Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World - Chapter 323

Chapter 323: Chapter 323
For a moment, neither spoke.

Then the man leaned forward again. “Could he be a hidden scion from the royal line? One of the outpost heirs raised in seclusion? Or an imperial foster child trained in one of the empire war academies?”

“Maybe,” the woman said. “Or maybe he’s something else entirely.”

The man rubbed his temples. “Should we… report this to the Duke?”

But the woman shook her head again. “Later. For now—”

Her eyes flicked down to the stage.

“—we need to finish judging this round.”

She straightened her back.

“Make the announcement,” she said coolly. “Only He makes it to the next trial.”

The man gave a low grunt of agreement and raised his voice.

“99 participants…eliminated.”

The crowd erupted again at the official declaration, but neither of the blue-robed officials looked away from the youth standing below.

He had turned slightly, just enough to glance up at them.

Not arrogantly.

Not even curiously.

Just aware.

Their eyes met for a brief instant—and in that moment, both the man and woman felt something ancient in that gaze.

As though the boy below wasn’t truly a boy at all.

As though he’d already seen through all their disguise.

“…This one,” the woman murmured softly, “is not someone we can afford to ignore.”

Gasps rippled across the arena like thunder, silencing even the most talkative in the stands.

“Only he makes it to the next trial…”

The words echoed ominously, reaching every corner of the stadium.

The audience, once buzzing with excitement, fell into stunned silence before erupting into chaotic noise once more.

On the stage, the ninety-nine other participants froze where they stood.

The weight of the announcement crashed down like a boulder on their shoulders.

Not one of them had qualified.

Except him.

Whispers turned to stares, stares into glares—some filled with awe, others with a venomous edge.

“This is ridiculous…”

“Isn’t this too harsh? None of us qualify?”

“That kid killed ten wolves in a blink and left the rest of us in the dust. What did you expect?”

Some lowered their heads in shame. Others clenched their fists, unable to accept the outcome.

Among them, a boy with short-cropped red hair stood trembling. He was one of the true Intermediate Rank youths in the trial.

His name was Casen, twenty five years of age and a hunter.

He was talented, his potential respected—and power made him proud.

Too proud.

“This is a joke,” he muttered, voice thick with fury.

The others around him took a step back as Casen’s mana surged, visible veins of glowing energy running along his arms.

Michael, meanwhile, had already turned. His steps slow and deliberate, he walked toward the edge of the arena where the participants’ seats awaited.

Still holding the wolf head, he seemed entirely unconcerned with the noise behind him.

That was when Casen snapped.

“You selfish bastard!”

His shout tore through the growing roar of the crowd, drawing all attention back to the stage.

“You think you’re better than us just because you had some flashy moment! You didn’t even try to help—didn’t spare a single glance while others fought for their lives!”

Casen’s mana flared fully now, and he dashed forward, feet cracking the stone beneath him with every step.

“You think you’re above everyone?!”

Gasps filled the stands.

But Michael didn’t stop walking.

He didn’t even turn.

Until the very last step.

Casen was mid-charge, drawing his arm back for a mana-infused strike—

—and Michael turned his head slightly.

Just slightly.

He raised one hand.

And slapped him.

Crack!

The sound echoed like thunder.

Casen’s body went limp mid-air, flung sideways with such force that he bounced twice across the stage before rolling to a stop several meters away.

Unconscious.

Mouth bloodied. Cheek swelling instantly. The stone floor beneath where he’d been struck shattered from the sheer force of the impact.

Silence fell.

Complete. Utter. Silence.

The audience was stunned into breathlessness.

The participants on stage? Pale. Shaking. A few even stumbled back, as though the blow had landed on them instead.

Michael didn’t even look at Casen again.

He continued walking without missing a beat.

Step by step, he reached the edge of the stage.

Then, without ceremony, he let the wolf head drop from his hand. It hit the floor with a thud, bloodless yet final.

Without hesitation, he climbed the stairs.

Michael slid into his seat calmly, as though nothing of note had happened at all.

Nobody moved for a while.

It wasn’t that Michael had struck a fellow participant—something that usually warranted disqualification.

It was how he’d done it.

Effortless.

Casual.

As if he hadn’t even needed to try.

And that was what terrified them.

The crowd eventually stirred again, but it was different now.

Quieter.

Reverent.

In the upper section, the middle-aged man turned toward his companion once more.

“Still think we should wait to report him?”

The woman remained quiet, her gaze fixed on Michael’s face.

She couldn’t read him.

No arrogance. No smugness. Not even calm pride.

Just stillness.

Like a blade left standing in the rain.

“…No,” she murmured finally. “We report him to the Duke. Today.”

The man gave a slow nod.

Michael remained seated, eyes forward, expression unreadable.

“…You were incredible,” Renn said after a moment.

Michael didn’t reply right away.

Finally, he turned slightly. “It’s nothing,” he said, his tone even.

Renn blinked. “Nothing?”

Michael glanced at him, then smiled faintly. “If anyone was impressive, it was you.”

The words were subtle, tossed out in a quiet tone that carried a particular weight.

Renn froze.

He stared at Michael, confused at first… then unsure.

“Me?”

Michael didn’t say anything more.

Renn looked down at his own hands. He remembered the fight. Remembered watching Michael’s every move. How each detail had imprinted itself in his mind.

“I admit it,” Renn said, his voice firmer this time. “You’re strong. Seriously strong.”

There was a pause before he continued, just a flicker of hesitation passing through his tone.

“But…” he exhaled slowly, and his hand dropped to the wooden sword at his waist.

“I don’t think I’ll lose.”

Michael’s expression didn’t change.

He simply looked at Renn.

No mockery. No amusement.

Just silence.

Then, he smiled again—just a slight twitch of his lips.

And said nothing.

He didn’t need to.

Because deep down…

He too didn’t think he’d lose.

Not now.

Not later.

If anything—

He couldn’t see himself ever losing.