Chapter Ninety: The Grand Chicken-Eating Contest

After a series of events, the Hunter Tournament finally entered its third day. At eight in the morning, a resounding bell tolled from atop Star City, its echoes spreading throughout the entire City of Fantasia. On this day, nearly everyone rose early and hurried toward Star City. By half past eight, the passageways to Star City were sealed, and the City of Fantasia closed its links.

“All citizens heading to Star City to watch the Direct Squad ranking match, please note: due to the overwhelming number of attendees, Star City is at full capacity. The passages are now closed. Those who have not arrived in time, please proceed to your district’s central plaza, where we will broadcast the event live.” As the announcement ended, a wave of disappointed sighs swept through the crowd, but they left the Star City passages in an orderly fashion.

Countless airships appeared in the sky, densely packed and covering the heavens, all bearing witness to this moment: the great clash of the Direct Squads of the City of Fantasia’s Hunting Corps!

Five tenth-level powerhouses, more than a hundred ninth-levels, and an uncountable number of seventh and eighth-level fighters—the Direct Squads had gathered nearly all the strongest hunters. This was a battle among kings, a contest to determine the mightiest of Fantasia.

Upon Star City, where once skyscrapers stood, a grand platform had somehow risen, now floating in midair like a massive ship docked among the high-rises. Surrounding it, tier upon tier of floating spectator stands flew in, casting the area into shadow.

When the clock struck eight fifty, the distant chime sounded again, and Vladimir appeared atop the floating platform. Smiling faintly, he gazed skyward at the countless flying stands, nodded approvingly, and instantly, all beams of light converged upon him.

“Welcome, everyone, to Star City. I am Chairman Vladimir, Supreme Commander of the Hunting Corps.”

“Hunting Corps! Hunting Corps! Hunting Corps!” The slogan rolled across the heights in neat waves, passing ever outward. Still smiling, Vladimir raised a hand, calling for silence.

“I trust all hunters have already felt the allure of the Tournament these past two days,” he began. “But today will be no less passionate. Today is the day of the Direct Squad ranking battle. Friends, is your favored squad among them? Shout their names with all your might!”

With Vladimir’s words, the air above Star City erupted like a boiling cauldron. Everyone was cheering.

“Godslayers!”

“Judgement! You’re the best!”

“Silver Flash! We’ll always support you!”

The cheers rose and fell, every squad with its supporters—except for Xie Liu’s Misfortune Squad. Not a single person cheered for them, nor did anyone notice their existence.

Xie Liu stood in the lounge, watching the jubilant crowds outside. He turned away from the sky, facing his teammates. At that moment, they all stood together, the atmosphere thick with silence.

“We are the forgotten ones,” Xie Liu spoke. “We can only live in the shadows. Our existence is dispensable.”

“Because we’ve already been ground into the dust.”

“And so, we have nothing left to lose.”

“We’ve tasted mockery and humiliation to the fullest.”

“But we still have our lives. We still have our hands. We still have our swords.”

“That’s enough.” Xie Liu took the lollipop from his mouth. “Lin Yang, you’re the captain. Give the order.”

Lin Yang nodded. “Let’s go.” The five of them, along with Ye Ling, left the lounge.

Seventeen squads entered the arena through seventeen entrances. Except for Misfortune and Silver Flash, all the squads were large—some with forty or fifty members, while the Azure Dragon Squad boasted over five hundred. As they emerged in long, orderly columns, their steps were unified, their presence overwhelming.

“Is having a lot of people really so impressive?” Xie Liu muttered, glancing around at the dense stands above, enough to trigger trypophobia.

Despite so many members, the Azure Dragon Squad filed in swiftly, and soon the arena was crowded to capacity.

“I’m glad to see our Direct Squads have grown in number since last year,” Vladimir announced. “According to my data, in the past year, seventy-six new comrades have joined the Direct Squads. Let’s welcome them.”

Thunderous applause followed, and Xie Liu and his companions smiled at Ye Ling.

“Now that everyone’s here, I’m sure you’re eager to learn about this year’s competition format. Don’t worry, you’ll find out soon enough.”

In the crowd, Ye Ling located Franny’s team, not far away, their numbers as sparse as her own—these two squads had become anomalies amid the throng. “Has the competition format changed this year?” she wondered aloud.

