All of them wore red robes, just like Crystella, Tedric and Kywen had. However, these robes had various shades of their own along with small bits of embroidery.

Dyon had found out through Crystella's miscellaneous words that the level of embroidery on their robes was actually related to their world core. The closer one could approach it, the more embroidery they earned. It was no wonder the old fogie had robes that looked more gold than red.

The Darkwell Clan had almost maroon robes. The Dimwell Clan had an even slightly darker shade. As for the Nightwell Clan, theirs were red with black accents, not that Dyon wore them.

Dyon finished his walk to the only empty side of a triangular platform. He was inwardly amused by the setup, it reminded him of a gameshow from his mortal world.

"I'm representing the Nightwell Clan right now." Dyon said casually. "I wonder how they would feel if they knew a member of your Clan to their representatives as entertainment. He should be thanking me. If not for my actions, his ending would have been even worse.

"Maybe in his next life, he'll learn to control his gaze a bit better."

The expression of the Dimwell member who spoke darkened further.

He felt that Dyon was making fun of him. Everyone knew that Immortals couldn't reincarnate, only the pitiful existences of mortals could be reused and recycled. At least, that was how Immortals framed the matter. Their lives were worth far more, so of course they couldn't just restart if they wanted to.

The fact that those words had come out of Dyon's mouth almost made it seem like he was implying that they were inferior precisely due to the fact they were immortal and didn't have a next life waiting for them.

Never in his life had he run across such a thing. A mortal Looking down on him?!

His gaze blazed with fighting intent. He would crush this mortal where he stood!

In the end, Dyon's words were so effective that even the Nightwell Clan couldn't refute them. They had no choice but to pause the event for a moment, clean up the mess, and send in another announcer

This time however, it was a Judge. Guild Head Baron.

Empyrean Baron cleared his throat beneath the silence of the crowd who apparently was still at a loss for how they should be reacting. A part of them wanted to sound a loud chorus of boos, but Dyon's previous words struck a nerve with them. What if the Nightwell Clan took offense?

Thinking to this point, they didn't dare to say a word. They only silently put their support behind the others.

"We've decided that it would be more convenient if I, as one of the judges of this competition, took the reins from here. As is tradition, there will be six rounds, each of which will tackle a different topic. Three of these rounds will test the foundation of your Clans' secondary profession and the final three will test your Clans' battle prowess.

"Each round will be judged on points. The first three rounds will give 10 to first place, 5 to second place, and 0 to last place. The next two rounds will work on the same system. However, the final round, the highly anticipated Extermination Round, will reward 1 point for any single victory and will continue until every Clan no longer has any to send up."

Clearly Empyrean Baron wasn't here to entertain, because he got straight to the point and didn't embellish his words. He even directly spoke of the later rounds, completely dispelling all anticipation the crowd had for them.

That said, when he mentioned the Extermination Round, the fire was lit in the crowd once more. It was clear that this final round held a grand place in their hearts despite its simplicity.

This, however, had nothing to do with Dyon. His only task was to get the Nightwell Clan 30 points then be on his way. He wasn't interested in fighting battles for them. Even if they asked, he would refuse.

"This first round will be talismans.

"In a moment, 16 blanks will appear before you. You are tasked with working with your partners to create a defensive formation of ten metrics wide. The bare minimum requirement is that it defend against 3 full powered assaults from a Higher Immortal Essence expert. You must use all 16 blanks. You have 3 days."

A 'metric' wasn't exactly a unit of measurement, though it could be considered one. In colloquial terms, a metric represents a single layer of a formation. Ten metrics obviously referred to 10 layers. How large those layers were would obviously depend, which is exactly why it wasn't a true unit of measurement.

This said, the closer and more tightly bound a layer was in relation to another, the more powerful a formation would be. Though who could make a multi-layered formation seem to have just one were the absolute best.

The true difficulty of this task, however, was the forced use of all 16 blanks and the fact there had to be 10 layers.

The Heavens had particular numbers that it liked. Said numbers, when incorporated into formations, made them extremely powerful. While, other numbers made the formation fragile. It was the same reason why humans found groups of 3 to be more pleasing than 4, and so on.

The Heavens especially loved numbers like 3, 9, and multiples of them with a particular emphasis on multiples of both. However, 10 and 16 were especially jarring. Crafting a formation around these numbers was like trying to jam a key into the wrong keyhole. It was borderline impossible, and all the more amusing since Dyon hadn't gotten around to testing himself in drawing talismans yet. He didn't know why he had to have so many firsts during such important events.

But, even still, 3 days was simply far too long. This competition would bore him to death if every round took so long. What a bother.