Liu Dong's earth-shattering curse was like cold water splashed into boiling oil, instantly plunging half the arena into an eerie silence.
Apart from a handful of younger students who still knew nothing, most people present understood perfectly well.
They looked at one another, their gazes swiftly sweeping over Zhao He's group before quickly withdrawing. In the end, no one dared make a sound. That circle had long carried immense authority; now it was like an invisible high wall, sealing all dissatisfaction and indignation beneath silence.
Zhao He, the ringleader of East City Martial School's spoiled rich brats, showed not the slightest anger in the face of this public rebuke.
He merely raised an eyebrow slightly, the corner of his mouth even curving into an amused smile, as though he were watching a farce that had nothing to do with him.
"Fuck! Liu Dong, what the hell did you say? Looking to die? Get down here, and let's fight one-on-one!"
The lackeys beside him wore vicious expressions and were ready to make a move, but Zhao He casually stopped them with a raised hand.
He still said nothing. Through the crowd, he simply gave Liu Dong on the arena three slow, unhurried claps.
The applause was crisp, neither hurried nor slow, and exceptionally piercing amid the silence.
It was not praise, but a condescending mockery—a declaration that everything was under his control.
Liu Dong's chest heaved violently, blood pouring from the wound on his arm, yet he stood ramrod straight like a steel spear that would sooner break than bend, meeting that humiliation head-on with an icy gaze.
Lu Jue took everything in. His face remained expressionless, but a faint chill flashed deep within his eyes.
Sure enough, these people were not only targeting him, but also the "hard bones" Zhang Yang had mentioned.
Their methods were even more despicable than he had expected—and even more effective.
This was no longer a fair competition, but a carefully orchestrated selection.
But Lu Jue's thoughts went no further than that.
Since the rules had already crumbled, only absolute strength could tear every scheme to shreds.
Lu Jue lowered his eyes slightly. He no longer watched what happened to Liu Dong, nor did he pay attention to Zhao He's nauseating performance. Instead, he turned his gaze toward the entrance to the duel area.
It was packed solid with a sea of people, the protest group led by Su Xiaowan.
Compared to before the preliminaries, the group had clearly grown much larger.
Many students who had lost their matches and their hope joined them, covered in wounds and filled with indignation.
"Cancel the quota competition!"
"Cancel the Diversion Policy!"
They no longer merely held up signs. Linking arms, they used their flesh and blood to build an impenetrable human wall, completely sealing off the exit to the duel area.
Su Xiaowan still stood at the very front, holding a loudspeaker. Her clear voice cut through the clamor and rang distinctly through every corner:
"Everyone saw what happened at the Sixth Grade arena just now! There is definitely something shady going on in the Quota Competition! Certain people may have already secretly taken control of most of the contestants! Is this what you call the last chance for commoner students!?"
Her words were like sparks falling into a haystack, instantly igniting even more people's emotions.
More and more students who had been planning to leave stopped in their tracks and silently joined the ranks blocking the entrance.
Su Li led the Discipline Team in desperately maintaining order, but before the surging crowd, they were forced back step by step. The situation was nearly out of control.
Looking at the boiling public fury before her, her heart sank.
As early as when news of the Quota Competition had first been announced, her master had foreseen that trouble would arise and had specifically told her to give up competing.
First, it would leave the opportunity to commoner students who needed it more. Second, she could lead the Discipline Team and guard against possible unrest.
But the chaos before her left her feeling more helpless than ever. Even the joy brought by breaking through her boxing bottleneck last night had vanished without a trace amid this overwhelming mess.
"Please calm down, everyone! I promise that I will report everything we saw today truthfully. If someone truly manipulated the competition, the school will absolutely not stand by and do nothing!"
"You need to understand that protesting here is meaningless! If the higher-ups cut off funding, East City Martial School alone simply cannot support so many people practicing martial arts!"
Yet her words vanished like a stone sinking into the sea, instantly swallowed by an even greater wave of noise. The protesting students had already been blinded by rage and could not listen to any persuasion.
Just as the atmosphere outside the arena reached a fever pitch, a clear announcement suddenly tore through the clamor.
"Next match: Lu Jue versus Jiang Youwei. Both contestants, please report to Arena Three to prepare!"
"Brother Jue, it's your turn! Good luck!" Liu Ga immediately reminded him.
Ever since defeating Li Zhanting, Lu Jue had become a recognized top student. The moment he rose to his feet, he swiftly drew countless gazes. Students immediately gathered around Arena Three, all waiting eagerly to see what would happen.
"So he's Lu Jue, the one who crippled Li Zhanting? He looks ordinary—just a little less handsome than me!"
"Did you hear? Back then, Li Zhanting exposed the fact that the fatal weak point of Lu Jue's body-tempering was his head!"
"Pfft! Then when he fights, won't he have to protect his head desperately like a mother hen guarding her chicks?"
"Although I know I can't beat him, what if he runs into someone at his own level? If you ask me, Lu Jue's in a pretty dangerous spot."
Lu Jue stepped onto the arena and steadied himself. His opponent was a delicate-looking man.
He wore no luxurious clothes, only a well-tailored set of branded Training Clothes. In his hand was a Synthetic Training Sword gleaming with cold light.
Though this outfit was not as ostentatious as those of the Power Elites' children, it still showed that he belonged to the better-off class among commoner students.
Influenced by capital manipulation, Sword Dao in this world had been deliberately hyped up and packaged as the "Noble Martial Path."
Not only were the weapons prohibitively expensive, but even the various sword manuals cost several times more than boxing techniques of the same tier.
With such a threshold, unless commoner students were truly obsessed with Sword Dao or possessed extraordinary talent, they generally chose the more down-to-earth arts of fists and kicks.
Martial school duels strictly prohibited the use of sharpened real swords, so a sword practitioner's weapon became a mirror of their circumstances.
Those in straitened circumstances like Wang Meng could only use the most affordable Wooden Sword, while the Synthetic Training Sword Jiang Youwei held was forged from special alloy, expensive and hard in texture.
"Lu Jue, Young Master Zhao asked me to deliver a message. He is willing to give you another chance. As long as you nod, besides the resources stipulated in the agreement, he'll give you three hundred thousand immediately."
Jiang Youwei deliberately lowered his voice, making sure their conversation remained confined to the arena.
"I know what you're thinking. You think I look like some lobbyist? No. I'm simply someone who knows how to read the times. In this world, 'geniuses' without anyone backing them often die the fastest."
"Young Master Zhao cherishes talent. With his resources, the Martial Arts Examination will only be your starting point. Your future will soar straight into the blue clouds, so why ruin your martial path for that laughable scrap of dignity?"
"Or do you think those fists of yours can really smash through this high wall forged from gold, iron, and power?"
Before you continue