Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World - Chapter 342

Chapter 342: Chapter 342 Dela Myre
Just as the commentator’s voice echoed through the coliseum, wild and theatrical, back in Group B’s preparation room, things were on the verge of exploding.

Tension rippled like an unseen storm.

The nobles of the Lionheart Kingdom were visibly bristling, some gripping sword hilts, others standing as if daring the newcomers to push them further.

The commoners—though many furious—stayed seated.

The newcomers from the Earth Dragon Kingdom remained smug, some chuckling under their breath, others silently scanning the room with thinly veiled contempt.

Then—

A voice boomed from outside the waiting room.

“Anyone who raises a weapon here will be immediately disqualified.”

It was calm.

Firm.

But undeniable.

A command that made the room stiffen like stone.

“You have little time,” the voice continued. “Make use of it preparing.”

Everyone froze.

Michael recognized the voice. It was the older male official in blue.

The very air changed with those words.

Like the storm had been sucked out of the room, leaving behind only the faint whisper of restraint.

Some nobles lowered their hands. Others turned away with snorts.

The Earth Dragon warriors simply smirked, as if the fight hadn’t even been worth considering.

Michael remained still the whole time.

His eyes, however, had narrowed slightly.

Because just then, something on the far wall caught his attention.

A portion of the wall—one he’d previously assumed to be decorative—lit up with a low hum.

Lines of light raced across its surface, forming a perfect rectangular window of illusion magic.

It shimmered briefly before stabilizing.

Then it projected the arena above.

It was the commentator, arms wide and grinning beneath the midday sun. Behind him, the crowd cheered like thunder.

Michael leaned forward slightly as the man’s voice filled the chamber.

His words were flamboyant, but Michael paid attention to the substance.

One hundred participants.

Four groups.

Twenty-five per group.

Two phases of battle.

First, a team contest.

Then—an individual war.

He tilted his head just slightly and began counting the members in his chamber.

Twenty-five.

Already complete.

Michael’s gaze shifted toward the Earth Dragon participants again. Some of them watched the illusion display with interest.

Michael looked away and refocused on the screen.

The commentator was still speaking.

“As we speak, the names of the first batch are being selected. At random..”

That caused murmurs across Group B’s room.

Michael exhaled silently.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed some participants adjusting their armor, unsheathing and checking blades, performing breathing exercises.

Others simply stared at the illusion screen, waiting for their name to be called.

Michael didn’t move.

His hand rested lightly on the green-black spear by his side.

It was quiet now in Group B.

The earlier noise, the almost-fight, the arrogance—it all felt like a distant thing.

Now that the commentator had laid out the rules, reality had settled in.

It was time.

The crowd had barely calmed from its previous eruption when the commentator’s voice boomed once more across the vast coliseum.

“Alright, alright! Now that everyone knows what’s at stake—let’s get down to it!”

He spun, arms outstretched, with a grin on his face.

“As I said earlier, we have four groups—A, B, C, and D. Each group has twenty-five participants, and the first round will be a group versus group contest!”

The crowd leaned in—both physically and metaphorically.

“The pairings for this phase… are simple!”

A dramatic pause.

“Group A will face… Group C!”

“And Group B… will go against… Group D!”

“Now, as you all know, each group has twenty-five members.”

He held up both hands, fingers splayed dramatically.

“Four-man squads will enter the battlefield in waves! That makes six full squads per team… and leaves one person in every group without a team.”

The crowd began to stir with realization.

“And what becomes of that lone warrior?”

The commentator grinned.

“They’ll get an automatic advancement into the next stage!”

Back in Michael’s chamber, tension spiked once more.

One lucky person from each group wouldn’t have to fight at all in this phase.

The question was—who?

The commentator clapped once.

“Let’s begin with Group A!”

He pointed at a certain location.

A youth in red robes was in the arena stand with four bowls in front of him.

He then reached out to pick something from the first bowl on his left.

It was a rolled up paper.

“Dela Myre!”

The youth announced making everyone aware of the choosing method.

The youth in red robes continued.

“Second member of Team A… Lionel Hartwright!”

“Third! Uzen Kerr!”

“Fourth! Sir Ma of House Corwyn—representing the Steel Kingdom!”

That name brought a sharp shift in tone.

