"The next battle. The drawing of lots begins."
As the voice fell, everyone narrowed their eyes slightly.
As the battles continued, the number of people on both sides grew smaller and smaller.
There were pitifully few people left now. The next battle could practically be predicted.
"By my calculations, it should be my turn, right?"
Ye Lin opened his eyes, glanced at the number of people remaining, and thought to himself.
There were hardly any people left. By all calculations, it should be his turn, right?
If it still wasn't his turn, then there really was something wrong with this drawing of lots.
"The next battle, number four."
As the words fell, Ye Lin closed his eyes.
Number four.
He was number three.
Only one number apart.
The first, second, and fourth numbers had all been drawn. His alone had been skipped.
How boring. Truly boring.
Not the slightest bit interesting.
"It's finally my turn."
"I've been waiting here for so long, watching for so long. I'm suffering."
"Since I'm suffering, my enemy absolutely can't have it easy."
The next moment, a figure walked step by step toward the Arena.
It was a young man—a young man with a head of white hair.
In his right hand was a small bell.
The young man slowly walked out from the contestant area.
He was extremely tall, with a lean and upright figure, like a solitary stalk of bamboo standing in the cold wind.
His white hair was like frost and snow, completely free of any other color, falling from the crown of his head to his waist.
Every strand of hair emitted a faint silver-white luster, like ice crystals condensed in a thousand-year-old icy pool and drawn into fine threads, shimmering with a chilly halo beneath the light.
That white hair