So, none of the players standing around the sword said a word. They glanced at each other, wary and keeping their distance. Outside their circle, more players were running over from all directions. It looked like this little group of “yellow birds” was about to devolve into mantises in the blink of an eye.

“Fight, fight! All of you, fight! I hope you all kill each other! The more of you die, the easier it is for me!” Hiding in the bushes, David Harris kept praying, thrilled with his wise decision. He swore to keep his cool and be the last yellow bird standing.

【Three】

What kind of farce was this?

To seize the sword on the ground, every player was racking their brains and trying every trick. Some tried to use force to intimidate the others, some who were confident in their lightness skills wanted to grab it and run, and as soon as those methods failed, some immediately sought temporary alliances... In the end, betrayal and backstabbing became the main theme of this farce. Everyone was trying to use others, while also being used themselves without even realizing it. Wave after wave of players fell, and wave after wave rushed in. The first group of little yellow birds was wiped out in no time. The newcomers were just repeating the same farce as before.

Gradually, fewer and fewer people remained. Although the scene was ugly, it had to be said that this was a truly complex contest, and those who could stand until the end definitely weren’t relying on luck.

But, were they already the strongest?

Obviously, they weren’t. David Harris, hidden in the bushes, had already set his sights on four other hiding spots nearby. He knew there were four more people.

Just like him, these four had quietly hidden themselves after arriving, all planning to be the final yellow bird. In this regard, David Harris had to admit he was lucky. Because he was close enough and arrived early, he was the first to make this move. Now, he could clearly identify every would-be final yellow bird lurking nearby, while he himself was the ghost hidden deep in the shadows, completely unknown to anyone.

Puff, puff, puff, puff!

Four sounds in quick succession, four jets of blood shot into the sky. The killing had never stopped; by now, such sounds should have become numbing. But at this moment, David Harris's eyes suddenly widened, extremely wide.

Because he saw who it was. There had been too many people before, too much chaos, and he simply couldn’t tell them apart. But now, with fewer and fewer people, and after four more fell, David Harris finally saw clearly: the one who had just taken down four people in a row was Wudang’s second strongest: James Allen.

First, second, and third strongest—these rankings were given by Xintian Tower, based on the players’ martial arts cultivation. But martial arts cultivation was only part of one’s strength. In real PK combat, many other factors came into play: awareness, experience, judgment, mastery of moves, and so on. Someone with high cultivation might be terrible in these areas, and thus unable to fully utilize their strength. Others might not have great cultivation, but excel in these aspects, and so their mediocre skills could become unexpectedly powerful.

The third strongest, Charles Morgan, David Harris had heard of but never met.

The top player, Brian Scott, he’d dealt with before—they were sort of friends. His cultivation was indeed high, but his skills didn’t impress David Harris; at least in real PK, David Harris felt he might not lose. But after seeing Brian Scott's steady composure at the mountain gate today, David Harris's opinion of him rose a bit.

But regardless, among the three top players, the most terrifying was still James Allen.

David Harris actually only recognized James Allen; he’d never interacted with him, just knew he was fierce, ruthless, and held grudges. In an online game, this guy would be a PK maniac; in a wuxia world, he shouldn’t even be a disciple of a prestigious sect like Wudang; in Saint Seiya, he’d be the quintessential Scorpio Saint!

“Didn’t expect him to be here too...” Just as David Harris had this thought, there were two more “puff” sounds—James Allen had killed two more people.

The remaining players were starting to panic. Maybe some didn’t know James Allen, but they could see his martial prowess. At this point, the brutal competition had become a contest of pure strength. James Allen dared to act so brazenly because he clearly believed that even if the rest ganged up on him, they wouldn’t pose a threat. Right now, there were still six left, and with the four and two he’d already killed, James Allen was confident even against twelve at once.

Anyone who’d made it this far wasn’t simple. Even if their skills weren’t great, at least they were clever. Seeing the situation, they knew that any more greed would only end badly. One person helplessly spread his hands: “Fine, you’re strong, I give up. The sword is yours, I’ll leave right now.”

As soon as he finished speaking, he turned to go—only to hear a clear, close “puff” the next second. He looked down to see a sword tip, slick with blood, poking out of his chest.

Stiffly, he turned his head, wanting to say something, but James Allen didn’t even glance at him. He simply lifted his foot, stomped on the man’s turning face, and kicked him off the sword, as if annoyed that the body was in the way.