Chapter 308: Richard's Choice

Chapter 308: Richard's Choice

Cullen had initially thought that he would become the target.

He had prepared himself so that the moment anyone rushed toward him from the surroundings, he would drop Richard and sink his teeth into them for a real, vicious brawl.

Thus, when the others averted their gazes, Cullen felt a faint sense of surprise in his heart.

But he quickly grew at ease again; Richard, the "burden," had instead become a symbol of his own strength in this peculiar environment.

The man who had directly rammed Leon out of the trial might not have known Leon or his identity—or perhaps he knew but simply did not care—but his primary reason for choosing Leon as his target was that Leon was already holding on by a mere thread at the final node. The man understood that with just a single push, Leon would be thrust out of the competitor rankings.

Yet, he did not dare lay a finger on Cullen, because he did not believe the others around them would join forces with him to strike Cullen down. The remaining spots numbered five, not one; whoever decided to make a move would inevitably face a counterattack from Cullen.

No one would be naive enough to believe that Cullen, caught in such a situation, would still foolishly cling to his deadweight. A normal person's choice in that moment would be to discard the deadweight and ruthlessly tear into whoever was trying to finish them off.

Under the premise of mutual competition, no one would choose to strike the strongest. The rational optimal solution was often untenable on an emotional level.

The man lay prone on the ground, seemingly gasping for breath.

Dragging Richard, Cullen continued forward, stepping past the man, who remained motionless.

The others were advancing as well, but all subconsciously pulled a slight distance away from each other.

This had been the most likely window for cooperation; with this opportunity lost, uniting again to deal with anyone else would be nigh impossible.

Cullen surpassed everyone, walking in the front row, and then continued firmly heading upward.

Cullen lowered his head to look at Richard, whose skin was now eighty percent frozen over. The current Richard resembled a block of ice more than anything, yet his consciousness remained, and he was still gritting his teeth and enduring.

In truth, at this height, even if he hadn’t walked up on his own, such resilience was already quite commendable.

This proved that Richard’s innate talent was actually very high, but the fellow possessed a dissolute character and had, in fact, somewhat failed his own gifts.

Then again, this was normal; his family background was right here. Such a lineage granted him a very high starting point, while simultaneously stripping him of the fortitude required to claw one's way up from the bottom.

The altitude rose a bit higher, and the degree of soul freezing ascended to a new peak.

At this moment, Richard's consciousness finally showed signs of imminent dispersal, which meant that if they went any higher, he might be directly "forced" to exit the trial.

Cullen simply halted his steps, turned around, faced down the mountain, and sat down.

Leaning against Cullen's arm, Richard let out a faint, intermittent voice:

"Cul... len... I really... really am... a... useless piece of trash..."

"Yes, you are."

"You help me... so... so much... yet I... still can't... lift myself up..."

"Alright, stop speaking of known absurdities."

"I feel so... so hurt... being dragged up... like this by you... I am in such... such agony..."

"You're being overly dramatic."

"Being... friends... being... brothers... I... don't want... to be... a burden..."

"Shut your mouth; endure for as long as you can."

Just then, the first silhouette appeared below, coming up—it was that man from the Knights.

Then, he came to a stop.

He looked at Cullen sitting above, and at Richard sitting propped against Cullen.

He understood that the reason Cullen had stopped was that the companion beside him could no longer sustain the upward march.

But with Cullen sitting right there like that, he didn’t dare go up either.

Because according to the rules, ensuring a spot in the top five meant not only being in the top five while you were still in the trial, but also ensuring that after you left the trial, those still competing behind would not surpass the coordinate height you left behind.

He had witnessed with his own eyes how Cullen had forcefully dragged that person to this point; he was certainly determined to ensure that individual made the top five. Since there weren't many competitors left on the field, the best way to secure it was to eliminate a few competitors right here.

The most awkward part was that the higher one went, the narrower the path became. At this current position, safely bypassing where Cullen sat to go up was nearly impossible; moreover, every single step of movement would drain what little strength he had left, and he didn't want to waste it on moving laterally.

Seeing the man before him halt his steps and remain still.

Cullen smiled; he didn’t know if his face could accurately convey a smile right now, but he raised his right arm and waved it toward the space behind him, signaling for him to go up on his own.

The youth froze for a moment, a bit hesitant, because no one could guarantee him that Cullen wouldn’t choose to launch a sneak attack.

But looking back down, then looking at Cullen, and then looking at the snow-capped mountain behind Cullen, he ultimately chose to take a step forward.

When he walked up to Cullen's side, the youth paused and spoke:

"I... I am called... called Bart... Bart Cusens... Third... Knights... Reserve... Hawk... Knight..."

He was using this active method of introducing himself to express his respect to Cullen.

"Cullen Silva, off-staff member of the Bloodhound Neo Squad of the Whip of Order."

"This..."

Bart was shocked—not because Cullen was merely an off-staff member of the Whip of Order; his own parents were high-ranking officers in the Knights, yet wasn’t he also a reserve knight right now, belonging to the off-staff reserve, much like Cullen? The more a family possessed accumulation and a deep heritage, the more they valued the development of their descendants at the grassroots level; only parvenus would think of climbing as high as possible within a limited timeframe.

