Eternal Emerald Dragon

Chapter 1467 - 1466 - Old Sword

"COME ON! It has to be rigged!" The voice cut through the rumble of the tavern but all simply ignored him. The reason being that the process to choose the teams as well as the client they matched up with was done live.

It was not the Harmonic Dragons or anyone related to them drawing either. It was also random representatives from across the 4th layer.

They had gone that far exactly to avoid any possibility of impropriety. So such exclamations were useless.

Even more so after the fight with one of his wives. His injuries were seen live by the entire audience which included quite a few Sovereign Tiers. Their eyes could not be deceived.

Further, the current contest revealed how deep those injuries still lingered. Previously, Lind Frey had Forged a fantastic item to the limit of his ability but the team effort should have been easy.

At the very least, a mid Law Grade item was not made solely by his effort, yet he seemed more exhausted than the last round.

The other Forgers were tired but not anywhere near his level.

"You have to admit it! This is being run by that dragon! He could be rigging it so certain people win this tournament and get the slots to cultivate here!" One of the key prizes for the Radiant and Sovereign Tiers was the chance to cultivate in the amazing environment of the Throne for the next 2000 years.

The elemental power and Laws aside, there was something in the Throne of Defiance that broke bottlenecks unlike anything else!

Despite how long it sounded, 2000 years was but a week to an Immortal. Still, the benefits of such a short time were clear to all.

The champion to 3rd place in the Heaven Realm combat had proven how effective just being in the Throne could be.

Becoming an Immortal was easier in the 4th layer but not that easy!

The argument went back and forth but the dark gray hooded man at the bar simply nursed the ale in his hand. It felt odd to see brand new mugs when most taverns or inns simply existed for centuries with well worn items.

The shine on the bar and tables was still clear and it was a bit off putting to see everything new.

The man nursing the ale smirked out of sight at the fools around him. As he turned to look at the next battle in the Crystal Tier ranking battles, he revealed a rather plain sword with a frayed and cracked scabbard.

His movements were smooth and well practiced, but why was his scabbard in such bad shape? Anyone with a sharp eye would have that question but no one in that bar was able to spare such a glance.

He wove through the crowd and found a table with a single man passed out on it. The drool showed the man had clearly drunk enough to be out for some time.

The man ensured he had no problematic emblem or other indicator of future issues before claiming an open seat. He then down some of the ale as 2 sword cultivators began their battle.

The flicker of metal on metal was hard for most to follow without the tools of the display. The man had no need as a smirk crossed his craggy features.

"Not bad for such young Immortals but they are far from making it to the finals with such skill. Not the point of it all anyway." He sipped as he continued to enjoy seeing the young play at being experts.

"Huh? You think with such a ratty sword you are better than those 2?" A very drunken voice spoke from across the table. The passed out man was still gone but a person with similar quality clothing had taken an open seat.

"Pardon, I did not mean to take a seat if this table is occupied." The man went to stand up but the new drunk slammed his hand on the cloaked man's arm. A sigh left him as he looked at the flushed cheeks of the slim man holding him.

"We are all that was here but you are not leaving like a coward!" If the man had not been so drunk, he would have felt the shift in the air. As it was, many patrons in the bar suddenly became guarded but they could not locate the source of danger.

"Boy, I am willing to let that last comment slide if you let me go now." The cloaked man said nothing else but the drunk sneered at him.

"Don't threaten me! No one can fight here! You know what will happen!" The words were true but inaccurate. No battles were allowed at all, but there was nothing about striking a fool once.

The drunk seemed to forget that battle was not an all encompassing word.

Still, keeping the peace was wiser.

"I am not a fool nor a coward, but if you do not let me go, I will show you that judging someone based on their weapons is a very unwise way to live." The words were now cold but the drunk only smiled wider as his scruffy face became very punchable.

With a sigh, the cloaked figure merely pulled his hood back and the pressure he exuded made the entire bar go silent.

His gray hair was neatly tied back with a leather wrap and his wrinkled visage had several small scars but it was his eyes that made the room shiver.

