The Vastness of Magical Destiny
Chapter 708: Volume 20: Wolves Lurking in the Mediterranean, - 15: The Consequences of Winning People Over with Virtue

Chapter 708: Volume 20: Wolves Lurking in the Mediterranean, Chapter 15: The Consequences of Winning People Over with Virtue

Uma enjoyed the cool breeze coming from the Olympus Valley, where even in the height of summer, the snow-capped Divine Mount Olympus remained chillingly cold. The wind swept down the valley, slightly tempering the fiery atmosphere of the Grand Arena.

The Grand Arena was situated at the end of a winding canyon that descended from the Divine Mount Olympus, perched in a basin. The circular stands, built to take advantage of the terrain, offered an unobstructed view over the competition field below, which, except for a narrow exit to the southeast, was perfectly enclosed on all sides, accommodating tens of thousands of spectators.

With only the last two kilometers left in the sprint, the two Spartain racers behind him grew increasingly impatient. The javelins they hurled seemed like child’s play to Uma; with a heavy sword, he slashed the incoming javelins in two, and those targeting the Ghost Warhorse were rendered ineffective by its nimble strides. Before long, the Spartain racers’ supply of javelins on the back of their carts dwindled, while Uma’s remained untouched. The outcome was clear even before the dust of the race settled, as the mix of excitement and joy on the faces of representatives from various countries and cities on the stands evidenced their eager desire to overthrow the Spartains’ dominance in this event.

The last fifteen hundred meters were almost entirely smooth and flat. It was no longer possible to gain an advantage with horsemanship alone; now, it was solely up to the racers’ skill with javelins and swords. The Black Iron Chariot, still maintaining a firm lead, thundered across the dry, dusty earth, kicking up clouds of dust. Uma stood proudly atop the chariot, his pure black cloak whipping wildly in the dust storm. Though his face lacked the domineering aura of a conqueror, many saw this blend of frigidity and ferocity as befitting a battle-hardened veteran.

The two following Spartain racers skillfully exchanged an imperceptible glance before the one on the left suddenly jabbed his javelin towards the flank of his horse, causing the pained steed to accelerate. Meanwhile, the other racer began to zigzag at an increasing pace, stirring up a blinding cloud of dust.

"Eh? Something seems off; what are those two up to?" Komer immediately felt that something was amiss.

"Hehe, Dark Lord, this is exactly the suspense of the last phase of chariot racing. This final fifteen hundred-meter stretch is the most thrilling part of the race. In this segment, racers are unrestrained by any rules. As long as you win the laurel wreath, no matter the means—magic, martial arts, hidden weapons, or tricks—defeating an opponent by any means is permitted. However, it’s limited to this fifteen hundred meters. Racers often use the dust kicked up from this dry, dusty ground as a cover, especially for acts that aren’t so noble. Over time, it has become a custom, and the track is specially designed with dry, dusty soil in this section. When the dust settles, the rightful owner of the laurel wreath will be revealed."

The explanation amused Komer; even in their scheming, these Southerners needed to use cover-ups as a guise. It was funny how combat, which is inherently ruthless, still required a semblance of honorable justification. It was, perhaps, a case of convergent evolution.

"Well, that’s fine; it’s a good chance for Uma to experience the combat atmosphere of this era," Komer said nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders.

Uma had already sensed the subtle killing intent behind him as soon as the two opposing chariots began to weave and separate. Centuries of Cultivation in the Underground had honed his senses to perfection. The tricks of the Spartain racers, though cleverly hidden, were child’s play to him. Could you imagine two toddlers attempting to scheme against a robust adult? To Uma, it was precisely this ludicrous scenario he faced.

However, for the two participants in question, they were wholly engrossed in the competition. As one racer repeatedly launched javelins from the flank to try to slow the unstoppable Ghost Warhorse, the racer behind had quietly drawn three wooden arrows from beneath his cloak, glowing with an odd blue hue, lacking fletching, with miniature arrow tips. The small bow, clearly no ordinary item, was fully drawn, taxing the racer’s entire strength. As the bow spun wildly in the racer’s hands, "ding ding ding" three barely audible sounds later, the three arrows were shot out in a ’品’ formation.

