Return of the Runebound Professor Chapter 873: The Tournament of Heaven's Path

Noah selected a seat by the expansive table near the window, settling in as the spectators gradually began to fill the tiered seating surrounding the colossal arena. He absently nibbled on some of the provisions Lee hadn't yet consumed while awaiting the tournament's commencement. The food, to his surprise, was remarkably palatable.

No one could accuse the Prophet of skimping on quality; even the complimentary fare was top-tier. The mechanism for the rope remained untested, but its allure grew with each passing moment. Despite the abundance of food, there was surprisingly little else to occupy the time.

Minutes stretched into an hour as the stands rapidly filled. Visitors poured in through portals that materialized around the seating areas, akin to oceanic waves engulfing a sandy shore. At this pace, the immense stadium would be at capacity in under two hours.

Noah observed them idly, his fingers tapping a rhythm on the table. A part of him speculated if any of his disciples were among the throng, yet he knew they weren't. All participants were situated in the competitor rooms elsewhere. There was always the slim possibility that some were absent entirely, but that was a thought he couldn't afford to entertain, as it opened a Pandora's box of questions he currently had no capacity to address.

His sole focus was on orchestrating the grandest spectacle possible, ensuring his people—regardless of their current whereabouts—would be compelled to acknowledge his reappearance.

Regrettably, his strategy for achieving this was only partially solidified. Overpowering mere Rank 5 mages was unlikely to generate significant buzz, irrespective of the method. He needed to contend with Rank 6 cultivators, and in a way that ignited conversation.

A way that would leave his disciples with no doubt as to his identity.

More time elapsed, the stands filling further until nearly every seat was occupied. The sheer volume of people was staggering, beyond Noah's comprehension. He had never attended an event of this magnitude before; the crowd seemed unending, stretching into an infinite expanse.

He surmised the arena must possess enchantments to mute extraneous noise, as the atmosphere remained remarkably tranquil despite the immense activity within the masses. Noah could detect nothing besides the crunching sounds of Lee finishing the last morsels of food—along with a few plates and all the silverware.

Then, a flicker at the edge of his vision caught Noah's notice. A subtle ripple of darkness at the periphery of his sight. He leaned forward, pressing his face against the crystal-clear window to gaze upwards. A modest stone platform, approximately three feet across, was descending from the sky.

It resembled a diminutive, inverted mountain, with sharp rock formations jutting downwards, encircled by shimmering runes in a peculiar imbuement pattern unfamiliar to Noah.

“Whoa,” Fist remarked, approaching the window beside Noah. The others in the room, noticing their attention, also gravitated towards the window to observe.

The platform continued its descent from the clouds, decelerating as it positioned itself directly above the arena. Its upper surface was perfectly flat, devoid of any embellishments. There were no railings or safety features, which seemed essential for a floating mass of rock. The only occupant of the platform was a man of small stature.

But what a man he was.

The initial feature that commanded Noah's attention was the man's mustache. It was luxuriously thick, almost immense, obscuring nearly half his face. The facial hair bore a striking resemblance to a pair of upside-down croissants affixed to the man’s features.

Yet, it appeared all his genetic fortune had been channeled into his mustache, as the remainder of his head was remarkably similar to a bowling ball: round, perfectly smooth, and entirely devoid of any superfluous hair, including a noticeably absent pair of eyebrows.

It took Noah a moment before he dared to let his gaze drift further. The middle-aged man was clad in white robes, accented with armor plating over his vital areas and a pair of substantial shoulder pauldrons. His attire struck a balance between the functional and the ceremonial, though it might have been considerably more imposing on a man twice his height and build.

“I think that dude snagged his dad’s armor,” Lee opined.

“That’s harsh,” Brayden commented. “You think they just didn’t have anything that fit him? Or maybe he’s a stand-in for the original competitor who had a last-minute emergency?”

“I’m leaning towards the latter,” Noah stated. “How does he even manage to walk with that weapon practically fused to his face? It’s enormous.”

“I don’t know,” Fist chimed in. “I think it looks rather fetching.”

“Are we talking about the clothes or the caterpillar?” Lee inquired.

“Both,” Fist responded.

Before any further words could be uttered, the sound of a man clearing his throat reverberated through the air. Noah almost leaped from his seat. It was not that the voice was loud. In fact, its volume was perfectly normal. The issue lay in its seemingly omnidirectional presence, emanating from every single direction simultaneously.

