As Jerren's command to begin reached everyone's ears, the entire arena erupted. Not a single warrior taking part in the Combat Festival stood there blankly, unsure of what was happening. The spectators craned their necks, unwilling to miss a single thrilling moment.
A melee was a melee-a fight with no rules, of course. They could fight alone or form groups; all that mattered was that fourteen people remained at the end. There were only so many places, and they had to hurry to secure one.
Zhao Si was particularly slippery at this moment. He was no invincible powerhouse like Godfrey, and he certainly would not stand in front of the crowd in the middle of the arena. With his puny build, making himself that conspicuous would get him eaten alive.
That was why he had entered last. Now he stood with his back against the wall, guarding against attacks from behind. His eyes swept left and right as he watched and listened in every direction, making sure no one got the jump on him.
He had been onto the battlefield with Bagralim, after all. Beneath Castle Morne, they had each taken on half the Demi-Human Chiefs. That was valuable experience in fighting multiple opponents. There was also what he had gone through at Windmill Village, where he and Bagralim had effectively surrounded the crazed villagers, splitting the mob between them.
Now Zhao Si was alone and without support, and he had to conserve his stamina. Naturally, he could not rush recklessly into the fray and get tangled up with these people. That could easily be the end of him. After all, the Grand Melee would be followed by a round that whittled fourteen down to eight. This was turning into a rally race, testing every aspect of a warrior's abilities.