Thousand-Faced Dragon

Chapter 248 Candidate

The starry sky stretches endlessly.

The mountains on the ground stretch on forever.

The Hall of Heroes, high above the clouds, has also undergone changes imperceptibly, with each hero adding their own unique color.

Stars adorn heroes and history, while the roars of beasts echoing across the wasteland give this night a vibrant life.

At some unknown time, the murals began to depict heroic tales: ancient sages busily working in alchemy chambers, knights of judgment hunting evil in the wastelands, and fearless warriors facing alone the colossal beasts that held up the heavens and the earth.
Where is this place?

When the first young man, shrouded in darkness, stepped in, he was naturally struck by the scene.

Looking out, one sees mountains beyond the ancient halls, and beneath the unobstructed cliffs, endless white clouds, with even the occasional giant bird or flying dragon rising up.

This scene reminded the witnesses of the Cloud City in mythology, but the calm wind and scenery, and the statues and murals that tell stories and history, seemed more like the legendary land of the gods.

"This is the Hall of Heroes."

A cold voice rang out from the side, and below the platform, a knight in black armor silently watched him.

"Don't block the way."

The shadowy figures behind them entered this enormous stage, resembling a classical gladiatorial arena, through a series of empty doors.

This time, there were an unusually large number of people entering, young figures from all corners of the world stepping into it.

They are of different races and ages, including beastmen, elves, and even giants who are as tall as mountains but have been forcibly shrunk.

One, two. When there were twelve shadowy figures, no new people stepped in.

This time, Rean didn't see any particularly outrageous life forms, so he didn't kick anyone directly. But being able to see through shadows, he was quite satisfied with what he had gained this time.

These newcomers all look very strong; it truly lives up to its reputation as a cross-continental talent selection program.

Among them, Rean naturally encountered several old acquaintances.

Little Lana stepped in, a little bewildered, and was naturally surrounded by the crowd. Interestingly, she wasn't actually the "youngest" among them; a tiny, floating sprite quietly perched on her shoulder.

As soon as Hela entered, she silently watched the man on the stage. The man still looked at the young people in front of him with a cynical attitude, but Rean could sense his unease.

Thanks to Rosalind's attack, Lex decided to take some responsibility; otherwise, Rean himself would probably be the one in this situation right now.

As for Rean, he might not be able to handle the situation this time.
"quiet."

The calm words echoed throughout the hall, and the thunderous shock stunned all the witnesses.

This was just the beginning; only then did everyone notice the young soldier on the stage.

He simply stood there with his arms crossed, wearing a silver mask. Although his face was calm, he exuded an extremely strong sense of oppression.

Some people in the crowd looked surprised. They might have already recognized the person in front of them from legends and stories.

"My candidates, don't become a laughing stock in front of our seniors' students."

Only then did they notice that one after another, void gates opened, and people, some hurrying and some walking slowly, stepped into the hall.

The newcomers seemed to know each other, exchanged greetings, and then stepped aside, seemingly giving up the "protagonist's" position. This also seemed to suggest that this was not the first time this had happened, and that there might even be some kind of procedure or unspoken rules involved.

"Silence. This is the place where the spirits of heroes are passed down."

The shadow over Rean had dissipated, and with the establishment of that "class reunion," he was destined to become a public figure, acting as a liaison.

Unlike previous heroic spirit inheritance events, this time we're trying to make it more formal, partly because of the special identities of the candidates.

This time, without bothering Dania, Rean himself introduced some basic information.

"To put it bluntly, I want to take on a disciple. The Hall of Heroes says you are candidates. Whether it's acceptable or not is up to me."

Lex suddenly interrupted Rean halfway through his introduction.

He still crossed his arms and looked around, his domineering and assertive demeanor unmistakable.

This time, unlike Suer's approachable manner and Kuku's scholarly demeanor, this time it was clearly businesslike. "I am Lex Thorne. I achieved immortality before I was forty years old. I possess a legacy, and can even inherit to some extent my soul abilities and combat talents."

Instantly, it ignited the entire venue.

Ultimately, the hardest currency in the world is always power.

The story of the mainland hero is only sixteen years old, but news of his recent "miracle" has already begun to spread to other countries.

Among the candidates, some recognized them, while others looked incredulous, and a flurry of discussion ensued.

"Father." Dania, who came in later, looked at the imposing man on the stage and felt a complicated mix of emotions.

Hela simply stared silently at the people above, her face expressionless, yet she seemed to have seen through everything.

"I don't care how the other heroic souls choose their successors. My situation is quite simple: the strongest will inherit. As for the Kingdom of Aiselin, it will continue the selection of heroes. I will entrust it to the victor, but there should be no vicious competition or private killings. The supervisors I have entrusted will make the final judgment."

The spirit's gaze fell upon Rean, who raised his two-handed sword in salute, signifying his immediate agreement.

The candidate quickly realized that the spirit of the hero from sixteen years ago did not hide his favoritism; he was using this legacy to care for the kingdom that was already in turmoil.

If you help the kingdom overcome this crisis and become a candidate for hero, you will gain my power.

Unlike previous heroes who chose successors who shared their will, Lex made this succession seem like a transaction.

Their gazes fell upon Rean; clearly, this black-armored knight was quite crucial.
"Don't even think about bribing him. He's a classical paladin, and his oath—tsk tsk tsk, such a grand ambition, I wouldn't dare make such a promise."

Lex's words surprised Rean. Was his oath really that strange?
Lex's gaze swept over the candidates, each with their own thoughts and ideas.

Like the first inheritance of other heroic souls before, the initial meeting can only involve self-introductions, and building trust between each other requires time and intelligence support.

It's likely that these inheritors of heroic spirits don't believe in anything. They'll need to go out and gather intelligence to be certain, and it's even possible that some of them will give up the next day. After all, many evil spells in this world are related to dreams.

However, the hero Rex is somewhat different.
He simply drew his sword silently, looked at his familiar "old partner," and smiled.

"What I say now is probably not very meaningful. Most of us are swordsmen, so let's communicate with our swords."

"when!"

The sudden sound of swords clashing echoed through the hall.

The girl raised her longsword, leaped into the air, and launched the first attack.

Hela looked at the man before her, feeling the clash of swords. Finally, she sighed, said nothing, and then retreated swiftly, unleashing another series of slashes.

Within that lightning-fast sword strike, there was more or less some personal grudge.

"Good, not bad," the man praised.

The next moment, with a flick of the sword, Hela was split into three.

Decapitation and dismemberment were combined; the former hero showed no mercy.

But her resurrection also revealed to the candidates the rules of this hall: it is still just a dream, and there is no real death.

"Come on, let me see your swords."

The seemingly ordinary masked man issued an undisguised provocation.

His words were flippant, and his actions were full of nonchalant arrogance.

Swordsmen or warriors are probably the least likely to accept provocation.

Then, sword light flashed everywhere, and blood splattered.

"That's it?"

Standing atop a pile of limbs, the "hero" squatted down and asked with great interest.