Chapter 15: The Consequences of Conquering with Virtue

Uma enjoyed the cool breeze coming from the Olympus Valley. Even in the height of summer, the snow-capped Mount Olympus remained chilly. The breeze swept down through the valley, slightly cooling the intense atmosphere in the grand arena.

The grand arena was located in a basin at the end of a gorge that descended from Mount Olympus. The circular stands, built to take advantage of the terrain, offered a perfect view of the races taking place at the bottom. Aside from an entrance in the southeast that served as the main exit, all other directions were intact, sufficient to accommodate tens of thousands of spectators.

Only the final two kilometers of the race remained. The two Spartan competitors behind Uma grew increasingly impatient. The javelins they threw seemed trivial in Uma’s eyes. With a single strike of her heavy steel sword, she would cut the javelins in half. The javelins aimed at her phantom warhorse also failed repeatedly due to the horse’s agile movements. In no time, there were few javelins left on the back of the two Spartans’ chariots, while Uma still had none used. It was clear even before the race ended that the representatives of various nations sitting in the stands, with their faces filled with excitement and joy, showed just how eager these countries and cities were to break Sparta’s monopoly in this event.

The last 1,500 meters were mostly flat and smooth roads. It was no longer possible to regain the lead using horsemanship. The only thing that could change the outcome was the javelins and swords in the competitors’ hands. Uma’s black chariot, still far ahead, roared as it rolled over the dry mud, raising clouds of dust. Standing atop the chariot like a war god, Uma’s pure black cloak flapped wildly in the wind. Though her cold and arrogant expression lacked a sense of dominion over the world, many saw this blend of coldness and ferocity as more befitting a battle-hardened general.

The two Spartan competitors behind her exchanged a subtle glance. The one on the left suddenly thrust his javelin sharply into the horse’s thigh. The hurt horse accelerated abruptly, and at the same time, the other Spartan also began to speed up by swerving left and right, stirring up thick clouds of yellow dust that covered the sky.

“Huh? Something seems odd. What are these two trying to do?” Komer quickly sensed that something was wrong.

“Hehe, Dark Lord, this is precisely the suspense of the final stage of the race. These last 1,500 meters are the most thrilling part—during this segment, competitors are free from any rules. As long as you can claim the crown, you may use any means necessary: magic, martial arts, hidden weapons, or tricks. You can do whatever it takes to defeat your opponents, but only within these 1,500 meters. To conceal their methods, competitors often use the yellow dust raised by the muddy terrain as cover. After all, some tactics aren’t entirely honorable. Over time, this became a habit. The race organizers specifically use dry yellow soil as the track surface in this section, so once the dust settles, it becomes clear who will win the crown.”

Xu Luo’s explanation amused Komer greatly. These people from the south even resorted to cover-ups when plotting schemes—how amusing! Fighting is already about using any means necessary, yet they still try to justify their actions with noble-sounding reasons. Perhaps this could be considered a similar approach in a different form.

“Hmm, that’s fine too. It’s good for Uma to experience the fighting atmosphere of this era,” Komer said nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders.

In fact, Uma had already sensed a faint murderous intent from behind as the two racing cars passed each other. Hundreds of years of cultivation in the underground world had refined his senses to perfection. Though the tricks used by the two Spartan competitors were cleverly hidden, they seemed like child’s play to him. Could you imagine two toddlers trying to team up against a strong adult? For Uma, it was like the ridiculous situation he was facing now.

Yet for the two competitors involved, they were fully immersed in the race. As one competitor threw two javelins from the side in an attempt to slow down the relentless Ghost Horse, the Spartan competitor behind him quietly drew three bright yellow wooden arrows from beneath his cloak. Without feathers and with strangely pale blue tips, the almost pocket-sized bow was clearly no ordinary weapon at all.

Gripping the reins tightly in his mouth, the bow curved like a full moon, demanding all the competitor’s strength. The three wooden arrows spun wildly in his hands as he drew back the bow. After three faint “ding” sounds, the arrows flew out in a triangular formation.