“Welcome, everyone. Kindly direct your gaze towards the arena's center,” the man on the platform announced, raising a hand. “My name is Baun. It is a genuine pleasure to be addressing you all here today.”

Then, the air above him began to shimmer. A colossal, luminous image materialized in the sky, directly above Baun. It was an exact, three-dimensional, and surprisingly solid-looking replica of himself. The projection mirrored Baun’s movements, waving to the assembled spectators as a smile graced his face beneath his mustache.

A low rumble vibrated through the stands. Although Noah could not perceive any sounds from the exterior, the sheer noise and unrest from the crowd were evidently potent enough to make the very ground tremble.

“Is that fellow well-known?” Brayden questioned.

“No idea,” Fist replied. “To be frank, we typically find ourselves in some remote dump on a mission. I don’t really follow modern celebrities or anything. Perhaps people are just eager for the tournament to commence.”

“The Tournament of Heaven’s Path was where I began my journey many years ago,” Baun stated, his voice still resonating from all directions at once. “Therefore, I am immensely honored to be one of the announcers this time around. I wish to commence by expressing my gratitude to Prophet Vivian for this distinction.”

“So, he’s not from the Coral Empire,” Brayden observed with a slight frown. “But wasn’t the last tournament held ages ago? That must make him ancient.”

Baun lowered his hands. “Without further ado, I would like to begin by outlining the rules for the initial rounds of the tournament. As I am certain you are all aware, a multitude of competitors have gathered here today. Each has invested considerable effort to reach this point… yet not all will advance. Every individual present is a formidable mage in their own right. However, sheer power is not always sufficient. The Tournament of Heaven’s Path aims to identify the most exceptional among the burgeoning talents.”

“It’s going to be a melee,” Brayden declared, crossing his arms over his chest. “That’s the only feasible way they can eliminate enough participants for this event to conclude within a month.”

“The first round will, naturally, involve a group battle,” Baun elaborated. He turned in a slow circle, causing the immense projection of himself to rotate as well, its gaze sweeping across the entirety of the surrounding spectators. “There will be multiple sections for each group, given the sheer number of participants, even after dividing them among five arenas.”

“Now, it is crucial to understand that this initial stage will not be a typical group battle,” Baun continued. He stroked his mustache with both hands in a gesture remarkably reminiscent of attempting to start a stubborn lawnmower. “The diverse array of skills possessed by the mages here today is extensive. As such, we aim to ensure everyone has an opportunity to showcase the full extent of their abilities. This first round will yield one hundred victors from each section. Furthermore, once the combatants have descended into the arena, they will be afforded ten minutes for preparation before any engagement is permitted.”

Another tremor swept through the crowd.

Noah’s eyes narrowed as he grasped Baun’s underlying intention.

“It’s going to be a team fight,” Noah murmured. “That preparation time is intended for participants to strategize and form alliances, isn’t it? They’re emphasizing the political aspect, perhaps?”

“Politics breed drama,” Fist commented. “Makes sense to me. It allows you to identify potential allies in the crowd and band together. An interesting concept. I approve.”

Brayden cast a sideways glance at Noah. “What do you reckon the odds are…”

“Not high,” Noah asserted. He understood Brayden’s unspoken question. However, with an indeterminate number of groups for each tier, the probability of Lee being placed in the same battle as any of their students was exceedingly slim. It was entirely impossible for Noah and Brayden, as Rank 5 participants, to be in the same tier as Lee.

Moreover, Noah considered the specific setting of the first round. Their group were relative newcomers to the Coral Empire. This entire scenario significantly favored individuals who had arrived with substantial contingents or who had already established local affiliations. Anyone merely visiting for the tournament or who had not arrived with a large entourage would face a considerable disadvantage.

“The rules for this initial round are straightforward,” Braun proceeded to explain. “Combats will persist until participants are either knocked into unconsciousness, incapacitated from continuing the fight, or they choose to yield. A substantial contingent of healers stands prepared to attend to any grievous wounds sustained. The act of terminating an opponent is highly frowned upon and, should it be judged as an excessive exertion of force, will be met with severe repercussions. Keep this in mind, all combatants: this tournament serves as a stage to demonstrate your innate abilities and your inherent value. A significant portion of that value is represented by one’s honor. Moreover, any act of killing a combatant subsequent to their surrender will result in a penalty of death.”

“Now then,” Braun declared, a smile blooming beneath his mustache as if the sun were breaking through a cloudy sky, a subtle yet perilous gleam flashing within his eyes, “it is with great delight that I officially declare the commencement of the Tournament of Heaven’s Path!”