Young Master Zhao Asked Me to Give You a Message!

Liu Dong's earth-shattering curse, like cold water thrown into boiling oil, instantly plunged half the arena into an eerie silence.

Except for a few younger students who were still unaware of the situation, most people present understood what was happening.

They exchanged glances, their eyes quickly sweeping over Zhao He and his group before darting away. No one dared to speak. The group's usual imposing presence felt like an invisible, towering wall, firmly sealing their dissatisfaction and anger beneath the silence.

Zhao He, the ringleader of the East City Martial School's spoiled brats, showed no sign of anger despite the public scolding.

He merely raised an eyebrow slightly, a playful curve even appearing at the corner of his lips, as if watching an irrelevant farce.

"Fuck! What did you say, Liu Dong? You looking for death! Get down here, let's have a one-on-one!"

A few of his cronies beside him showed fierce expressions and were itching to move, but Zhao He casually raised a hand and stopped them.

He still didn't speak, but through the crowd, he slowly and deliberately clapped three times towards Liu Dong on the stage.

The applause was crisp and unhurried, sounding particularly jarring in the silence.

It wasn't praise, but a condescending mockery, a declaration of complete control.

Liu Dong's chest heaved violently, blood pouring from the wound on his arm, but he stood straight as an unyielding steel spear, meeting the humiliation with a gaze as cold as ice.

Lu Jue took it all in, his face still expressionless, but a faint chill flickered deep within his eyes.

As expected, this group wasn't just targeting him, but also those "tough nuts" Zhang Yang had mentioned.

Their methods were more despicable and more effective than he had anticipated.

This was no longer a fair competition, but a meticulously planned selection process.

However, Lu Jue's thoughts stopped there.

Since the rules had already broken down, only absolute strength could shatter all schemes.

Lu Jue slightly lowered his eyelids, no longer watching the developments on Liu Dong's side, nor paying attention to Zhao He's nauseating performance. He turned his gaze towards the entrance of the duel area.

The area was already packed shoulder-to-shoulder with a dense crowd, a protest team led by Su Xiaowan.

Compared to before the preliminary rounds, this group had grown significantly.

Many students who had lost their matches and their hopes, bearing their wounds and simmering resentment, had joined their ranks.

"Cancel the quota competition!"

"Cancel the tiered policy!"

They no longer just held up banners; they linked arms, forming a dense human wall with their flesh and blood, completely blocking the exit of the duel area.

Su Xiaowan still stood at the forefront, holding a megaphone. Her clear voice cut through the clamor, reaching every corner distinctly:

"Everyone saw what happened on the Sixth Grade stage just now! The quota competition is definitely rigged! Some people might have already secretly controlled most of the participants. Is this what you call the last chance for civilian students!?"

Her words were like sparks falling into dry grass, instantly igniting the emotions of more people.

More and more students who were about to leave stopped in their tracks, silently joining the blockade.

Su Li, leading the Discipline Team, tried her best to maintain order, but they were pushed back step by step by the surging crowd. The situation was on the verge of losing control.

Looking at the seething crowd before her, her heart sank.

As soon as the news of the quota competition was announced, her master had foreseen trouble and specifically instructed her to give up participating.

Firstly, it would leave the opportunity for more civilian students in need, and secondly, she would lead the Discipline Team to prevent potential chaos.

But the out-of-control scene before her felt more troublesome than ever. Even the joy she felt from breaking through her bottleneck in Fist Arts last night had vanished in the face of this chaotic situation.

"Please calm down! I promise you, I will report everything I've seen today truthfully. If someone is indeed manipulating the competition, the school will never stand by and do nothing!"

"You must understand that protesting here is meaningless! With the funding cut off, East City Martial School alone cannot support so many people practicing martial arts..."

However, her words were like stones sinking into the sea, instantly swallowed by a louder roar. The protesting students were already blinded by anger and couldn't listen to any persuasion.

Just as the atmosphere outside the venue reached a boiling point, a clear broadcast voice suddenly cut through the noise.

"The next match is Lu Jue versus Jiang Youwei. Please have both contestants proceed to Arena Three to prepare!"

"Brother Jue, it's your turn! Go for it!" Liu Ga immediately reminded him.

Since defeating Li Zhanting, Lu Jue had become a recognized top student. As he stood up, he quickly attracted many gazes. Some students immediately gathered around Arena Three, all eagerly anticipating the match.

"He's that Lu Jue who crippled Li Zhanting? He looks ordinary, maybe a bit more handsome than me!"

"Did you hear? Li Zhanting pointed out that Lu Jue's 'Vital Point' for his hard-body technique is located above his head!"

"Pfft! Then when he fights someone, won't he have to protect his head like a mother hen protecting her chicks?"

"Even though I know I can't beat him, what if he faces an opponent of the same level? I think Lu Jue is a bit risky..."

Lu Jue stepped onto the stage and took his stance. His opponent was a man with a delicate appearance.

He wasn't wearing ornate clothing, just a well-fitting designer training outfit. In his hand, he held a Synthetic Training Sword with a cold glint.

Although his attire wasn't as flashy as that of a noble's son, it indicated he was from a well-off family among the civilian students.

Influenced by capital operations, the Sword Dao in this world had been deliberately hyped up and packaged as a "Noble Martial Path."

Not only were the weapons expensive, but the prices of various sword technique manuals were also several percent higher than those of Fist Arts and Cultivation Techniques of the same level.

This threshold meant that most commoner students, when choosing a discipline, would opt for more practical fist and foot techniques unless they were truly obsessed with the Sword Dao or possessed extraordinary talent.

Martial schools strictly prohibited the use of sharpened real swords in duels, making a swordsman's weapon a mirror of their circumstances.

Those with limited means, like Wang Meng, could only afford the most affordable wooden swords. But the Synthetic Training Sword in Jiang Youwei's hand before him was forged from special alloys, expensive and incredibly durable.

"Lu Jue, Young Master Zhao asked me to tell you something. He's willing to give you another chance. If you agree, in addition to the resources stipulated in the agreement, he'll immediately give you three hundred thousand."

Jiang Youwei deliberately lowered his voice, ensuring their conversation was confined to the stage.

"I know what you're thinking, that I'm like a lobbyist? No! I'm just someone who understands the times. In this world, 'geniuses' without backing often die the fastest."

"Young Master Zhao values talent. With his resources, the Martial Arts Examination would just be your starting point, leading to a meteoric rise in the future. Why throw away your martial arts future for that ridiculous dignity?"

"Or do you really think these two fists of yours can smash through this high wall built of metal and power?"