous.
Even some elders joined in, making it lively.
However, lacking Martial King Origin Pills, Lin Xiao didn’t participate in the betting.
But he had Hu Yue take the one jin of Heavenly Revolving Stone he’d gotten from Jun Zang to bet. One jin could refine ten Martial King Origin Pills but could only be exchanged for five.
In other words, Lin Xiao was down to just five Martial King Origin Pills’ worth of assets, hoping to turn a profit.
In the courtyard, seeing Hu Yue return with the Tianmen disciples from the streets, Lin Xiao asked with interest, “What’s the payout for me winning the championship?”
“Uh, there’s no payout for you winning the championship… but there’s one for you reaching the finals,” Hu Yue replied, slightly stunned.
“Then what’s the payout for me reaching the finals?” Lin Xiao asked immediately, having told Hu Yue to bet the one jin of Heavenly Revolving Stone on himself.
“One to ten,” Hu Yue grinned.
“Not bad,” Lin Xiao smiled, satisfied. One to ten meant five Martial King Origin Pills could become fifty—a substantial fortune.
After tomorrow, with the finals, he could likely bet again.
“Of course, no one’s betting on you,” Hu Yue smirked.
“You all bet on me, right?” Lin Xiao glanced at the Tianmen disciples, asking casually.
“No way we all bet on you. I told them to split half their assets on me. My payout’s higher—one to thirty, heh,” Hu Yue chuckled, brimming with pride.
The Tianmen disciples below were speechless. They’d intended to bet fully on Lin Xiao, but Hu Yue had strong-armed them.
Though they acknowledged Hu Yue’s strength, in this group, Lin Xiao was the safer bet for advancing…
But Hu Yue insisted she could definitely advance, with a higher payout, and that Lin Xiao would take down the tough opponents first.
To encourage Hu Yue, they ultimately bet half on her.
Even if Hu Yue lost, as long as Lin Xiao advanced, they’d still make a hefty profit.
Still, they knew tomorrow’s draw might not place Lin Xiao ahead of Hu Yue against the strong opponents, so they weren’t overly hopeful.
Slightly stunned, Lin Xiao was speechless. Forcing people to bet on her?
“It’s just those three guys. Even if you don’t take them down first, if I go all out, who wins or loses isn’t certain,” Hu Yue huffed.
“I believe in you,” Lin Xiao nodded.
“Then why didn’t you bet on me?” Hu Yue shot him a skeptical look.
“Uh…” Lin Xiao was at a loss for words.
…
Early morning, the sun rose high, bathing the land in light.
The Holy City’s massive plaza was once again packed, the crowd’s roar louder than the sunlight.
All representatives took their seats.
All competing disciples gathered around the ten arenas.
At Baili He’s announcement, the entire plaza erupted.
First, each group drew numbers.
This time, Lin Xiao drew number one, meaning he’d fight first.
“Arena Ten, first match, Lin Xiao, step forward to draw your opponent!”
The middle-aged referee’s resonant voice echoed at Arena Ten, and Lin Xiao calmly stepped forward.
The gazes of the others at Arena Ten turned to Lin Xiao.
“Draw those three guys, draw those three guys!” Hu Yue danced excitedly nearby, muttering repeatedly.
To others, it sounded like she was urging Lin Xiao to draw the weakest three.
As for Xia Jianren and the other two, they wore expressions of complete disdain.
“I hope he draws Xia Jianren, Wei Yanjie, or Zhu Jian. If he gets any of them, one move will crush him!”
Outside the arena, Yu Xiang, her face stern, muttered to herself.
To see Lin Xiao get thrashed and vent her anger, she’d brought Jia Chao and others to stand near the Tianmen disciples today.
“Even if he doesn’t draw those three, drawing Xiahou Lan would do. Now that Senior Brother Xiahou Lan has broken through to the third level of Martial King, Lin Xiao’s no match,” Jia Chao added, brimming with hatred for Lin Xiao.
“Too bad he’s not in Sister Xiahou Jing’s group, or he wouldn’t even get up!” Yu Xiang spat viciously.
The Tianmen disciples responded with cold snorts, “Hmph, he’d better draw that Xiahou Lan and beat him to a pulp. Let’s see if he dares act arrogant again!”
“Exactly, what’s that dog Xiahou Lan? He’s nothing, not even a fart!” another youth chimed in, repeating yesterday’s taunts, making Yu Xiang and her group’s faces darken.
“I hope he draws those three guys and Lin Xiao beats them all. Let’s see what these people have to say then,” another disciple said.
Wang Long was now among the Tianmen disciples, while poor Ba Hu still hadn’t recovered.
As the two sides bickered, at Arena Ten, Lin Xiao’s draw was revealed, and the referee’s voice rang out, “Arena Ten, first match, Lin Xiao versus Xiahou Lan!”
