"But many events might affect the scoring criteria of the New Star Plan. Once the Conquest Faction gains the upper hand, the weight of practical combat ability in scoring might increase."
Facing such a severe situation, Ron did not show the slightest panic but instead flashed a confident smile.
The kind of smile carried unfathomable wisdom, sparking an inexplicable sense of anticipation in Eliot’s heart.
"Thank you for the information, Eliot."
Ron nodded to his friend, who provided him with many key pieces of intelligence:
"These insights are valuable to me, especially the detailed information about other competitors."
"Do you have any plans?"
Eliot asked curiously, knowing his friend’s character, this confidence was not without reason.
"I indeed have a research breakthrough coming soon."
Ron said mysteriously, with strong conviction in his voice:
"The specifics are confidential for now, but I am quite confident in my results."
He paused, showing a profound look in his eyes:
"When I return to the Central Lands next month, I will unveil these results. By then, the ranking issue will naturally resolve."
Eliot sighed helplessly, not knowing what more he could say.
However, his friend always managed to set records, leaving peers far behind, and perhaps this time would be no exception.
"Then, I shall wait with anticipation." The blond youth’s voice carried expectation:
"But be careful, especially with Uphemia. The Blood Moon Clan has been quite active lately, seemingly preparing for some major event."
After the communication ended, Ron fell into contemplation.
The competition of the New Star Plan was indeed intense, but it also offered a perfect chance to showcase his research findings.
The information about these competitors also gave him a clearer recognition of the current young Wizards in the Wizard World.
Dale looked at Ron, who was contemplating by the window, with an inexplicable unease in her heart.
She could feel the increasingly intense sense of estrangement in him, as if he was ascending to a height unreachable by her.
This realization made her feel both proud and frightened.
Proud to witness his rise but fearful that she might never truly understand his world.
Outside the window, the main structure of the observation station stood silently in the dim sky.
The complex architectural clusters pulsated slowly in the dark like organs of some creature.
The distant outline of the Abyss loomed, constantly reminding everyone that they stood on the boundary between reality and chaos.
Ron stared at the abyss of darkness, a thousand thoughts running through his mind.
No matter how the future unfolds, or whether he becomes the "King of Eras", he must continue forward.
Because stagnation means death, while at least moving forward holds hope.
............
Seventh Floor of the Abyss, the deepest part of the "Soul Abyss".
The space itself here was a form of blasphemy.
Thirteen thrones arranged in the shape of a giant eye’s pupil, each formed from countless imprisoned souls.
The once wise beings now became the flesh components of these seats.
Their faces occasionally emerged on the throne surfaces, issuing silent screams before being dragged back into the depths of flesh.
The ground between the thrones was covered with twitching bony tiles, each carved from the skulls of different rulers.
They perpetually opened and closed their jaws, producing fine chewing noises, as if savoring their last fears.
Today’s central gray vortex was particularly agitated, resonating the horror symphony composed from the dying cries of countless nations.
Occasionally, fragments of scenes flashed from the depths of the vortex.
Burning cities, twisted skies, despairing faces, and those lives’ final moments desperately struggling during annihilation.
At this moment, each throne bore a nauseating figure upon it.
On the first throne sat "Void Spider" Maggs, its body resembling constantly shifting black threads, vaguely revealing countless faces from different races.
The mask it wore emitted spiritual waves that penetrated deeply into the consciousness of other existences.
"Another gathering like this..." Maggs’ "voice" carried a skin-crawling stickiness, as if countless tiny tendrils crawled through the listener’s mind:
"I really begin to doubt whether we, these ’High Apostles’, can do anything meaningful other than complain and roar at each other here?"
The second throne remained empty—that was "Dragon-headed Fiend" Chai Ye’s spot.
On the third throne, "Invisible Mist" Nas’s nebula-like body rotated slowly.
Numerous eyes within it each stared in different directions, some observing the present, some peeking into the past, while others trying to gain insight into the future.
Its voice sounded like an electromagnetic storm from the depths of the universe:
"Maggs, what you’re saying... is indeed quite true. We indeed resemble a group of tigers kept within cages, besides roaring at each other, there’s nothing else we can do."
"Corrosion Monster" Agasa on the sixth throne let out a sharp laugh.
This enormous monster was now "baring its chest", revealing a heart writhing within:
"Hahaha... At least we can still chat, can’t we? Think of those wastes who have even lost their consciousness; we count ourselves lucky."
She lightly caressed the armrest of her throne, where instantly large patches of mold grew:
"Moreover, Cassandra’s mad conquest venture has provided us with quite a bit of... fresh corrosion material, hasn’t it? The remnants of civilizations destroyed by her ultimately flow into our domain anyways?"