“You’re mistaken. It hasn’t changed—it never has a fixed format,” Gong Hou replied, smacking his lips. “The format is only revealed when the match begins, and it’s always different.”

“Why is that?” Ye Ling asked, puzzled.

Lin Yang interjected, “So we can’t prepare in advance. In battle, there’s no such thing as advance preparation.”

Ye Ling nodded in understanding. At that moment, Vladimir gestured toward the platform beneath his feet.

“This platform contains a simulated ecological environment. Soon, it will serve as our battlefield. Allow me to explain.”

“This platform uses spatial compression technology, shrinking its dimensions to a fraction of their original size. Within it lies a circular battlefield with a twenty-kilometer radius.”

“And this—” Vladimir waved his hand, and an enormous pool appeared on the virtual screen, filled with a milky, viscous substance. “This is one of Fantasia’s most advanced technologies, something we call the ‘External Unit.’”

“We can scan all the contestants, input their parameters here, and then—watch closely.” Onscreen, a researcher lay down in a pod-like device, electrodes attaching to various parts of his body as he drifted into sleep.

“Now, pay attention.” Vladimir shifted the image back to the pool. The once-still liquid began to churn, and soon, a humanoid figure climbed out—identical to the researcher in every detail, even his clothes.

“We can perfectly replicate a human body, then, through remote linkage, transfer your consciousness to control it. This body replicates your appearance, your physique, even your superpowers!” Vladimir gestured expansively. “This is a great invention. One day, we’ll no longer have to step onto the battlefield ourselves. One day, we won’t have to face mortal danger. Our superpowered warriors will become truly fearless.”

“At present, this technology is still immature—replicated bodies last only about three days. But for this competition, it’s ideal. Direct Squad members, you can fight without restraint, without worrying about casualties. Use every means at your disposal for a real battle to the death.”

“You are the Hunting Corps’ elite. You have no use for childish contests. Here, you may unleash your full potential. Now, the rules.”

“First, each squad may send only six people into the battlefield. Second, no weapons may be brought in; only one of three basic pieces of equipment may be chosen. Third, it is forbidden to attack contestants’ real bodies via the neural link—anyone who does will be disqualified.”

“Now, the format: First, after the match begins, contestants will airdrop at any location they choose. Second, weapons and equipment will be scattered throughout the battlefield, along with weapon parts for you to assemble as you wish. Third, new gear will be air-dropped at random intervals and locations, with a red flare marking the drop zone. Fourth, every two hours the safe zone shrinks—anyone outside is eliminated instantly. After ten shrinks, the zone stabilizes at a five-hundred-meter diameter. Finally, rankings are determined by elimination order—the first eliminated team is last, the second-to-last, and so on; the last team surviving is the champion. That is all. Prepare yourselves.”

“Huh? What kind of rules are these?” Ye Ling looked bewildered.

Xu Xiong shouted in surprise, “Wow, isn’t this just a battle royale? Are we supposed to play a superpowered battle royale?”

The others were also astonished, but the discipline of the Direct Squads quickly prevailed—within seconds, the commotion quieted. Vladimir’s voice rang out again: “Select your six contestants within ten minutes. The neural transfer devices are in the next room. Non-participants, please leave.”

With Vladimir’s instructions, the arena grew noisy once more, as squads debated who would compete. For teams with hundreds of members, choosing six was no simple task.

But for Xie Liu’s squad, there was no such dilemma. He glanced at Lin Yang and the others. “Looks like we don’t even have a choice—six people. Let’s do our best.”

Seventeen teams, six from each—a total of one hundred and two—would enter this virtual battlefield. There would be no mercy, no compassion, only cruelty and slaughter.

Though there would be no real death, the pain and terror before dying would be real—Vladimir had made that clear. It was not death, but it was close enough.

Xie Liu and his team had no way out. The moment they stepped onto the platform, they had placed everything on the line, with nothing left to lose. The six of them turned and walked toward the room at the rear. They saw Franny’s six emerge as well; for them, too, there was no other choice. The two teams looked at each other and nodded.

“Let’s go—time for the battlefield!”

“Yes! Good luck to us all!”

“Victory!”