The Spartan racer, slumped in his chariot, coughed up a bit of blood-tinged foam from the corner of his mouth, his reins dripping red. The recoil from unstringing the Cang Demon Bow had struck him hard, making it feel like his entire body had been battered, but seeing the three wooden arrows vanish into the billowing dust in an instant, he could finally sit down and rest. He had done what he needed to do; the rest was up to his partner.

Once inside the dust, the Sunwood arrows, enchanted with fire magic, finally ignited. The fire magic exploded with the help of the Yang nature of the Sunwood, forming three dense chains of flames that knit together into a fiery net, enveloping the entire Black Iron Chariot and its horses.

Even Uma had not anticipated that the two Spartan racers, who seemed trivial in his eyes, would unleash such might at the last moment. The fire magic added to the Sunwood arrows had been activated. Splinters of exploding wood sprayed around, flaming as they scattered and instantly engulfed Uma and the Ghost Warhorses.

Furious, Uma was at a loss for how to cope with this sudden anomaly. His hopes of triumphantly dominating the Grand Arena were shattered in an instant as the surging flames turned a strange bright yellow—clearly magic flames. His elegant dark robe was quickly set ablaze, which made Uma rue the addition of wind magic to his cloak and also despise himself for not having struck first, for instead, having chosen to win with elegance and politeness, all because of that damn Komer who told him to win people over with virtue, to thoroughly convince them, to leave everyone with a good impression, which was complete nonsense! Gritting his teeth in fury, Uma could hardly put into words how he felt at that moment.

The poor Ghost Warhorse turned into a fire horse in an instant—its body, which Komer had reinforced and healed with wood magic and plant cultivation techniques, was now undoubtedly the best kind of tinder. The naturally wood-based material was a perfect match for fire magic, igniting on contact. The blazing horse, now nothing but a bubbling conflagration, casually strolled through the dust-filled sky, creating a bizarre and unparalleled scene that would make any onlooker’s jaw drop.

Uma, overshadowed by limitless rage, could no longer contain his emotions. Seeing the burning Ghost Warhorse strolling through the dust, even though his beautiful cloak had the flames stamped out by the dark magic aura emanating from his body, it was now spotty and ugly like a repulsive fishing net. Uma could even imagine his face being similarly disfigured by soot and flames twisting his hair into a dreadful mess. The most splendid moment he had envisioned turned into such chaos at the very last second, his resentment almost enough to set the entire Grand Arena ablaze.

Komer, having initiated the Heavenly Eye Technique, was the first to witness this bizarre and thrilling scene. He too had not anticipated that the two Spartan racers, who initially seemed unremarkable, would display such a splendid performance at the end. The three magical arrows sealed Uma’s dream of reigning supreme over the Grand Arena with unmatchable grace. Uma, having been overtly confident, was now swallowing the bitter pill. The raging Uma was beyond Komer’s control now, and even a magic transmission might fall on deaf ears.

In his fury, Uma made no extraneous movements; his arm swept back weirdly, then forward as he launched the javelin. The javelin, swift as lightning, cruelly impaled the Spartan racer who thought victory was in his grasp, onto the chariot. The sharp javelin pierced his chest, and before he could react to what had happened, the joy of victory seemed to freeze on his face.

The other instigator, whom Uma did not spare, watched as his robes billowed out and a huge rock, the size of a washbasin, fell from the sky and crashed down upon the already battered chariot that had lost its competitiveness. The racer, severely injured, didn’t even have a chance to respond before he and his chariot were smashed flat to the ground. The collapsing chariot, out of control, crashed into a massive roadside rock with a thunderous impact, and the horse’s awful cry pierced the dust-filled air, sounding particularly distressing.

As the dust settled, the stands of the Grand Arena fell silent. When the skeleton of a horse that had been burned down to its bones dragged the still-flickering Black Iron Chariot across the finish line, the entire Grand Arena was as quiet as if a Cold Wave had suddenly descended from Divine Mount Olympus.

The nearly spectral skeleton horse still had flames clinging to its bones, with faint smoke enveloping it. Yet it continued to pull the Black Iron Chariot forward. What was left was merely a stark skeleton, still attempting an air of grace with high head tosses and vigorous swishes of its tail. Alas, it was only a skeleton, an unsettling sight that cast a stifling and sinister atmosphere over the entire Grand Arena, making everyone want to shiver uncontrollably.

(To be continued. To find out what happens next, please visit WWW.CMFU.COM for more Chapters and to support the author and authorized reading!)