Chapter 485: The Director

When Felton Williams' figure hit the ground, the entire Temple Gymnasium fell silent as death, and then an even greater uproar erupted from several stands on the west side.

Li Mochen's fans, wearing platinum badges, were frantically beating the seats with mineral water bottles, many young girls nearly driven mad with excitement. On the stands opposite them, the previously frenzied crowd stood dumbfounded, their faces pale.

"What? What just happened? What happened? Did anyone see? Hey, director's room, are you listening? Can you replay what just happened on the big screens on both sides?"

The live commentator seemed completely at a loss, roaring incoherently.

"Look at the scene, our Felton Williams was suddenly knocked flying and has fallen under the ring, seemingly unable to get up anytime soon. Look, our referee seems stunned too, standing there in a daze. I have to say, that's very unprofessional. He should raise the black flag, call it a fatal blow, five points!"

At this moment, on the east side of the gymnasium, in several studios and director's rooms beneath the stands, everyone was panicking.

"What's going on? How did he suddenly fly out?"

"Got it, I'm replaying and analyzing here."

"Unbelievable, unbelievable! This is truly miraculous swordsmanship."

"This must be the most brilliant and ultimate swordsmanship I've seen this year. He's truly a genius. The power he used and his speed still haven't exceeded level nine."

"A swing of the sword that is simple to the extreme, just choosing a perfect angle, perfect deception, simply perfect—"

"So what do we do now? This is a live broadcast. Don't tell me this fight can end in one minute."

"Notify the referees and staff to find ways to stall for time within the rules. We can rotate the footage captured by the twenty-four HD cameras from various angles."

"No! No! Insert commercials first. The audience will be curious about what happened during this time. Many probably weren't watching closely, and those who saw will want to watch that sword strike again. Before that, we need to give our advertisers some payoff."

"Invite guests. I know there are two retired war emperors watching the match. Invite them before other TV stations get them, have them analyze after the match—this can fill the program gap. Damn, I don't know whether to say Williams is too fragile or that lucky Andre is too strong!"

"It's the latter! You don't know, that Williams should be a deity's chosen. We don't need to panic. Our professional equipment recorded this match in full. Around this sword strike, we can easily make a six-hour program. Call it 'The Hidden Mystery of That Sword Strike' or 'The Brilliance of That Sword Strike,' 'A Sword Strike of Ultimate Genius.' Ratings should explode. I bet many viewers will be eager to learn about this match."

At this moment, in VIP Room No. 4, Dwight Payton had also settled down, looking expectantly at the TV hanging in the room.

He had clearly seen that sword strike, but even so, he was especially looking forward to its replay.

"Damn! They're playing commercials at a time like this. It's been two minutes already. Can't they hurry up?"

Agent Edward Jeffries was cursing crudely. He really wanted to know what had just happened. A momentary lapse in attention at the start of the match made him miss the excitement. But who would have thought that Williams would fly out as soon as the match began?

"Most of these commercials are from Amo's sponsors, including us, Nayson. I think the timing of this insertion is good; it justifies our ad fees."

Carl interjected: "Actually, Amo just used a forward thrust. His swordplay was very simple, looking unremarkable. You'll be disappointed, Mr. Jeffries."

"I know!" Edward Jeffries raised his voice. "But I just want to see it, OK? Hmm, all magic energy professionals know that simplicity contains great principles."

Under the gaze of nearly a hundred thousand people on site, Felton Williams, his head spinning, forced himself to stand before the ten-second count. Then he tried to recall what had just happened, but no matter how hard he tried, his mind was blank.

At this moment, several ringside referees gathered around. One of them first lifted his eyelid to check, then asked if he felt unwell.

Williams didn't want to answer; he needed time to adjust and recall. So a large group of doctors entered to conduct a more detailed examination.

Until two minutes later, amid impatient curses, the giant screens on both sides began playing the footage from earlier. Twenty-four different angles, looped, with professional commentary.

Williams stared quietly at the screen, finally recalling the frames he had experienced himself.

Li Mochen responded to his slash with a forward thrust, with strength and speed no greater than an ordinary level-nine magic energy professional, only slightly faster under the enhancement of spells like 'Cat's Grace,' 'Wind Walk,' and 'Titan Simulation.'

And the form of a direct frontal strike somewhat offset his huge advantage in speed. Williams did not take this thrust seriously; he only needed to casually change the angle of his swing to cut the opponent's arm before the thrust reached him.

But then, lightning suddenly sparked at Li Mochen's feet—a 'Thunder Step' spell, carrying his steps abruptly to the left front, shifting his position before Williams' eyes almost like a blink. Then that sword thrust precisely struck his ribs. And using the force of Williams' own swing, it knocked him off the ring.

Reflecting carefully, Williams looked up at the ring with a dazed expression, only to see Andre standing there, holding his sword with both hands planted on the ground, watching him with a contemptuous gaze.

His expression seemed to say: So what if you're a chosen of a god? Before the lucky Prince Andre, Felton Williams is still just a worthless piece of trash.

Williams felt both shame and anger, but more than that, he was still confused, still unable to understand the situation. Until the referee asked him again if he wanted to continue the match.

And the voice of that great deity sounded in his ear.

"Felton! You need to be careful, don't be fooled by him. The feints in his forward thrust and the flow of source energy on his body deceived my divine perception. You need to handle this yourself, analyze it yourself."

Felton Williams suddenly had an epiphany, recalling Li Mochen's shoulder lift and arm swing before the thrust. These movements were very subtle, but combined with the flow of source energy, they gave him no fewer than thirty kinds of wrong predictions. And Li Mochen chose the most unimaginable one.