As expected, Dyon’s words caused another wave of rage.

A normal challenge could be levied in a myriad of ways. It could be a debate where no concoctions were needed at all, a presentation of theories and personal research, it could be a test of flame control or impurity cleansing… The list went on and on.

Ultimately, it would be decided between the two parties.

However, in the case of a Gauntlet, it was completely different. There was only one way to compete, and that was to concoct. And the winner would be decided by who had the higher-level pill. Nothing more, nothing less. This was all there was to it.

If there was any ‘choice’ at all, it was in whether or not to participate or simply forfeit your right and thus lose your position on the stele.

That was right, it wasn’t even possible to choose the pill they would concoct. This choice would be randomly made by the stele for every single match. The fact that Dyon wanted to face them all at the same time meant that he was agreeing, essentially, to concocting a thousand different pills all at once.

Set aside the difficulty of such a matter for a moment… would they even have the soul stamina to concoct a thousand pills in a row?! Let alone all at once?!

However, instead of being enraptured by his pride, Venerable Bart took a step forward, his old eyes brimming with vitality and sharpness.

“I accept. I hope you won’t take back your words now that you’ve said them.”

At these words, Dyon only chuckled.

This Bart was most definitely an old, wily fox. For him to be over ten million years old, yet still on the Venerable rankings showed just how thick his skin was.

The Steles didn’t have age limitations, but there were unspoken rules. Usually, no one older than five million years old would appear on the Venerable rankings. After all, Ary and Doran were not even half his age.

But it was clear that this old man didn’t care for his face. He knew that he wouldn’t have much of a chance on the Empyrean rankings, so he weathered the ridicule and remained on the Venerable Stele.

Of course, doing this would still be impossible if he didn’t have some powerful backing. If he didn’t, the ostracization he would face alone would be enough to cripple his future.

It took Dyon no more than a split second to understand these truths and realize that this old man was most definitely hiding a sharp knife within that frail figure of his.

However, what did this have to do with Dyon?

Even though he had burned away almost all of his soul strength and couldn’t be considered to have even a percent of a percent of it left, his soul stamina would still put many Lower Immortal Gods to shame.

He could already concoct Empyrean Grade pills with a mortal soul. And now that he had an Empyrean Grade soul… Was there even any suspense to this?

Dyon smirked, looking off into the distance toward seemingly empty space.

“Go on. Allow the Venerable Stele to randomly select your pills.” He said without care. “It can’t be that you want me to touch it a thousand times for you all, right?”

Without another word, Dyon shot into the air.

In the skies, the three pillars of red-gold were quickly converging, forming a Heavenly platform that stretched for hundreds of kilometers.

He landed with a calm expression on his face, Saru and Lilith following after him without a care.

Dyon smiled lightly when he saw those on this platform. As expected, this was where the real ‘big players’ were. While the Venerables were still throwing their tantrums on the ground, the Empyreans were already here, building up great momentum.

Their auras were sharpened and sheathed like swords. As though an army facing a common enemy, their gazes were lit with hostility and animosity, yet their expressions were also calm.

It was obvious by this alone just how much more seriously they took this than the Venerables. No matter how unlikely the chance, they wouldn’t allow it to air. They would go all out from the very beginning.

Dyon’s bare feet glided across the smooth surface. Even facing so many enraged auras, his steps seemed to carry blades of their own, parting the tides of torrential pressure as though he was on a leisurely stroll.

“You all should be careful.” Dyon said with a smile. “If you apply too much pressure, those poor Venerables wouldn’t be able to perform well. By then, wouldn’t you be making things too easy on me?”

Dyon’s teasing words caused some of the more fiery Empyreans to have trouble controlling themselves. But, under the command of their top three, the tides of their auras receded. Whether or not Dyon was making fun of them or not, his words weren’t wrong.

When they thought about it, it was indeed a joke to try and pressure someone who could make the God Stele ring.

It wasn’t long before, with pale faces, the Venerables climbed to the platform. They seemed drained before they even stepped foot on the arena.

However, this couldn’t be blamed on them. If this was a heavenly platform formed by solely the ringing of the Venerable Stele, it would still be manageable… But things had long since stopped being so simple.

Venerable Bart coldly stared at Dyon, clutching a bronze leaf paper in his hand.

He held it forward and the bronze paper began to burn.

The sounds of sonorous bells filled the skies. The Gauntlet had begun.