Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World-Chapter 324

The stadium began to shift again.

While the crowd still buzzed from Michael's performance, the officials had already begun resetting the stage for the next group.

It was time for the next round.

Compared to the chaos and awe that had followed Michael's round, this one opened with little fanfare. The officials didn't even announce the start with the same energy.

A hundred numbers were soon called.

Soon, a hundred youths made their way down from the audience to the arena stage.

Most of them looked average.

Some looked impressive.

From his seat, Michael didn't watch with particular interest. He leaned back slightly, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded.

Renn, however, did glance toward the arena.

He was curious.

The next trial began shortly after.

The group of one hundred spread out across the now-familiar stone platform, their expressions a mix of nerves and excitement.

Compared to earlier stages, the atmosphere was quieter. No one dared act arrogant.

The gate embedded in the arena wall creaked open.

Ten wolves emerged.

They weren't particularly different—roughly the same size and ferocity as those from earlier trials.

The participants, to their credit, responded well. Formations were formed almost immediately. Those who had grouped up huddled together tightly.

Within seconds, battle broke out.

Swords clashed against claw.A shield shattered from a brutal charge, but the defender held firm.

It was clean.

Efficient.

Almost… dull.

Even Renn, who had been watching closely at first, slowly leaned back in his seat.

His brow twitched slightly.

"No surprises this time," he muttered.

Michael didn't respond.

The third round ended quietly.

Twenty-two participants stood victorious, bloodied but upright, and for a brief moment, the crowd offered them polite applause.

There was no break.

No grand speech.

Only the efficient rhythm of a well-oiled examination moving toward its end.

"The final hundred."

A stir ran through the audience as the last group descended.

Like the rounds before it, this stage showed no sign of grandeur.

The one hundred contestants lined up quickly, some glancing nervously around, others determined to end strong.

The gate opened.

Ten wolves emerged again.

And just like the previous round, everything unfolded as expected.

Swords met teeth. Shields locked tight.

But there was one difference.

Unlike the earlier groups, this batch worked together surprisingly well.

Camaraderie.

That was the key here.

They weren't the strongest. They weren't the flashiest.

But they were organized.

And that alone made a world of difference.

They managed to endure for ten minutes straight before the middle aged man in blue descended to kill the wolves.

Though there was no excitement, there was something almost refreshing in the way this group worked. It was less a display of talent, and more a demonstration of cooperation.

Renn, slouched in his seat, gave a slight nod.

The trial was over.

Not a single participant had died or been severely wounded.

In total, thirty-six participants had qualified.

It was the largest successful group of the entire day.

The blue-robed middle-aged woman rose from her seat as murmurs swept the stadium.

She raised her hand, and the audience stilled.

Her voice echoed clear and sharp across the stone.

"With that," she said, "the fourth and final wave of this trial has come to an end."

She paused for a moment, then continued.

"From the final wave, thirty-six participants have qualified for the next round, bringing our total count of successful candidates to eighty-eight."

A beat.

The crowd murmured louder now. Some were surprised by the number. Others pleased.

But the woman wasn't finished.

He raised a second hand, tapping the badge on his chest. The spell formation glowed.

"In addition," he announced, "thirty-three participants, who were luckily exempt from today's stage, will also be joining the next phase."

Another ripple of gasps spread through the crowd.

The middle-aged woman's gaze swept the arena as she concluded

"In total, one hundred and twenty-one participants will advance to the next trial."

She paused, then added with finality.

"Tomorrow morning—at sunrise—the next stage will begin. Those who pass that… will have truly earned a place in the Duke's attention."

With that, the trial stage officially closed.

Participants began leaving the arena.

But in the upper seats, Michael hadn't moved.

Neither had Renn.

They sat in silence.

"Eighty-eight," Renn said slowly. "Plus thirty-three."

He let the number hang in the air.

"One hundred and twenty-one competitors."

Michael gave no reply.

Renn looked at him sideways. "That's a lot of people to beat."

Michael finally stirred, his voice quiet.

"Not really."

And just like that, Renn grinned.

"Perhaps."

As the crowd thinned and the stage dimmed beneath the setting sun, Michael found himself lost in thought.

One hundred and twenty-one participants.

That was the number that would proceed.

It sounded large, but he wasn't concerned—not about numbers. No, what tugged at his mind was something else entirely.

The Duke's attention.

That was the goal of this competition. That, and something more.

The Duke's daughter.

One of the announced prizes was her hand in marriage.

This was the goal for some, and perhaps, for most.

It wasn't subtle. It had been made public long before the trials began.

But now that he thought about it…

Why hadn't any true noble heirs shown up?

Not a single one among the trialists today had worn a house crest worth remembering. No one had arrived with fanfare. No bodyguards. No banners. No distant cousins of a Marquis announcing their bloodline.

Michael's brows furrowed.

It didn't make sense.

Even with the risk involved, surely some noble sons would have tried to compete. The chance to marry into the Duke's lineage, to gain power, wealth, legitimacy—it was the kind of opportunity that should've drawn them like moths to flame.

So… why were they absent?

His eyes drifted across the rows of participants still filtering out of the stadium.

What's happening, he thought. Or perhaps, were they part of the exempt thirty-three?

Such a move would be dirty, but the duke's competition, the duke's rules.

That seemed possible. Even likely.

Still, it gnawed at him.

He didn't know that one such noble heir sat right across from him.

He couldn't be blamed. Nothing about Renn screamed privilege. Not his clothes, not his posture—certainly not that wooden sword at his waist.

But even if the nobles had been quiet today, Michael had a feeling…..

Tomorrow, he thought.

If not then, soon.

As long as the competition continued, truths would surface.

This trial was just a formality.

From one angle, that was all today had been.

The real trial… hadn't even started yet.