Don't confiscate my identity as a human race

Chapter 330 - 317: Principal Lanci’s Master Teacher Enhancement Training_1

Gradually stepping out of the shadows, Shaar caused the previously noisy arena to quieten down significantly.

His peculiar allure, a blend of the sinister and the wild, led people to question if a different person stood before them.

"He should have awakened a lion-like bravery..."

If Shaar’s initial impression had to be described--

It would most resemble the corrupted commander of the Demon King’s Special Slaughter Troops.

His dark, double-layered, bloodstained leather armor clinging close to his skin inside, and wide on the outside with long, cloak-like sleeves, with a scarf-like collar covering his mouth and chin.

In his left hand he held an umbrella, casually propped upon his shoulder, while several dagger-like blades surfaced in the fingers of his right hand.

For a moment, the only sounds emanating from the arena were people swallowing saliva. It was as if a primal fear had awakened within them, stirred by something on Shaar’s person, something even the terrifying specters from the Northern Panic did not possess.

"Shaar!"

Viscount Levin Chinston rose from his seat, gripping the supporting rail. From his slightly unstable viewpoint, the entire coliseum seemed to have its color scheme inverted. All fell silent, with only a faint whisper of chatter indicating that time was still passing.

However.

The figure in the deep red cloak seemed unaffected by the call. Or he might have heard it but was unable to respond; perhaps his heart had already hardened like black iron, allowing him to continue walking forward.

Viscount Levin Chinston was left standing, staring blankly at the stranger’s back who was moving further and further away until he stepped onto the stage.

Underneath the overwhelming bloodshed and the air of killing, he was burdened with undeniable sins. The once pure and brave boy now stood in a pool of murky blood.

God only knows how many people he’d killed in the past few days to acquire such a horrifying and tangible murderous aura. This wasn’t something that years of meticulous training could produce. It could only be attained by constantly treading the line between life and death, built upon the stacked bodies of the deceased!

Viscount Levin Chinston, who had experienced the battlefield, knew this all too well.

On the ground.

On the other side of the arena, atop the clean, white, shining marble floor, waited the Young Master of Viscount Dean Bonn. He narrowed his eyes slightly before snorting dismissively.

"Heh, are you primping? You might actually look good in a dress."

Dean gave a pitying laugh.

If outright intimidation was effective, the Protoss Royal Magic Academy should have opened their doors to Shaar long ago. A low-ranked assassin like him could never compete with a traditionally-trained warrior like Dean.

This irreparable gap was formed by the power and resources bestowed upon an orthodox education and training, unlike the crooked methods of others.

"..."

Shaar made his slow ascent onto the stage, a hint of a smirk on his lips as he seemingly laid his eyes solely on a pig, awaiting butchery. Ignoring Dean, he stood like a well-trained footsoldier patiently awaiting his orders for slaughter.

Dean’s eyes steadily grew colder as he flexed his hand.

As if any slight movement from either side would trigger an intense battle like a storm.

"The match——begins!"

The commander of the Knights of Chinston City State, as the referee, cut through this brief silence with a shout, and the battle was ready to begin!

Shaar, who was expected to adopt a roaming strategy, did not consider his assassin role at all. He kicked off the fight with a direct charge like a starving beast, even the white mist spilling from the corners of his mouth between breaths seemed to be filled with a deep desire for bloodshed!

Viscount Dean, who was standing opposite him, hesitated for a moment because of Shaar’s initiative to attack, but a smirk quickly emerged at the corner of his mouth. A low-order assassin daring to challenge him, a warrior, face-to-face just made things a lot easier.

Thus, the sparks of clashing weapons erupted in the center of the ring, spreading out in a humming wave of sound, making viewers far up in the stands sit up in anticipation, their eyes wide open. The fight started faster than they expected and immediately intensified.

Both sides were driven by some sort of primal force and began to fight against each other without yielding!

For Dean, it was more like wrestling.

And for Shaar, it was more like a bloody fight.

Shaar, who was obviously weaker in strength and stamina, seemed to have lost his sense of pain. He wore a mad smile on his lips and yearned to cut flesh off Dean’s body. The fight seemed free of any fear to him and was like pure enjoyment!

Dean felt a little creeped out. Shaar seemed to have no regard for the rules of the match, he just wanted to kill him from the start!

Moreover, compared to Dean, who harbored ill intent and a murderous heart, Shaar’s intent to kill was purer by a hundred times. He was here to fight to the death, and he wouldn’t stop until he was dead.

"Don’t get too carried away!"

Dean couldn’t help but roar in anger. Gritting his teeth, he once again engaged in battle. Having been momentarily suppressed in terms of spirit, he felt even more enraged.

After all, he was stronger, and if he continued to fight like this, Shaar would soon lose.

The test was bloodier than the audience had expected, and before long, the white marble floor was quickly stained with blood, becoming mottled and unappealing. There was no spectacle, only horror.

This kind of cruel fighting method of defying the odds, not fearing death, seemed to be a presentation of the will of the Demon King’s Army.

Only those who had experienced that brutal holy war in the past would be left with a deep-seated impression.

"There is an ancient saying in the Demon World... ’only by passing the threshold of life and death can one become a real warrior of the Demon World’..."

"Could it be that the Demon King’s Special Slaughter Troops in those images we saw earlier lacked a bit of madness..."

Such voices appeared in the stands.

Even if they didn’t quite understand how the Demon Race suddenly came to mind at this moment.

But now.

Looking at Shaar’s figure.

This memory, concealed in history and bloodlines, is beginning to revive again...