Bulla and Videl (2)

The 27th World Martial Arts Tournament was held, as usual, on a small island overseas. This had practically become a tradition for the tournament, because as the contestants grew stronger and stronger, if the venue were still placed in an inland city, even the slightest accident could turn into a massive disaster.

That day, the sky was dim and hazy, and a fine drizzle fell over the tournament grounds. Threads of rain linked together, crystal clear like strands of silk.

Even though the weather was not cooperating, it could not dampen the enthusiasm of contestants from all over the world.

The bustling streets were packed with people, their voices rising in a clamor. Among them were contestants who had rushed over from every corner of the world, as well as spectators and martial arts enthusiasts who had come specially to witness the excitement of the tournament. Sharp-eyed merchants had claimed their stalls early and were using their best hawking cries to draw the tourists' attention.

Clang, clang, clang!

The sound of a bronze gong rang out, and the tournament registration process officially began.

Although online registration had also been made available, technological development on Earth was extremely uneven, and many villages were still in a primitive tribal state. So even those who had registered online still had to sign in personally after arriving at the venue. There was also another round of screening to weed out those complete amateurs who were merely there for the excitement and whose strength was not enough to compete.

The Cell Games a year ago had made everyone realize that in any competition, there would always be people passing off fish eyes as pearls, filling the ranks with empty talent, opportunists who wanted to gamble on luck to win some fame.

Under the shade of