I Would Like to Ask Mr. Situ for Guidance

The roar of the crowd rose wave after wave, each louder than the last. The nobles seated in the front rows, the aristocratic ladies in lavish gowns and jewels who normally put on airs even when speaking, were all red-faced now, shouting at the top of their lungs. The commoners standing in the back rows, the workers and farmers in rough cloth with calluses covering their hands, all raised their fists and roared.

In this twisted nation, this nation that worshipped duels and individual might, Situ Xuan's actions had somehow won him a strange group of supporters. He killed Tang Sect disciples, and they cheered. He crippled people's cultivation, and they applauded. He severed people's limbs, and they celebrated.

Not because they were evil, but because they worshipped the strong.

In their world, there was no right or wrong, only strength and weakness. Strength was justice, and victory was truth. Situ Xuan was the strongest among the final sixteen, so he was worthy of worship.

Fang Er raised her hand and pointed toward the enormous soul tool screen at the center of the arena.

"The drawing begins—!"

Sixteen names began to scroll across the screen. They moved so quickly that the naked eye could see only streaks of afterimages, names overlapping names until no one could tell them apart.

Everyone held their breath.

In the waiting area, sixteen pairs of eyes stared fixedly at the screen.

Sixteen people, sixteen different thoughts.

Some prayed not to draw Situ Xuan. Some prayed for an easy opponent. Some prayed that no matter whom they drew, they would win. Only one person's thoughts were utterly pure.

Situ Xuan leaned against the back of his chair, his eyes half-open, a faint smile lingering at the corners of his lips. He did not care whom he