The atmosphere in the coliseum was electric—until confusion slowly began to spread like a fog over the roaring crowd.

It started with a few furrowed brows. Then whispers. Then outright murmurs.

“Wait, did he say Steel Kingdom?”

“Isn’t that…?”

“Why are they allowed here?”

The noise began to swell, not with cheers this time, but with sharp, questioning voices.

The commentator, sharp-eyed despite his flamboyant grin, noticed it almost immediately.

He cleared his throat loudly and raised a hand toward the illusion screens above.

“Ah, I see we have some… confusion,” he said, his tone still light but now tinged with purpose. “Let me clarify before the speculation gets out of hand.”

The audience hushed, leaning forward in anticipation.

“Yes. There are participants from the Steel Kingdom!”

That brought a wave of murmurs.

But the commentator didn’t stop there.

“And yes…” he said, voice dropping an octave, “we also have participants from the Earth Dragon Kingdom.”

Silence.

Then the crowd erupted—not with cheers this time, but with boos.

Loud, angry, almost thunderous boos.

Even in the noble balconies, some lords were seen turning to each other in disbelief. Others gestured to attendants, likely demanding confirmation.

The Earth Dragon Kingdom?

The same kingdom that had fought wars with Lionheart?

That had tried to annex frontier territories just a decade ago?

Even the commoners reacted.

They might not have followed politics, but everyone knew stories. The border skirmishes. The merchants who never returned. The silent bitterness between both nations.

And now they were here?

Participating?

Competing for the Duke’s rewards?

For his daughter?

It was outrageous.

“I know, I know!” the commentator shouted over the noise, both hands raised. “Believe me—I don’t get it either!”

The crowd quieted just a touch at that.

The commentator leaned slightly toward the center of the stage, his voice becoming a touch more serious.

“However, one thing is clear: no one should cause trouble. You’re here to support your participants.”

His grin returned.

“So pick your side. Choose your warriors. Support your own.”

He stepped back and gestured broadly toward the illusion screen.

“Now, let’s return to the drawing!”

Inside the preparation rooms, the reactions varied.

In Group A, Uga’s eyes had barely opened. His massive arms folded over his chest.

He has no business with what was happening outside the room.

The words were confusing and gave him a headache.

It made him hungry too.

Uga gave up.

In Group C, Renn clenched the hilt of his wooden sword tightly. The empire prince was already bad. But now there were kingdoms?

He did not like how things were turning out.

In Group B, Michael’s expression remained unreadable.

He glanced at the Earth Dragon Kingdom warriors, who wore smug grins as if the booing didn’t reach them at all.

Michael’s gaze returned to the screen just in time to see the youth in red robes prepare to draw again—this time for Group C.

The crowd had mostly settled. The confusion had become fuel. Everyone now watched with burning interest.

This wasn’t just a local contest anymore.

“Now—onto Group C!”

The crowd hushed. “The first to enter from Group C…!”

Click.

“Lord Fenrick Valen!”

“Next… Joss Tren of Eastrun!”

“Third… Sir Ner of House Relinor!”

Then the fourth name fell.

“Lige.”

The gates at the edge of the grand stage suddenly rumbled as one opened and four participants from Group A were led into the arena.

The first through entrance was Dela Myre. Slender. Focused. Graceful in her stride. She wore lightweight leather armor with a weathered cloak draped across one shoulder. Twin daggers glinted at her hips. Her long braid swayed behind her like a whip of shadow.

The moment she stepped onto the stage, the commentator lit up.

“Ladies and gentlemen, make some noise for our first entrant! Dela Myre!”

“Yes, yes, you heard the name right! I’ve heard whispers that she’s the only female among all one hundred participants!”

*******

More chapters coming soon!

I’m sure some of you have noticed the recent reduction in daily chapters—or rather, the near absence of them. It’s partly my fault… and partly out of my control. My exams are approaching, and it’s been a bit difficult juggling both writing and studying.

I’ve also read the comments on the previous chapter, and I want to assure you that I’ll do my best to keep the story satisfying for everyone without compromising the plot.

Thank you so much for your continued support. Despite everything, you’ve brought this book to Top 11 in Golden Tickets—and that means the world to me.

Please keep sharing your thoughts about the novel. Let me know what you’d like to see more of, what you think should be avoided, and how I can improve the story to create an experience you’ll all enjoy.

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