The Strongest War God - Chapter 1430

Chapter 1430: The Three Soul Slaves are Worried
Editor: EndlessFantasy Translation

Braydon Neal spent some time alone in his room, poring over the information about the Hall of Souls.

Eventually, he rose from his seat and ventured downstairs to the bustling first level of the hall.

At night, this floor was alive with activity.

Spanning an impressive size capable of housing 50,000 people, the first level was divided into three bustling zones: leisure, administration, and competition.

Each area was teeming with crowds, but it was the competition zone that truly thrived.

Here, multiple arenas hosted intense battles, each allowing only two combatants at a time.

The stakes were high — only one would emerge alive, determining victory and defeat, even life and death itself.

For some, these battles were opportunities for personal growth, while for others, they served as lucrative gambling spectacles.

Surrounding the arenas, makeshift gambling tables sprouted up, attracting eager bettors eager to capitalize on the outcomes.

Yet, amidst the thrill of victory and agony of defeat, lives were inevitably lost.

Despite the allure of such events, Braydon remained disinterested.

Having honed his skills on the battlefield, he sought a different kind of growth–the enhancement of his cultivation.

In the world of the Spirit Sea, strength was paramount, and Braydon aimed to bolster his power.

As a newcomer to the administrative area, Braydon navigated through the bustling crowds, his presence drawing curious glances from passersby.

“Hey there, buddy. You seem a bit lost. Is this your first time at the Hall of Souls?” A wiry young man with a sharp chin and cheeks like a monkey prodded Braydon.

Braydon gave a slight nod in acknowledgment.

The thin young man’s eyes lit up with enthusiasm.

“Ah, when you’re new here, you gotta register and grab a black token. Give me your details, and I’ll hold your spot in line for you!”

Braydon quickly recognized the helpful stranger as a fixer.

He would assist newcomers while making a tidy profit on the side.

But there was more to it–they held a wealth of information about the rookies.

In the Hall of Souls, factions abounded, each vying for dominance.

Yet, despite the apparent unity, outside influences reached in, their fingers stretching into every corner.

Still, the three soul slaves of the Hall remained indifferent; all who entered had to abide by the rules.

Glancing at the lengthy queue, Braydon sighed inwardly.

Twenty windows, each swarmed with eager applicants.

The thin young man leaned in conspiratorially.

“I’ve seen my fair share of faces around here. You’re likely from one of the big leagues in the Spirit Sea, huh? Here to toughen up in the hall, I reckon? No worries, I’ll save you a spot for a mere ten spirit crystals. You can kick back in the leisure area while I handle this.”

“Deal,” Braydon replied, flicking over the required crystals and a slip of paper with his name and prowess scribbled on it.

Braydon possessed the might of an emperor, yet on paper, his combat strength was that of a saint.

He kept his other details close to the chest; after all, every cultivator had their secrets.

The Hall of Souls didn’t pry into such matters.

The thin young man’s eyes widened as he scanned the name list.

What did the surname Neal signify in the Spirit Sea? It was obvious–a disciple of the renowned Spirit Sea Neal family.

Typically, Neal family disciples avoided the Hall of Souls due to the strong presence of the Stone family, which often spelled death for Neal disciples in its perilous realms.

Though killing was prohibited within the hall’s confines, danger lurked in its many corners.

Opportunistic individuals could exploit certain areas to commit unspeakable acts of violence, leaving no trace behind.

“I’m Teddy Webb, a disciple of the Myriad Sword Sect in the Spirit Sea. Brother, just give me an hour, and I’ll handle everything for you,” the thin youth offered with a smile.

Braydon nodded in agreement, then made his way to the lounge area.

It was bustling with all sorts of characters.

Opting for a seat by the window, he gazed out at the darkened expanse of the Spirit Sea, its dangers lurking beneath the surface.

Demons, formidable and cunning, prowled the waters, especially at night, preying on solitary cultivators to bolster their own strength.

Demonic beasts feasted on humans, while cultivators utilized these beasts to refine weapons and concoct pills.

The animosity between the two factions was inherent.

Braydon settled into the lounge area, ordering a pot of wine to enjoy alone as he peered out the window.

His tranquility was interrupted only when a disturbance caught his attention, prompting him to glance to his left.

A massive stone pillar dominated the space, adorned with a shadowy screen that displayed scrolling red text, constantly refreshing with various information.

A crowd had gathered around, their murmurs blending into a cacophony.

Amidst the chatter, a gruff man voiced his frustration, “These rascals keep upping the ante. I shelled out thousands of crystals to post a team message, and it vanished in the blink of an eye!”

“Where did this country bumpkin come from?” sneered a young man exuding an air of nobility, his disdain evident.

Unbeknownst to many, posting a message on the shadow stone in the leisure area came with a hefty price tag of 1,000 crystals as a starting bid, and messages were transient, appearing briefly before disappearing.

Unveiling the hidden rules, the information displayed on the shadow stone stated that each second of visibility would cost 1,000 crystals, with longer durations demanding more crystals, signifying the significance of the message.

The shadow stone buzzed with activity, refreshing constantly with a flurry of messages each time the forum updated.

Most of them banded together in teams, venturing into the world of the Hall of Souls for exploration.

Surviving meant hefty rewards awaited them.

Information on trading circulated, with a designated trading spot in the leisure area for their convenience.

With a glass of wine in hand, Braydon cast a calm gaze toward the shadow stone.

The resources crucial for his cultivation couldn’t simply be purchased; it was a matter of quantity.

Braydon required primordial chaos energy, a resource not readily available for sale.

He had to rely on his own efforts, especially considering that condensing primordial chaos Qi demanded significant resources.

The ancient martial arts he practiced required cultivating the 3,000 paths without reliance on external aids.

Braydon delved into his dual-pupil vision, peering into the depths of the 3,000 origin of the paths.

For him, this method trumped any consumption of external substances.

Braydon’s attraction to the Hall of Souls lay in its unique time dynamics; time flowed differently within its confines.

A century there equated to merely a year in the outside world, a ratio of 1:100.

Bilal Yarbro and Lauritz Hagan from the cosmos would take four years to reach the Hall of Souls.

For Braydon, entering this realm meant gaining 400 years to prepare for the future, a significant advantage given his youth.

Meanwhile, in a nearby living room, the three soul slaves of the Hall of Souls convened.

They watched a mirror image of Braydon in the leisure area.

“Lord Bilal is urging His Highness to hasten his cultivation. Any thoughts on this?” Beckham Jovel inquired with a hint of concern.