The Competition Begins

The Grand Priest stood at the center of the platform and made a gesture, and the kneeling contestants all rose to their feet and returned to their own waiting areas.

"The tournament begins!"

At the Grand Priest's command, the contestants began searching for their targets like ants on a hot pan.

The tournament quickly erupted into battle. There were many contestants here, and every contestant had a number, ranging from one to fifty. It was an elimination format: anyone who conceded or fell off the platform would fail the selection. Two winners would be chosen—one as the primary God of Destruction, and one as the reserve God of Destruction.

Every single person here had physical techniques that could only be described as outrageous. Number Seven, Number Nine, and Number Ten stood out the most in particular. They were all disciples trained by the various angels. It could even be said that aside from those three, everyone else was just there to make up the numbers.

Grand Zeno and the Grand Priest did not know their names, only their numbers. Whoever won would earn the right to have Grand Zeno and the Grand Priest know their name, as well as gain the power of destruction on top of their original foundation.

As the battle went on, many contestants were knocked off the platform one after another. There were still more than twenty contestants left on the field. Some had teamed up, some took the chance to find places to hide their auras and reap the benefits while others fought, and some simply kept their heads down and worked hard.

Of course, the three contestants mentioned earlier had nothing to do with any of those three categories. They were the kind who fought many opponents alone.

Number Nine's fighting style was relatively conservative. After fighting, he would enter a domain of his own to rest. Time in that space would come to a standstill while the outside world remained unchanged, just like the Hyperbolic Time Chamber. But this fighting style also meant he was indirectly burying his own path to becoming a God of Destruction.

Number Ten's fighting style was the fiercest. After all, the energy he possessed was Bloodlust Power, which meant he could recover while fighting. Goku watched him. He was like a berserker, not knowing fatigue. After all, someone who could recover while fighting was the hardest to deal with, and he was the top choice to become a God of Destruction. He could give up unnecessary rest time and finish his work as quickly as possible.

Number Seven was different. Number Seven had the strongest combat power and the highest intelligence among these fifty people. His body did not possess infinite stamina, but it was basically close. He could use his own energy to create many clones, first using the clones to wear opponents down, then sending in his main body to reap the harvest at the end.

Just like that, the three of them used their own fighting styles all the way through, cutting down those weak opponents. Up on the platform, Grand Zeno and Goku watched with great interest. After all, this style of battle was clearly different from the Tournament of Power.

There was a time limit. The Grand Priest had set the time at six hours to eliminate all opponents. In principle, this also prevented those overly weak opponents from constantly looking for places to rest.

"Goku, look at this person!"

Grand Zeno excitedly pointed at contestant Number Seven.

Goku looked at the few contestants remaining on the platform.

This contestant, Number Seven, used his clones to perfection. The first opponents he faced were Number Twenty-Two and Number Eleven. He split his energy into two portions by himself, and each clone possessed all the strength of his main body.

"Phantom Dream Fist!"

As Number Seven said those words, the clones did not slack off in the slightest. Blue-purple energy gathered around every clone, while Number Twenty-Two and Number Eleven both assumed defensive stances.

The clones sank into the ground one after another, leaving only the two contestants standing there in a daze. The instant they lowered their hands, Number Seven suddenly emerged from behind them. Number Twenty-Two had no time to defend before that strike, the Phantom Dream Fist, smashed viciously into the weakest part of his back.

After being hit, Number Twenty-Two abruptly turned back and tried to counterattack, but he discovered that his body would not move no matter what, as if he had been fixed in place. At that moment, Number Seven smiled at him, then gathered his strength and kicked him out of bounds.

Number Eleven was also knocked down by Number Seven using the same method.

The Grand Priest announced the time precisely: "There is one hour remaining. Contestants, please make your final preparations!"

There were only the last five contestants left on the platform.