As the lineup of teams settled onto the field, a ripple of whispers moved through the crowd.
All eyes had turned upward—not just to the Supre Pontiff, but to the three figures standing behind the ornate golden balustrade.
Felicia's presence, though veiled, was impossible to conceal from the sharper eyes below. Her aura—subtle, yet unmistakably dangerous—leaked just enough to provoke unease. A few keen-eyed team leaders and seasoned elders in the audience shifted uncomfortably.
And then ca the second blow.
A referee stepped forward—clad not in the golden vestnts of Spirit Hall, but in silver-trimd robes symbolizing neutrality, the emblem of the Spirit Arena displayed prominently upon his chest.
He was not a Spirit Hall elder.
Dressed in the official white-and-gray robes of the Continental Spirit Tournant Commission, embroidered with its seal, he stood with the bearing of a senior adjudicator. His expression was calm, his voice projecting cleanly across the field through spirit-amplified sound.
"Before we begin the first round of matches," the referee announced, "there has been a change to the tournant structure."
A wave of murmurs swept through the assembled teams.
The referee continued.
"In light of the growing strength of spirit masters across the continent, the final phase of the Continental Elite Tournant will no longer follow a single-elimination format."
He let the words settle before adding,
"Instead—for the first ti—it will follow a Royal Rumble format. All teams will enter the arena simultaneously and fight together. The last two surviving teams will proceed to the Semi-final match."
"In simple terms," he said with crisp finality, "it will be a battlefield."
He paused before speaking again, his tone more asured now.
"But fret not. Due to the scale of the rumble, ten Titled Douluo will be overseeing the match from above. If any participant is in imdiate mortal danger, one of the Titled Douluo will intervene to save them. However, that rescue will also count as an elimination."
"The Royal Rumble will continue until only two students—each from a different academy—remain standing on the field."
A stunned silence followed.
And then the backlash erupted.
"WHAT?!"
"That was never announced!"
"Why weren't the rules disclosed in advance?!"
At the Shrek Academy section, Flender shot to his feet. "This is irregular!" he barked. "No such announcent was made during the qualifying stages!"
The Star Luo delegation looked equally incensed. One sect master rose, pointing a trembling finger toward the platform. "Why are we only hearing this now? Is Spirit Hall trying to rig the outco by preparing in advance?!"
Whispers, shouts, and angry voices surged like rising thunder.
Even the First Prince of Heaven Dou furrowed his brows, leaning in to exchange hushed words with his advisors.
In the midst of the uproar, the referee raised a hand once more.
"This change was decided upon by the tournant council and ratified by the host—Spirit Hall—one week prior."
The declaration only ignited further outrage.
Flas of suspicion flared higher.
"One week ago?! Then Spirit Hall's team already knew!"
"This gives them a massive advantage—!"
"This is a setup!"
The referee's expression tightened, but he maintained his composure.
"To clarify further," he said firmly, "the Royal Rumble will continue until only two teams remain. However, there will be no direct final match between those two yet."
He glanced across the field of teams, then raised his voice again.
"After the Royal Rumble, the surviving teams must face a special final stage: a battle against the Platinum Guard, Spirit Hall's elite representative squad. Only if they defeat the Guard will a team be permitted to challenge for the championship."
The uproar montarily faltered into silence.
And then it exploded with renewed force.
"This is madness!"
"They've given their team a guaranteed place in the finals!"
"This isn't a tournant anymore—it's a farce!"
"They've built a wall no one else knew existed!"
Just as the outcry reached its crescendo, a deep, resonant voice cut through the arena.
Michael stepped forward from behind Bibi Dong, descending a few steps to stand at the edge of the platform. His tone was calm, his presence sharp as winter steel.
"You are correct."
The arena froze.
Hundreds of eyes—students, teachers, nobles, sect leaders—snapped to him, filled with disbelief and fury.
Michael t their stares without flinching.
"That is exactly why," he said, his voice carrying without effort, "all team captains may now nominate one representative each. These chosen captains will form a temporary alliance… and face the Platinum Guard's captain alone."
He let the tension stretch.
"If you defeat him, Spirit Hall will open the final match to all surviving teams, in fair order. But if not…" his voice darkened slightly, "then one mber of your alliance will be eliminated imdiately, and the Royal Rumble will proceed as planned."
Gasps echoed across the field.
The pressure grew palpable.
"…So," Michael said, a faint smile tugging at his lips, "choose. Do you wish to challenge the Platinum Guard now… or return to the battlefield and fight amongst yourselves?"
The ten teams looked around uneasily. So captains exchanged glances of uncertainty. Others clenched their fists in quiet frustration.
The ssage was unmistakable.
You want fairness? Then fight for it.
Beside the Shrek team, Grandmaster stood quietly, his gaze sharp and contemplative.
At last, he spoke the question that had begun to take root in everyone's mind.
"If we may ask… who is the captain of the Platinum Guard?"
A wave of anticipation swept across the crowd.
Michael didn't hesitate. He stepped forward again, eting Grandmaster's gaze without flinching.
"You're looking at him."
A stunned hush fell over the stadium.
Then Michael's voice rang out, cold and absolute.
"You may all form a team—your best, your captains, your elites. Ten against one. I will stand alone."
"If you defeat here and now, then congratulations. Your alliance shall be declared the finalist, and the rest will have to challenge you to claim the championship."
He paused, his presence like the edge of a drawn blade.
"But… if you lose," he said, softly now, "one of your own will be eliminated, and the Royal Rumble will proceed."
He raised his arms in a loose, almost casual gesture, the faint curve of his smile returning.
"So then… who among you dares?"
*******
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