Chapter 308

Chapter 308: Ranking Challenge

Since the battle with the Magic Griffin warship, the fourth prince was no longer just an arrogant and elegant royal. Setbacks and bloodshed had smoothed his edges, while ruthless victories forged his confidence.

Now, Reinhardt had become a true warrior. Midi believed this man would surpass his elder brother and claim the Empire’s throne when they returned to Arad.

Though all twenty opponents before them were at least level 58, Reinhardt saw nothing remarkable among them.

Or perhaps spending too much time with Midi—that monstrous talent—had naturally raised his standards.

But Reinhardt wasn’t just a warrior. As a ruler, he clearly understood Midi’s strategic layouts. Humiliating Blood Purification in this small ranking challenge could jeopardize future cooperation. So Reinhardt made no showy moves, simply selecting the fifteenth-ranked opponent.

“Think I’m weak?” The level 59 psionicist scowled as his companions laughed.

“Pretty boy, let me show you what I’ve got!” The embarrassed psionicist roared, launching his attack.

Yet against the level 56 Reinhardt, every strike teemed with flaws.

One domineering sword slash forced the psionicist back. Reinhardt pressed forward relentlessly, driving his opponent into the arena’s corner before resting his blade against the man’s throat.

“I… yield,” the psionicist stammered.

Within moments, Reinhardt claimed fifteenth place and the Mind Maze qualification.

“I’ll pick a magic user for fun,” Wiseman declared, rubbing his hands as he chose the eighth-ranked Ice Mage—level 61.

“Don’t kill him,” Midi warned, eyeing Wiseman nervously.

“Relax, I know restraint. Mercy’s a skill too.” Wiseman waved dismissively.

“You dare mock me?!” The Ice Mage nearly choked on his rage.

Upon entering the arena, the Ice Mage unleashed his Great Move. The battlefield froze instantly into an icy hellscape.

But black tendrils of corruption soon stained the transparent ice walls.

Wiseman summoned countless undead from below, an unstoppable tide crashing toward his foe.

Though ice walls blocked physical attacks well, they proved useless against spectral undead. The Ice Mage fell within seconds, shredded and barely breathing.

Seeing their comrade’s state, many Blood Purification elites burned with anger. More hid their earlier disdain, watching the four newcomers warily.

“Too easy.” Wiseman lounged in the eighth seat, shooting Midi a sly look. “Why not go for first place?”

Midi nearly spat blood. This troublemaker wasn’t content being arrogant alone—he had to drag others into it too.

As Wiseman spoke, Midi felt a hostile stare pierce him from the stands.

A pale, long-haired youth sat there, features cold as death, shrouded in ghostly aura.

This was Blood Purification’s top elite: Sandur, the level 63 Ghost Cry.

“Senior Brother Sandur…” A beautiful woman beside him glanced anxiously at Midi.

Wiseman’s crushing victory had erased all underestimation. Now their apparent leader might challenge Sandur—and as his junior sister, she couldn’t suppress her unease.

"He’s just a level 54 Ghost Cry. Though it seems he’s picked up some Sword Soul techniques, he’s no match for me. Don’t worry, Junior Sister Shelly—if he dares challenge me, I’ll give him a real taste of being swarmed by vengeful spirits!" Sandur scoffed, his eyes glinting with confidence.

He brimmed with self-assurance. As Judge Marcel’s top disciple and a rare Perfect Awakened One, he knew even rough treatment of these Lower Realm outsiders wouldn’t land him in trouble. Arrogance radiated from his every gesture.

Truth be told, Sandur secretly hoped Midi would challenge him.

Avril’s striking beauty and confirmed lineage from the true god Leslie Behrens had stirred the dark elf’s interest. Yet she clung to Midi with obvious affection, fueling Sandur’s jealousy.

Winning Avril’s favor meant both claiming the beauty and securing his path to becoming the next Ruler. For that prize alone, he’d gladly crush Midi.

But Midi ignored the provocation, casually selecting a psionicist ranked fourteenth.

Three strikes later, the psionicist lay unconscious from a sword hilt blow.

With Avril and Midi’s group securing Mind Maze qualifications without clashing with Blood Purification’s elite members, everyone seemed satisfied—except Sandur.

That fourteenth-ranked weakling couldn’t withstand five moves against him! Letting Midi claim such an easy victory gnawed at the top seed’s pride.

A sly idea struck him.

"Junior Sister Shelly," Sandur whispered, "fetch Bister. Tell him there’s a Mind Maze slot up for grabs."

As the High Ranking Judge finalized the roster, a red-haired mountain of muscle shoved past guards into the arena.

"Bister! Explain this intrusion!" The High Ranking Judge’s brow furrowed.

"Challenging!" The Berserker’s voice boomed. "Gave my spot to the Holy Maiden fair enough—but I’ll just take someone else’s!"

"Preposterous!"

Bister’s brute strength had earned him top twenty status despite pathetic mind resistance. The temples had jumped at replacing him with Avril—but none expected this bold defiance.

The High Ranking Judge drew breath to rebuke him when Sandur’s icy voice cut through:

"Why waste our Blood Purification slots on Lower Realm humans? Let the Berserker try his luck." He shot Midi a taunting glance.

Though suspicious, the High Ranking Judge held his tongue—crossing Judge Marcel’s top disciple wasn’t worth protecting some human.

"Choose your target," Sandur nodded.

Bister’s gaze swept the crowd before locking onto black-haired Midi. "You! Young one with black eyes! Human—fight me!"

"Me?" Midi arched an eyebrow. He’d anticipated trouble since sensing Sandur’s hostility, but not this blatant aggression.

Avril sauntered over, catlike. "Show them what you’ve got."

"Try not to kill him by accident," Wiseman quipped, echoing Midi’s earlier words.

Midi grimaced. This confrontation could jeopardize future Cooperation with Blood Purification, yet his companions kept fanning the flames.

"When diplomacy fails," Reinhardt observed calmly, "the Delos Empire teaches us to command respect through power."

Midi sighed. "Seems that’s our only option."

Golden-Red Sword Lights flashed. Before spectators could blink, Midi stood center-stage, warm wind tousling his black hair. Starlight from the Star Ocean gleamed along his raised longsword.

"Big man," Midi said lightly, smiling at the Berserker. "Let me demonstrate real Ghost Swordsmanship."