The Spartan racer, collapsed in his war chariot, had blood foam at the corners of his mouth, and his spit was red. The recoil force from drawing back the Azure Demon Bow struck his entire body as if it had been hit hard. But seeing the three wooden arrows vanish instantly into the smoke-filled air, he could finally sit down and rest. He had done what he was supposed to do; the rest now depended on his companions.

The Sunwood arrows, imbued with perception magic, finally exploded after entering the dust. The fire magic, fueled by the purely yang nature of the Sunwood, burst forth, forming three dense chains of fire that converged into a tightly woven web, enveloping the entire black iron chariot and its warhorse.

Even Umma hadn’t expected the two Spartans, who seemed insignificant in his eyes, to unleash such strength at the last moment. The fire magic in the Sunwood arrows caused the splintered wood to ignite and scatter everywhere, instantly engulfing Umma and his Ghost Horse.

Furious, Umma didn’t know how to deal with this sudden change. His hope of ending the competition with a glorious display in the arena vanished in an instant. The surging flames had a strange bright yellow hue—clearly magical flames. They immediately set ablaze Umma’s beautiful and majestic dark robe, making him regret his cloak, which was infused with wind magic. He also hated himself for not striking first and instead trying to win gracefully and politely. It was all because of that damned Komer, who insisted on winning through virtue and leaving a good impression on everyone—complete nonsense! Filled with rage, Umma couldn’t even describe his feelings.

The poor Ghost Horse instantly turned into a fire horse. Its body, transformed by Komer’s wood magic and repaired with plant magic, was now the perfect fuel. The natural wood material combined perfectly with the magical flames, causing the horse to ignite instantly with a sizzling sound. The fully ablaze horse strolled leisurely through the smoke-filled air—a truly bizarre sight that would make anyone’s eyes roll back in shock.

Uma, consumed by endless rage, could no longer control his emotions. Seeing the burning ghostly warhorse wandering through the dust, his beautiful cloak, though its flames were extinguished at first by the dark magic emanating from his body, was now covered in spots, resembling an ugly fishing net. Uma could even imagine his own face stained with soot, his hair curled from the flames. The most magnificent scene he had envisioned had turned into utter chaos in the last moment, and his fury was enough to burn down the entire arena.

Komer, who had used his Sky Eye spell, witnessed this bizarre and spectacular scene immediately. He also never expected that the two Spartans, who had shown no special traits at first, would end up delivering such a stunning performance. Three magical arrows ruined Uma’s dream of dominating the arena with his extraordinary skills. The overconfident Uma had to bear the consequences himself. Now, the enraged Uma was beyond Komer’s control—even if he tried to communicate with him through magic, Uma might not listen.

In his fury, Uma moved swiftly. He reached back strangely, then pulled back and threw—a lightning-fast spear pinned the Spartan, who thought he had won, to the chariot. The sharp spear pierced his chest, and he didn’t even have time to react; the joy of victory still lingered on his face.

Uma didn’t spare the other culprit who was already behind. With a swirl of his robe, a huge rock the size of a washbasin fell from the sky and smashed into the chariot that had lost its competitive edge. The already severely injured contestant was crushed to the ground along with his chariot. The collapsing chariot lost control and crashed into a boulder by the road, with the horse’s agonized cries sounding especially piercing through the dust.

When the dust settled, the stands of the entire arena were dead silent. When a skeleton horse, reduced to a frame of bones, dragged the still-smoldering black iron chariot across the finish line, the entire arena fell eerily quiet, as if frozen by a sudden cold wind from Mount Olympus.

The almost ghostly skeleton horse still had flames burning on its bones, with a faint mist hovering around it. Yet it continued to pull the black iron war chariot forward. Though nothing but a pale skeleton remained, it still managed to move with an apparent grace—raising its head and shaking its head from time to time, kicking its hooves and swishing its tail. Unfortunately, it was just a skeleton, looking utterly terrifying. A sense of suffocation and gloom instantly enveloped the entire arena, making people shiver involuntarily.