He was shocked that Cullen could actually speak so fluently!

What did this signify?

It signified that the other party still had strength to spare right now, and a great deal of it at that.

"Cul... len... I want... want... to invite you... to drink... wine..."

"I don't drink wine. Let's have tea instead; drinking wine is bad for the body."

"Al... alright... just... drink tea..."

Cullen turned his head to look at Bart and said, "Go on up, and speak less."

"Th... thank you..."

Bart continued to take his steps, walking upward with great difficulty, one step at a time. He would keep walking until he truly could walk no further, until his consciousness dispersed and he automatically exited the trial, detaching from the formation.

On one hand, this was the rule of the game; on the other hand, it was because he knew clearly in his heart that although he was currently ranked first, he was not the true first, but the second. He believed Cullen would walk up.

After Bart went up, soon, a second figure appeared—it was the youth who played with pebbles.

His soul state currently manifested as half ice and half stone, making him look like a stone man.

However, Cullen understood that what was on the youth was no ordinary stone; it ought to be a type of crystal that looked like stone, and furthermore, this state had saturated deep into his soul.

The youth stopped his steps; evidently, he had encountered the same predicament as Bart.

He knew Bart was ahead of him, but he didn't know whether Bart had continued upward or had been "taken care of" by Cullen.

"I'm quite curious, have you been polluted before?" Cullen asked.

"Y... yes... pol... lution..."

"Not easy."

This youth had indeed been polluted before; he was a believer of Order, yet at the same time, he could be considered an aberrant demon.

Moreover, his pollution had already saturated his soul; one could view him much like Dorado-Lin. He had endured greater agony than Dorado-Lin, yet he had gritted his teeth and walked onto the path of faith.

"Th... that... can... I... go... up?"

The youth inquired of Cullen.

“Go on up, it's fine, I won't ambush you.”

“Oh… al… right…”

The youth took a step forward and continued upward, one pace at a time. As he drew level with Cullen's side, he spoke:

“My… name… is… Ven… Ventura… Your… your… soul… is very powerful…”

The youth did not mention his surname, which most likely signified one thing—he had no family clan. This did not mean he was an orphan, but rather that even if he spoke his surname, no one would know it, so he simply omitted it.

This, however, served as a reminder to Cullen. He was accustomed to including his fabricated surname when exchanging names with others, but in truth, it was unnecessary.

“I am Cullen.”

Ventura lifted a leg that was half ice and half stone, and continued his ascent.

After another moment, the man who had forced Leon out of the test appeared here. He too halted his steps, but he asked no questions; instead, he chose directly to mimic Cullen, turning around to face down the mountain and sitting himself down.

Before long, Aisli walked up. She saw the man sitting there, and she also saw Cullen and his companion sitting slightly higher above the man.

She stared fixedly at the man and kept walking upward.

Yet as she drew close to his side, the man suddenly lunged upward, throwing himself toward her.

Aisli was prepared, and the two tumbled together in a fierce struggle.

Because the souls of both sides were now on the verge of complete depletion, the scene of their grappling was devoid of accompanying spells, and there was no flowing radiance. In short, it was far from beautiful.

Instead, they resembled two dying wild dogs, locked in a final, biting frenzy.

Sitting above them, Cullen watched the scene with absolute tranquility. The man had not inquired whether he could go up as Bart and Ventura had, for he assumed Cullen was guarding the pass.

Therefore, he stopped below Cullen, intending to guard a pass of his own.

Clearly, the strength of the man's soul was still a fraction higher than Aisli's, and that single fraction, at this critical juncture, was enough to become a definitive advantage.

Aisli was pinned to the ground, her soul dissipating continuously, yet she still refused to yield, as though making a final struggle, even though her struggles were growing weaker and weaker.

Yet right at this moment, a flash of red suddenly manifested within Aisli's soul. A bird of pure crimson flew out from within her body, crashing directly into the man, whose soul was instantaneously ignited.

Amidst an incredulous gaze, his form vanished, exiting the test.

Previously, an examinee had been stripped of their examination eligibility under the guise of “cheating” when the phantom of a tortoise was triggered on their body during the security check.

But Aisli possessed something similar; it was merely that she belonged to that specific department, so her relationship with demon beasts was far closer, and her methods of concealment far more sophisticated.

Just as the examination instructions had broadcasted: if it is discovered, it is cheating; if it remains undiscovered, then it is your own capability.

Aisli scrambled up from the snow with great difficulty, looking toward Cullen.

As there were not many features left on her face, Cullen could only guess, guessing that she was smiling.

“This… is… my… ve… very… last… re… resort…”

Cullen said nothing.

Aisli glanced at the spot where the man had previously sat, then looked behind Cullen.

Ultimately, she still decided to walk upward, because in her view, whether she stayed here or was pushed out of the test by Cullen, the coordinates of the height left behind would be identical anyway, so it was better to bring it to an early end.

However, it was only when she passed Cullen's side with immense difficulty and reached the space above him that she turned her head back toward Cullen's silhouette in sheer astonishment.

