Liam had a bad feeling about this whole Matchmaker thing even before he saw his matching.
He had amazing battle prowess, but he didn’t know the extent of how far the Matchmaker could assess that.
He didn’t overestimate himself and put himself above the disciples of incredible martial art clans, but he was worried nevertheless.
…Still.
What he saw was plain stupid.
3 Death Lung disciples – Rank 3 cultivators, all of them – against him. Just him. No support or otherwise.
Apparently, the Matchmaker had decided that he was a little too dangerous, and that a numerical advantage was required to balance things out.
Instantly, everyone present shot Liam an incredulous look.
Especially Miasma Queen, whose blood-red eyes constricted with shock.
Three of her strongest disciples equaled him?
Impossible!
Just the implications vexed her.
“Jiang, I thought you were somewhat decent at inscriptions. You disappoint me,” Miasma Queen shot the Myriad a piercing glare.
“Redo it.”
Jiang, the Myriad Brush, responded with a similar look of disdain.
“It’s not my device that’s faulty. It’s your entire clan. Imagine using something as mundane as poison to fight.”
Miasma Queen cackled. “Yeah? Don’t you use a damn paint brush as a weapon?”
Both parties looked like they were ready to attack one another just then, but remembered they were in front of an audience.
Usan seemed to be thoroughly amused by the event. Even allowing a subtle smirk to appear on his face.
‘If I have Cursed by All powers, I wish death upon you all,’ Liam thought, seething inside.
Any efforts he had at keeping a low profile were pretty much shattered like glass.
Ilalians were already recording the historical tournament in writing form, intending to pass it over to their grandchildren, and this would no doubt be included.
[Don’t look so grim. Just make yourself as wounded as possible by the end of the fight so they think you’re at your limit,] Usan told Liam.
[Do you honestly think fighting three of them at the same time is easy?] Liam transmitted back, slightly annoyed.
[You’ve done better. Stop whining,] Usan replied. [They look like the type to get offended fast. Just rile them up before the fight, can’t you?]
Liam shook his head and sighed tiredly.
“Let’s get this over with,” Usan said to the rest. “My disciple has no issue with the current arrangements.”
Liam did. Very much so. But he couldn’t complain.
Miasma Queen stopped bickering with the Myriad by then, inhaling dense fumes of poisonous smoke to calm her nerves down.
In a way, this was also okay to her.
Getting rid of that pesky Temple disciple would be doing the country a favor, and she’d thoroughly rub it in their faces in the coming centuries.
“Fine,” she mumbled. A moment later, she gestured for two more disciples to appear beside her, a total of three.
Each one of them were young and had beautiful but dangerous appearances – glamorous long green hair, hooded, blood-red eyes with a vertical pupil, and paper-thin lips like that of a snake.
All three of them radiated a lethal aura. Which probably had something to do with the poison mist they naturally oozed.
“Cobra, Viper, Python,” Miasma Queen introduced the three, who cupped their hands to Liam in respect for the duel.
Liam responded in like fashion.
Neither of the parties meant it.
Cobra was the strongest, judging by the density of her green-and-purple poison and cultivation, and Python was the weakest.
“To the center of the battlefield,” Jiang said, as the remaining Seven started to spread apart and create space. .
Liam and the other three headed towards the center and stood two hundred steps away from each other.
“We wish for a fair duel,” Cobra said with a dangerous smile. Her fellow serpentine disciples imitated her look.
“I’m sure you do,” Liam responded emotionlessly.
“Just so you know, I’ve eaten snakes alive with their poison glands intact. If you get too close, I might lunge at your jugular. Not the first time either, now that I think about it. There was that one girl…”
Liam’s voice trailed off to a low murmur by the end of his words, as though he was speaking to himself.
The three felt a bit of fear rise in their chests. Liam saw it tainting their mental waves.
Fear was a tool. A damn good one, too.
“We’ll see,” said Viper eventually.
“Dictate your rules,” the Myriad said from above.
“You cannot hold your breath for more than one minute,” Cobra said.
“Too much,” the Myriad denied.
Cobra’s eye twitched with annoyance, but she fixed her dictation and repeated herself.
“Two minutes—”
“Too much,” the Myriad repeated. Cobra scowled, but recomposed herself.
“Fiv—”
“Too much.”
Liam almost smiled at her misfortune. At this point, he was sure the Myriad just enjoyed seeing people suffer.
But there was a logical explanation to that.
Liam could use a far harsher rule compared to the other three, and they couldn’t restrict him as much because of the numerical advantage they had.
After three more denials, Cobra grimaced with blushed cheeks and changed her rule altogether.
“Fine, fine! You cannot breathe in after you hold your breath. If you do, you lose.”
The Myriad didn’t reject it.
In reality, it was actually a very easy task.
Rank 4 bodies could hold their breath for entire days if they wanted to.
However, getting attacked and being forced to breathe was a different story.
It was Liam’s turn to think of a rule.
“One of you has to fight physically. The rest have to fight from a distance.”
Cobra had a smug look on her face, as though expecting the Myriad to firmly reject.
…But he didn’t, and their faces fell.
This essentially made whoever fought up close at a severe disadvantage. Nevertheless, it was three versus one.
“I know I’m late to this, but wanna fight to the death?” Liam casually asked the three.
“No,” all three responded in unison.
Oh well. Life threatening injuries would have to do for now.
Liam heaved a long breath and cracked his knuckles.
An Isolation Barrier was erected.
“Three.”
Liam heaved another breath and fixed his gaze with each of the three.
“Two.”
The three snakes readied themselves.
“One.”
Liam inhaled as much air as he could before shutting his mouth, circulating his lungs with ‘Ora’.
“Begin!”