Chapter 112: Seven out of Nine for the Reserve Team?

"So," Chen Junting shrugged, voice casual but clear. "Since no one wants to keep fighting, I say we toss the question… back to the guy who asked it in the first place."

Before anyone could laugh—

"You brat, that's your plan?"

A low, gruff voice cut in.

Elder Xuan appeared in front of them mid-bite, a half-gnawed chicken leg in one hand, wine jug in the other. Though hidden behind messy hair, his eyes were sharp as blades—locked onto Chen Junting.

Without waiting for a reply, he barked an order to the side.

"Teachers! Take your eliminated students and get out of here. These nine stay."

Wang Yan and the others moved quickly. But the eliminated disciples didn't. Many remained frozen in place, their eyes full of frustration.

It wasn't about the defeat. Most accepted it—they'd been crushed fair and square. The ones left standing were monsters: Soul Sects, martial soul geniuses, freaks with soul rings way above their level.

What they didn't accept was this: only seven were supposed to stay. But nine remained.

If the number wasn't set in stone, maybe they could've held on too.

Elder Xuan swept a cold glance across the field, reading every bitter face like an open book. Then he snorted.

"I said seven. And it's still seven. How I pick those seven is none of your business. Any complaints, say them now—spare me the whining later."

He took another swig and didn't bother to look at them again.

As the rest left—grumbling, sulking, some outright confused—the field was left with just nine.

Chen Junting and his crew.

A silence fell.

Even among the nine, unease brewed. They knew they'd crossed a line. Elder Xuan wasn't just any instructor—he was a Sea God Pavilion elder. And by essentially halting the match themselves, they might've just mocked the wrong man.

Ning Tian's fingers tensed slightly, her calm eyes flickering with a trace of worry.

Chen Junting took her hand, gently squeezing it. Reassuring her.

"Ahem—!"

Elder Xuan coughed loudly and gave them a long, squinting look, chicken bone now discarded.

"You heard me. I only get to keep seven of you. These seven are going to the All-Continent Advanced Soul Master Academy Tournament. You'll be the reserve team. Not the starters—just the bench."

But instead of disappointment, smiles broke out across the group.

Exactly as Chen Junting and Ning Tian had predicted.

Seeing their reaction, Elder Xuan narrowed his eyes.

"You already knew?"

Before accusations flew, the group quickly clarified: just a guess. No leaks. No intel. Just intuition and logic.

Xuan Lao muttered under his breath, "Tch… had to be that brat Wang Yan running his mouth again."

Backstage, somewhere on the way back, Wang Yan sneezed violently.

Now all attention was on Elder Xuan again.

"Fine. I'll tell you who made it. But listen—just because you didn't make the cut doesn't mean you're weak. You're just… not the right fit."

He pointed. One. Two. Three…

When he was done, two names hadn't been called:

He Caitou. Wu Feng.

A beat of silence.

Both tried to mask their reactions, but the disappointment was real.

Elder Xuan's eyes lingered on He Caitou.

To be honest, he'd planned to cut Wang Dong and Wu Feng. That way, the team makeup would be textbook: two power types, one defender, one agility, one control, one support, and one soul engineer.

He Caitou had seemed the odd one out—lowest cultivation, least versatile in group fights.

But then he'd remembered something.

Wang Dong's martial soul fusion with Huo Yuhao.

That alone made him too valuable to drop.

So He Caitou got the axe.

But Huo Yuhao was still half from the Soul Guidance Department, right? That counted. Sort of.

"Brother He…" Yuhao stepped forward, ready to speak—but He Caitou stopped him.

"I'm fine," he smiled, eyes soft. "Yuhao, just win this for the Soul Guidance Department."

Chen Junting turned to Elder Xuan. "Elder Xuan… couldn't there be a little flexibility?"

"No."

The response was immediate.

But this time, Elder Xuan sighed. Perhaps the Nine Treasures Glazed Sect blood softened him, because he actually explained.

"You'll likely be the main team in the next competition. You'll be the new Shrek Seven Devils. That title doesn't come with nine seats. Only seven."

"But what if it's a rotating setup?" Chen Junting pressed. "If the main team gets hurt or can't compete, wouldn't it be better to have backup members ready?"

He leaned in, voice lower.

"Besides, if we lose the tournament, the Sun Moon Empire might see it as weakness. That could trigger a war."

Elder Xuan froze mid-drink.

You clever little brat.

You laid out every angle I was considering… and even handed me an excuse to bend the rules.

Chen Junting didn't stop.

"Ten thousand years ago, when the first Shrek Seven Devils competed, there were four other soul masters who also fought alongside them. The records are in the Glazed Sect's archives."

"You even know that?" Xuan Lao muttered.

"The Nine Treasures Sect documents every moment their founders were involved in. Ning Rongrong and Oscar were legends. We study their path."

Chen Junting stepped back.

"So…?"

Elder Xuan rolled his eyes and waved him off.

"My words don't count."

Then, raising his voice to all nine:

"Fine. Keep this quiet. If any of you leak the reserve team's identity, you're out. Stripped of your spot and your core disciple status."

He paused, thinking.

"You'll all train with me one day a week. The first practice, I'll tell you the final decision."

He looked at each one of them carefully.

"Oh, and when the time's right, you'll train with the main team too. I think you know who they are."

The nine students exchanged glances.

The seven inner courtyard elites from the class upgrade?

Of course they knew.

Chen Junting turned back just in time to catch the mischievous smirk curling at the edge of Elder Xuan's mouth.

Challenge accepted.

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(End of Chapter)

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