Evolving My Undead Legion In A Game-Like World-Chapter 336 Sixty Nine

At first, no one spoke.

The silence that followed Leonard’s collapse wasn’t the usual kind—the kind that came with shock or awe.

No, this was the other kind.

The kind that made the hairs on the back of every neck rise.

The kind that thickened the air, as if the arena itself didn’t know how to process what it had just witnessed.

Then came the gasps.

Soft at first. Then sharper. Then full-on murmurs, building like a tide of stunned confusion.

But oddly enough, it wasn’t the commoners who reacted first.

It was the nobles.

The ones who thought Leonard Vale would "put the upstart in his place."

Their eyes were wide.

Some leaned forward.

Others gripped their seats unconsciously.

One or two stood without realizing.

They’d seen the initial clash. They knew Leonard’s strength.

And now... they had no explanation.

Next were the hunters and adventurers.

They weren’t nobles. They weren’t rich. But they were fighters. They understood power.

They recognized it the moment Leonard activated his bloodline.

They saw the strength in his steps, the force behind his strikes, the terrifying burst of momentum that could shatter boulders.

And they’d felt what it meant when someone entered that state.

When Leonard had drawn on the White Leopard bloodline, he hadn’t just gotten faster and stronger.

No, he had briefly stepped beyond the Advanced Stage and into the Grand Tier—a state of power known only to a handful in the entire kingdom.

It wasn’t true Grand Tier, of course. More of a bloodline-induced simulation. A "fake Grand Tier," as some called it.

But fake or not, the power was real.

With it, Leonard should have been invincible in this trial.

He shouldn’t have met a match.

And yet...

He had.

And worse—he had been crushed.

No wounds. No visible injuries. Not a single blow exchanged.

He had simply been told to fall.

And he did.

The officials in blue robes didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.

They too had recognized what had happened.

They hadn’t seen a clever trick. Not sleight of hand. Not hidden technique.

They had seen suppression.

That was the only word that fit.

Michael hadn’t fought Leonard.

He had suppressed him.

A being who stepped into the Grand Tier—if only briefly—had been rendered powerless without a scratch on him.

The female official clenched her quill so tightly the feather bent at an odd angle. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, eyes narrowed at the boy on stage.

Beside her, the older male official just leaned back and let out a long, slow breath.

"...Grand Tier," he muttered, voice hoarse.

The woman finally spoke, voice low.

"But he didn’t—"

"He didn’t need to."

Another moment passed. Then he added, "And if that’s what he does without trying... then we weren’t just sent a freak."

"We were sent a monster."

Back in the stands, even Uga blinked slowly, watching Michael with unreadable eyes. He didn’t clap. He didn’t smile. But for the first time since the competition began, he looked... interested.

Renn, sitting beside him, let out a quiet whistle and muttered under his breath, "Well, I’ll be damned..."

And on the platform, Michael just stood there.

Still.

Silent.

As if nothing had happened.

Like it had all gone exactly as expected.

Michael didn’t move for a while.

He stood there calmly, as if waiting for the officials to call the result—even though the outcome was clear to everyone.

Leonard Vale hadn’t just been defeated; he had been rendered inert.

Reduced to a collapsed figure lying on the stage like an offering to something beyond understanding.

Eventually, Michael turned and walked off the platform, his pace unhurried.

But behind that serene gait, his mind was anything but still.

Should I have ended it sooner?

It was a thought that had crossed his mind multiple times throughout the match. Honestly, he could have ended it the moment Leonard activated his bloodline.

But he hadn’t moved.

And there was a reason for that.

Truth be told, Michael had been conflicted since the beginning of the trial. Not about winning—that much was inevitable. But how to win.

Disqualification on technicalities. Sudden "violations." Mysterious injuries or accusations.

He was overthinking it. He felt he was.

But it didn’t stop him.

And truly, Michael was indeed overthinking it.

Nobody was going to stop his fair win.

At least... not until now.

Before this battle, the Duke hadn’t perceived him as a threat.

The nobles saw him as a strange, maybe overpowered Advanced Stage freak—but still within the lines of the trial.

Had he gone aggressive yesterday and showed his true power unnecessarily, the situation today would have been different.

