Chapter 2422

"W-What do you mean by that?" Thresmund asked, visibly shaken.

However, Philemon remained calm and continued speaking, "Don't you know the real purpose behind your foster father hosting this event?"

"I... I don't!" Thresmund replied firmly. However, the hesitation in his eyes did not escape Philemon's notice-it was clear that Thresmund was lying.

Philemon pressed on, "If you don't know, then why did you turn this place into a venue for the selection of gods? You must have received instructions, likely even before I did. That's why you're trying to divert everyone's attention with this charade, am I right?"

Philemon stepped closer and closer to Thresmund, who backed away repeatedly.

Philemon continued, "You're aware of the issues with the venue, aren't you? So, why aren't you doing anything about it? Is it really okay to let your father carry on like this?"

"I-I don't know what you're talking about!" Thresmund turned his head away in fear.

Philemon did not press further.

"Let me be frank. One, our goals align-for now, at least. Two, some forces are unbreakable; these are the rules and the natural order. Clearly, your foster father has started to overstep his bounds, and his downfall is only a matter of time."

With that, Philemon pushed open the door and left, leaving Thresmund standing there, overwhelmed and unsure of what to do.

The next day, the Myriad Immortals Gathering officially began. Due to the large number of participants, they used the special devices brought by Dusky in the first round.

The venue was divided into small sections, with a hundred people in each group. A chaotic battle ensued.

Before the competition started, ample preparation time was given, allowing participants to set up any necessary conditions for their abilities.

Many battles concluded quickly. Clearly, they had not grouped evenly matched opponents in the same field. Instead, everyone was mixed up randomly.

Most of the younger generation of the Genii disciples took part. Spectators watched every move on the battlefield through projections above the arena.

"Group 98's match concluded. Winner, Anox Dune."

"Group 77's match concluded. Winner, Kalo Dune."

"Group 6's match concluded. Winner, Chevy Woods."

"Group 18's match concluded. Winner, Teresa Gallagher."

...

As the day went on, the matches wrapped up one by one, leaving just under 300 participants.

The first day's aim was to conduct a preliminary selection. The following days would feature a three-person match. That would narrow down the numbers to about a hundred.

From there, one-on-one matches would take place, further reducing the number to 50 and so on, until the champion was decided.

The first day ended with Thresmund, Anox, and the others advancing to the next round without much difficulty. They all said their victories had been relatively easy.

"Maybe it's just luck," Teresa commented. "There was a really strong opponent in my match, but he suddenly felt unwell, started coughing up blood, and fainted. It was really scary."

Chevy yawned.

"Don't worry about it, Teresa. You're much stronger than that guy. He was just a coward who only picked on weaker opponents."

"Wait, I remember you came out after me. How do you know what happened in my match?" Teresa asked, puzzled.

Chevy grinned. "I just saw it on someone's phone recording, that's all."

With this revelation, Anox and Kalo blushed deeply, glaring at Chevy as if they wanted to tear him in half.

"Recording? What recording?" Teresa asked.

Chevy explained, "Well, I wanted to analyze the winning contestants, so I hired someone to record each match."

"Oh, I see," Teresa nodded.

Anox and Kalo both sighed in relief.

Meanwhile, Thresmund was still mulling over Philemon's words.

"What's that guy planning? That bastard!"

"Thresmund? Thres?" Teresa called out, snapping Thresmund back to reality.