"Interesting."
Xiang Bei was a tall, powerfully built young man. He wore an ornate black-and-gold martial uniform, stretched taut over his muscles.
He always held his head high, pride spilling from his Double Pupil.
Of the eight finalists, five were prodigies from hegemonic nations.
That meant at least two of them would clash before the semifinals.
Qi and Chu had drawn the unlucky matchup.
The other three prodigies from hegemonic nations had all drawn opponents from outside those nations.
Deng Qi of Mu faced Xie Ai of Snow.
Huang Sheli of Jing faced Chu Min of Xia.
Qin Zhizhen of Qin faced Beigong Ke of Yong.
Xiang Bei had undoubtedly drawn a bad lot. But all he said was, "Interesting."
The saying that "the strong are blessed with good fortune" really meant that true power could withstand any risk. Even in the midst of misfortune, the strong could rely on their strength to win a good outcome.
And then misfortune would no longer be misfortune.
Xiang Bei was undoubtedly a man of immense confidence. After seeing the matchups, he stepped onto the Martial Practice Platform in a single stride.
He stood with lowered eyes, expressionless.
From beginning to end, he didn't so much as glance at Jiang Wang.
One could certainly call him arrogant.
But he wasn't singling out Jiang Wang. He was always like this.
He'd looked down on the selection trials for the Inner Palace Arena at the Yellow River Assembly, and back in Chu, he was renowned for his arrogance.
During Chu's internal competition, he'd personally defeated Zuo Guangshu and said:
"I have three great regrets. First, I regret not being born nine hundred years earlier, so I could have met Huang Weizhen. Second, I regret the crushing defeat at River Valley, and the cries of grief