There was also something else.

Curiosity.

That was the second reason the battle lasted longer than it needed to.

Michael had sensed it the moment Leonard activated his bloodline. The way the mana flowed, the shift in his presence, the subtle but distinct pressure—it was familiar.

Not identical to his own, but resembling.

Leonard had a bloodline.

Just like him.

That had caught Michael’s attention.

It had been almost two months since his awakening. He wasn’t a novice anymore.

He knew some things now.

He knew his bloodline wasn’t ordinary. Not when it allowed him to overwhelm even beasts ranked above him.

Not with the perks that came with it or the way Teacher Brian had been envious of his "opportunity."

He was a high huma.

A race with power far beyond the ordinary.

He’d classified his bloodline as Extraordinary Rank.

Leonard’s, by comparison?

Rare Rank, at best.

It was strong, no doubt.

But that was where it ended.

Michael couldn’t use himself as a reference. That wasn’t fair as he was an Awakener.

But he could use Spartan.

Spartan would’ve destroyed Leonard.

So Michael’s conclusion was fairly accurate.

Of course, it could also be that Leonard was the one unable to show the true potential of his bloodline.

Michael exhaled softly as he returned to his seat. His expression was still calm, but his thoughts were clearer than ever.

Renn leaned forward the moment Michael sat down beside him.

He stared at his friend—or perhaps stranger—with an unreadable expression, eyes squinting slightly as if trying to peer through fog.

Michael didn’t look at him. He sat with the same steady calm he always wore, gazing out at the arena where the officials were already preparing for the next match.

But Renn couldn’t hold back.

"Be honest," he said, voice low but sharp. "Are you the king’s bastard?"

Michael’s gaze didn’t waver.

Renn blinked, then added, "Or the Duke’s. Or... I don’t know, some ancient clan’s secret heir?"

Still nothing.

Michael didn’t frown, didn’t shift. He just... breathed.

Renn sighed loudly and slumped back into his seat. "Of course you won’t answer."

Michael didn’t smile. But the corner of his mouth did twitch.

That was all Renn got.

And somehow, it was enough.

He turned his attention back to the arena. "You know," he muttered, "I was planning to feel good if I advanced today. Proud even."

He paused.

"But now I feel like I’ve been sparring with a sleeping dragon and didn’t realize it."

Michael didn’t respond to that either. He just kept watching.

Eight rounds remained.

Of the remaining participants, two were nobles. The rest were commoners.

Renn kept his mouth shut as the next match was called.

The nobles still in line had watched the earlier battles with great care.

However no one cared about the nobles.

The crowd barely reacted. After Leonard’s collapse, everything else felt small.

The last two did advance though.

Michael’s attention turned to the commoners.

Seven of them.

The few of them fought like they had nothing to lose.

Three commoners advanced. Only three.

The others?

Even those who won their matches were deemed unqualified.

The standard had been set.

Intermediate rank at least.

All eyes turned toward the blue-robed officials.

The woman stood, parchment in hand, her expression unreadable. She didn’t speak immediately. Instead, she slowly scanned the crowd—then the stage—before finally raising her voice.

"With the end of this trial," she began, "we now have our final tally."

Her voice was crisp, carrying through the stands with perfect clarity.

"Out of the 178 participants..."

A beat.

"...Only 69 have qualified for the next stage."

A few murmurs rippled among the noble families. Relief for some, disappointment for others.

Renn folded his arms and leaned back in his seat. ƒгeewёbnovel.com

Michael’s expression didn’t shift. His gaze was already turning inward.

The woman rolled up the parchment, nodded once to her fellow official, and sat back down.

"Those names will be posted shortly," she added. "Tomorrow, the final stage will commence."

"And it would be public."

And just like that, the second trial was over.

Sixty-nine would move forward.

Renn scratched the back of his head. "You know, it’s weird. I’m nervous."

Renn chuckled bitterly. "I don’t even know if I’m scared of you or scared of whatever else they’re hiding in this trial."

That comment earned the slightest turn of Michael’s head.

Renn pressed on. "Because let’s be honest... there were nobles today who didn’t show up yesterday. A few familiar family crests showed up last minute. And you know what that means?"

Michael finally looked at him