They were steel. The steel of swords!

"S–s–senior! Please restrain your aura!" Several people nearby were struggling to stay upright and most of the bar was already on the floor. No one was harmed but the drunken man was now pale and blood leaked from his nose.

The old man was now free and when his sword was exposed, still in its sheath, they all felt the blade at their neck.

"That feeling you have right now? You should know that the 'ratty scabbard' is all that is holding it back. I have never found another that could do so. The person who made it is also long dead and none have matched their ability." His words were even and calm but the room shivered.

"P–p–please let me go…" The drunk was now trembling under the sword eyes.

"Tck, Old Sword, I will discipline this idiot. Please accept my apology." The previously passed out man stretched comfortably without a care but the cloaked man narrowed his dangerous eyes briefly before pulling his hood back up.

"Accepted." The danger left the bar but silence reigned as the man left. He made it to the street before the sound of a slap was heard clearly even outside the walls.

"Shameful for a Sovereign Tier to become so drunk but at least he knows his manners." Old Sword was one of his better known names. It referred to the blade at his hip more than him but the 2 of them were synonymous at that point.

[Lord Crom, the Harmonic Dragons sent a warning to our delegation about using aura as a threat against lower realms.] A message reached him and he only nodded. The person on the other side could not see that but his silence would be given as acceptance.

Crom was not a name either, but a title. It was given to the person closest to the secret of steel as it was called. The Divine Sword Sect did not know the origin any longer but the title endured.

The man had earned it when he got his sword eyes. No amount of sword intent would grant you that, but grasping the Dao of Steel in relation to the sword did.

His old name was dust by then anyway. No one alive remembered it. He felt the age in his bones but only a complete idiot would think that made him weak.

He sighed as none of them, not even his sect, got the true point of the tournament. They all thought it was about being the best and the prizes, but the method mattered in all aspects of it.

Death was not discouraged in the battle contests, but only in the manner as the course of the fight in the heat of the moment. In that sense, people were not wrong about survival needing to be the best, but the rest of it spoke to him as the Dao he touched on had.

Cooperative production contests, testing items with other cultivators, healing them, and even the benefits the audience had while there, all planted seeds.

Seeing the kinds of contests now would encourage certain kinds of training in the powers afterwards. They would want to win and because Sovereign Tiers were included, the resources would not be small!

However, the prizes won and the auctions held during the tournament would disperse high quality resources everywhere to some extent. The chaotic battles that had threatened the 4th layer so long ago that the suppression ward had been created could not repeat now.

He saw it clearly. Lind Frey did not make the tournament just to brag about his power and resources. He did it to capitalize on the one force few cultivators could resist: greed.

The desire to excel in the tournament would always be there, but knowing they had to be ready to cooperate with random partners in the same field or as a target, would make wars decline.

Some still would, it was impossible to completely suppress, but the scale would be much smaller.

Further, the rules all of them had to abide by in the Throne could demonstrate benefits to the same greed. The cost of simply cleaning up after vicious fights was well known to any auction house or power that held tournaments.

The penalties Lind Frey imposed were harsh but not unfair. Many powers would likely adopt similar measures to increase their own profits! Since the precedent had been set, they would now be able to point to such a fantastic tournament for future issues.

The end result was missed by most, he suspected, but some older monsters like him could see it. The era of isolated powers was going to be slowly eroded away. The Sovereign Lands, Hollow Lands, and Under Lands would have to begin to work together to prepare for the next tournament.

The 50,000 year interval seemed long to lower realms but to Immortals it felt far too short!

Crom moved through the throng and pondered his own next steps. He hoped to find someone to repair his scabbard as the sword inside was strong as ever but far too powerful to let loose casually.

In the coming era of cooperation, he saw many possibilities but it all hinged on the end results of the Immortal contests. If the bar accusations came to pass, then things would get messy but the fairness so far gave him hope.

His hard steel eyes saw a brighter future as he sought a new place to keep watching the battles to come.