"You? What kind of good sword could a god like you take out? Don't tell me it was just forged by ordinary Dwarves, and you couldn't even afford to invite a divine dwarven blacksmith?" Beckleisbin's face was full of disdain. Clearly, he really had not watched Nalant's earlier matches.
But that was only normal. A main god's third-generation young master like him—when would he have the time to keep watch in the arena and view the matches like Nalant and the others?
Once his match was over, he immediately went off comfortably to rest in his carriage. After all, this was a divisional arena; there were no private boxes for him to rest in.
So he had perfectly missed Nalant's earlier arena battles.
"Heh, Lord Beckleisbin, you're truly wrong about that. Although I don't know who forged this longsword, or whether it was a dwarven god, it is a main-god sword!"
"If you don't believe me, you can ask every spectator god at the edge of the field!"
Nalant deliberately raised his voice and pointed toward the surrounding stands.
The next moment, a response immediately rose from the spectator stands. Cries of "main-god sword, main-god sword" rang throughout the entire field.
Of course, the spectators' voices could not reach inside the protective barrier, but from the shapes of their mouths, it was still very easy to tell.
Beckleisbin immediately revealed a shocked expression, his gaze toward Nalant's longsword filled with gravity. If Nalant's longsword truly was a main-god sword, then this battle would be a little more troublesome than he had expected.
However, it was only a little more troublesome. "Hmph, even if what you hold is a main-god sword, your strength is too weak. You still aren't my opponent."
"Come on, boy. Let me teach you a proper lesson!