“Do… you… have… a… fancy… for… me…”

Most importantly, he did not want Cullen, for his own sake, to engage in a duel with this somnolent girl.

When Richard vanished,

The voice of Bishop Bourne rang out:

"The selection is over."

"Roar!"

With a low growl from the phantom beast Compasini, Cullen opened his eyes.

At this moment, only two people remained in the examination grounds, for they were the only ones still lingering within the illusion when the selection concluded; the others, including the trio of Bart and his companions ahead of them, had all failed to endure after ascending a certain distance and had withdrawn one after another, whereupon a beam of light would teleport their bodies out of the venue.

Cullen looked toward the somnolent girl, who was also gazing at him, a trace of regret seemingly mirrored in her eyes—regret that no genuine conflict had erupted between her and Cullen.

Bishop Bourne was announcing the rankings.

First place was Bart, second was Ventura, third was Eisley, fourth was Cullen, and fifth... Philomena.

The rankings were, in truth, inaccurate, as two of them had remained within the illusion until its very end; theoretically, they could have continued their ascent, but to Bishop Bourne, he only needed to select five individuals, and ranking these five slots held little inherent meaning.

"Cullen, see you at the next selection."

Philomena offered Cullen a faint smile, then drew a sleep mask from her pocket and slipped it over her face; her body leaned forward once more as though she had drifted back to sleep, and she began to depart the area with slightly faltering steps.

"Cullen, let's head back, hehe," Richard said as he walked over.

"Mhm."

As Cullen and Richard made their way out, they saw Bart standing there waiting for him.

"Hey, let's grab some tea!"

Bart stepped forward and delivered a light punch to Cullen's chest.

"Alright."

"Um, I'd like to join too," Ventura's voice drifted over, the boy who had been playing with pebbles appearing somewhat bashful.

"Don't leave me out; we still have to head to the next round together when the time comes," Eisley added as she walked over.

Behind both Bart and Eisley stood crowds of people waiting for them; seeing this, Bart spoke up: "Then let's not bring any other friends along."

Eisley nodded: "I have no objection."

The group stepped into the teleportation array, and accompanied by a shroud of white light, everyone returned to the subterranean floor of the Academic Affairs Building.

As they walked out, a multitude of friends and parents were waiting outside to receive people.

A certain figure appeared there as well; it was none other than Mr. Memphis.

Seeing this, Richard immediately said, "I'll go report the situation to the captain and the others with Mr. Memphis. Cullen, you guys go ahead to the gathering."

Richard remembered that Bart had just mentioned they wouldn't be bringing friends this time.

He knew Cullen would definitely bring him along, but he was unwilling to be a burden.

Cullen initially wanted to call out to Richard, as he would not neglect his own cousin for the sake of a so-called new social circle, but upon seeing Mr. Memphis standing there, he remained silent.

Richard walked up to Memphis, who spoke first: "The captain and the others went back ahead of us, leaving me here to wait for your news."

"Then let me tell you some good news: Cullen made the cut, haha!"

Mr. Memphis nodded; he was not surprised by this outcome, for the prediction he and his father had made was that Richard could only fluke his way onto that list by sheer luck.

Of course, what had actually transpired within the illusion remained unknown to them, and few individuals knew the truth; only Bishop Bourne, who presided over the illusion, and the final few selectees were clear on the matter.

Richard spoke up: "I've realized the gap between me and them is so vast. Even though everyone is roughly the same age, sigh, I really wasted so much time in the past. Life was just too comfortable. From now on, I can't go on like this."

"Every selection test is but a minor interlude in one's life experience; its purpose is merely to let oneself clarify the direction moving forward. Though you did not secure a rank, you have already gained something, and that is cause for joy."

"Yes, you're absolutely right, Memphis. It must be hard for you; a person as introverted as you is actually comforting me." Richard opened his arms and gave Memphis a brief hug. "Alright, but my dad probably won't comfort me like this. I reckon when I get home, I'll be thrashed by him again, sigh."

"He won't."

"He definitely will."

"A father can find a reason to thrash his son at any given time, but he will not choose to do so when his son is downcast."

"Sigh, you don't understand; my dad has a screw loose."

Memphis: "..."

"Aren't you going to speak with Cullen?"

"He does not lack voices of congratulation right now, whereas you require companionship at this moment."

"True." Richard nodded, draping an arm over Memphis's shoulder. "Memphis, you're a real friend. Come on, no matter what, I'm treating you to some pastries today!"

"You should head home first."

"Not going home just yet. I've been bored to death these past few days; I need to go and unwind properly."

"I have matters to attend to and cannot go today—very important matters."

"Is that so? What a pity, then I'll just go by myself first."

"Alright..."

"How about this: after you're finished with your business, you can head to Red Leaf Street. That's a whole street of pastry shops; just pick any one that catches your eye and walk right in. When you're done, just give them my name to put it on my tab. They all call me Young Master, heh heh."

"Very well..."

"Oh, right, remember, on that street I'm not called Richard. You know how it is—when playing around in a place like that, how could one possibly use their real name? Using a real name is always inconvenient."

"Then what are you called?"

"Young Master Eisen."