The second round is undoubtedly the home turf of Bazatous’ followers.
They possess the most fervent faith in the Abyss, worshipping those nameless beings, even willing to offer themselves as bait to them.
Blind faith is the cause of death for Bazatous’ devotees.
Flor briefly reflected on past festivals he had participated in, "If you’re lucky enough to completely rid yourself of competitors in the first two rounds, the Master will reward your wisdom in the third round, where you can learn the truth of this world."
His gaze suddenly became solemn, as if a black flame, piercing through all mysteries, was burning in his dark pupils.
"The Chosen Ones, the rightful gods, the Old Gods, the Elemental Elves, and even the world itself..."
Flor’s voice seemed to merge with an echo from afar, "That is why you are here, isn’t it?"
Ethan didn’t respond. About ten seconds later, the flame in Flor’s eyes extinguished, as if he had lost the memory of a moment ago, and once again talked about the content of the third round, "This is the final trial of the festival, the situation is somewhat special, the only condition for victory is to eliminate the other two candidates."
Only one person can emerge alive from the festival, and he will be chosen by the Old Gods to become the ruler of the Abyss.
This rule has existed since the day this world was born.
"Mr. Ethan, I hope you become the ultimate winner."
Flor once again faced the brazier and closed his eyes.
In a few days, the Old Gods’ chosen ones will return from the cracks, and until then, he only needs to wait patiently.
"In any case, thank you for sharing."
For a moment, he seemed to hear the voice of Sincaro, Master of Demons.
This made the Wind Elemental slightly nervous, she raised her small hand, almost ready to strike Flor.
Everything for the festival must be ready, and before everything begins, there is an ancient and explosive segment. In Ethan’s words, it’s like a WWE exhibition match, where contestants often engage in a verbal battle before stepping onto the stage, creating some hype to heat up the atmosphere.
As a veteran bloodthirsty audience, Ethan understood such tradition well.
Whether it’s pre-match fan wars or post-match boomerang segments, they are always worth savoring, always bringing a knowing smile to people’s faces.
And this time, the festival was unprecedentedly grand due to the arrival of the Lindong Witch.
The Dream Erosion Elder Council even let out harsh words early, allowing Kaisaros and Sincaro’s followers to temporarily change candidates, randomly sending two worthless stand-ins to serve as scapegoats.
After all, the outcome of the festival is quite clear—everyone else is vying for second place.
There’s no difference between dying first or dying later.
Ethan heard from Echo about the Dream Erosion Elder Council celebrating halfway through, in his heart he criticized this "operating team" of Lindong for its unprofessionalism. No matter how the contest is, celebrating halfway is a taboo, as if some mysterious force in this world always unexpectedly strikes at those celebrating.
The War Council seemed to have been influenced by the Elder Council as well.
They were not to be outdone, immediately announcing that their candidate this time was "the strongest in history," bar none, even in front of Lindong Witch, he paled in comparison.
Echo specially came to ask for Ethan’s opinion on preparing some eye-catching publicity like "Empire Destruction Dragon."
Ethan naturally declined, leaving only the title "Shopkeeper."
He always adhered to the principle of seeking truth from facts. Though he was from the Empire, he never engaged in destruction.
The Lindong Witch and "strongest in history" hype pushed the festival’s atmosphere to its peak, and tonight marked an important night for the meeting of three sides before the festival began. As customary, the three top leaders would set up a lavish dinner to send off the three warriors at the entrance, while the residents of the underground city mostly gathered outside the banquet hall to catch a glimpse of the candidates.
Before departing, Ethan dialed the number for Lindong.
The Nightmare Witch had just finished dressing her, and Lindong’s uninterested tone became excited upon learning that Ethan was chosen as Sincaro’s candidate.
"Teacher, perhaps we should respect the festival atmosphere."
This is the Old Gods’ followers’ carnival, possibly only occurring once every few decades, and Ethan, as a guest, didn’t want to spoil the natives’ fun.
Luckily, he invented the telephone so they could arrange things before setting out.
He pondered, recalling those pre-match trash-talking segments he had seen before, unveiling his remarkable wisdom, "Teacher, do you know how to talk trash?"
The other end of the phone suddenly fell silent.
Lindong sat on the soft bed in the mansion, her brain rapidly processing, almost subconsciously tilting her head.
Which kind of trash talk were you referring to?
She kind of wanted to ask, but she quickly examined her impure thoughts.
Because Ethan is a serious person, and a serious person with a grand plan, how could he possibly make a call before heading to the banquet hall just to talk about such matters?
Lindong forced herself to return to a cold and pure state by pinching the back of her hand hard.
Isn’t it just talking trash?
Lindong responded, "I think I will."
"Then it’s settled, see you soon." ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ novel•fire.net