Chapter 174: Schedule

Chapter 174: Chapter 174: Schedule

With the main catering line officially cleared, it didn’t take long for sharp-eyed observers in the Grand Pavilion to piece together who stood behind Chef Julian’s sudden culinary triumph.

As Rowan strolled through the hall alongside Jeremy, a steady stream of high-profile guests—delegates from international trade conglomerates, stewards of luxury hotel chains, and representatives of prominent aristocratic houses—began approaching him under the guise of casual networking.

"Mr. Vance," a crisp, impeccably dressed representative from a European luxury consortium greeted, stepping forward with a polite bow and presenting a gold-embossed card. "The vitality and purity of the produce served at L’Étoile D’Or was nothing short of miraculous. My organization would be deeply honored to secure a long-term wholesale procurement contract with Eden International."

"Indeed," chimed in a senior coordinator from an overseas merchant guild. "We are prepared to offer premium rates above standard market value for guaranteed seasonal deliveries."

Rowan accepted their cards with a relaxed, polite smile, tipping the brim of his Enchanted Straw Hat.

"Thank you for the compliments, gentlemen," Rowan replied smoothly. "For all commercial inquiries, trade partnerships, and order applications, I encourage you to submit your proposals through the official Eden International website. My parents manage the business operations and logistics directly from our home estate."

Before the eager representatives could celebrate a direct lead, Rowan added a calm, firm caveat.

"However, I must emphasize that Eden International operates under a strict philosophy of quality over quantity. We refuse forced cultivation and aggressive growth arrays. Because every harvest must meet our absolute standards of uncorrupted vitality, our total yield is inherently limited, and allocations are handed out on a highly selective basis."

Rather than driving the prospective clients away, Rowan’s emphasis on extreme scarcity only spiked their interest. In the circles of global elites and high-tier cultivators, limited production coupled with unmatched quality meant one thing: ultimate status and prestige.

Back home at the Sunny Vale farmstead, his parents’ home-office computer terminal was about to be flooded with elite international business inquiries, laying the groundwork for Eden International’s global market dominance—all before the tournament’s first official trial had even kicked off.

***

The clear, resonant clink-clink-clink of metal against crystal rippled across the high ceilings of the Grand Pavilion, cutting cleanly through the low hum of conversation and the lingering aromas of world-class cuisine.

The entire hall fell silent as delegates, sovereign ministers, dynasty elders, and young prodigies turned their attention toward the elevated center podium. Standing under the soft glow of the runic chandeliers was a senior Swiss official in a crisp, tailored suit, flanked by two stern tournament adjudicators wearing the neutral emblems of the Council of Nations.

"May I have your attention, ladies and gentlemen," the official announced, his voice amplified by a subtle acoustic array that projected his words evenly throughout the vast atrium.

"On behalf of the Swiss Confederation and the Council of Nations, I welcome you all to the opening proceedings of the Global Awakener’s Tournament. The opening luncheon has concluded, and it is now time for our esteemed participants to take the stage."

A palpable wave of tension washed over the pavilion. The relaxed atmosphere of fine dining vanished in an instant, replaced by the sharp, competitive edge of the world’s most talented awakeners.

***

"We begin, as tradition dictates, with the grand demonstration of raw martial prowess! The Global Awakener’s Tournament martial combat divisions are officially underway!" the Swiss official’s voice boomed across the atrium.

With a low, deep rumble that shook the floorboards, the massive reinforced glass walls at the far end of the pavilion began to retract, revealing the true scale of the facility: the Grand Swiss Colosseum. It was a massive, subterranean amphitheater carved directly into the mountain bedrock, ringed by multi-layered adamantine barriers and thousands of cheering international spectators.

Hovering above the center of the arena, massive holographic bracket boards flickered to life, displaying the first official phase of the tournament: Melee Combat — Unarmed Division.

The crowd erupted as the first pair of combatants stepped onto the shimmering, runically reinforced ring. The rules were strict and absolute: no weapons, no long-range projectile magic, and no lethal strikes—pure bodily refinement, raw aura projection, and hand-to-hand mastery.

Rowan, Jeremy, and the rest of the Imperial delegation moved to the elevated participant gallery overlooking the ring.

Down below, the match opened with terrifying violence. A hulking brawler from the Northern Sovereign Union—his skin hardened into a metallic slate-grey through forced iron-body cultivation—charged forward, his boots shattering the outer ring tiles. Opposite him, a martial prodigy from the Eastern Dynasties shifted into a fluid, dragon-claw stance, his knuckles glowing with condensed, golden-red mana.

The clash was instantaneous.

BOOM!

A shockwave of sheer physical pressure slammed against the transparent Swiss containment barriers, vibrating the glass beneath Rowan’s feet. The Eastern fighter danced around his opponent’s heavy strikes, his palm strikes landing with sound-barrier-breaking thuds against the Northern brawler’s iron chest. Sparks flew from raw skin and refined muscle as the two traded blows in a blur of sheer speed.

"Impressive physical core," Jeremy noted, leaning over the brass railing with a critical eye. "That Northern lad is running high-tier body-forging techniques. But look at his shoulders—his meridians are stiff. He’s forced his physical core too hard using low-purity medicinal pills."

Rowan adjusted the brim of his Enchanted Straw Hat, his refined perception scanning the fighters down below. Through his eyes, he could see the invisible streams of latent mana flowing through their bodies.

"Senior Jeremy is right," Rowan murmured softly. "The Northern fighter has massive physical strength, but his internal channels are choked with toxic mineral slag from violent body-tempering recipes. Within three minutes, his internal heat won’t have anywhere to vent."

Sure enough, three minutes later, as the Northern fighter swung a heavy right hook, his arm visibly locked up as internal meridian backlash hit him. The Eastern martial artist seized the split-second opening, delivering a triple-burst palm strike directly to his sternum, blowing the behemoth clean off the stage and slamming him into the containment wall.

The Swiss referee’s hand shot up immediately. "Winner by ring-out: Li Wei of the Eastern Dynasties!"

As the medical teams rushed in with emergency stabilization arrays, the crowd went wild, but Rowan’s mind was already analyzing the broader picture. Almost every high-tier martial artist on that floor was burning through their own internal longevity, relying on violent, forced cultivation to achieve explosive physical power.

Before the dust from the unarmed division could even settle, the arena floor shifted. The ring expanded, and the holographic boards cleared to announce the next phase: Melee Combat — Armed Division.

The air in the arena instantly changed, growing heavy, sharp, and lethal.

This was where the true martial behemoths came to play. Combatants stepped into the light wielding enchanted weaponry—runic longswords, dragon-scale spears, heavy warhammers, and high-density mana-conducting sabers.

The opening duel features a famed sword-prodigy from the Western Alliance—clad in polished mithril plate armor and wielding a massive, two-handed claymore wrapped in roaring elemental frost—against an Imperial spear-mistress wielding a crimson dragon-bone pike.

"Begin!"

The moment the command dropped, the arena exploded into a blinding display of elemental weapon intent.

CLANG!

The screech of steel and dragon-bone echoing through the arena was deafening. The Western knight swung his claymore in broad, terrifying arcs, sending waves of razor-sharp frost-mana slicing across the adamantine floor, freezing the air itself into jagged icicles. But the Imperial spear-mistress moved like striking lightning, her pike whistling through the frigid air, leaving trails of searing heat that instantly melted the ice mid-flight.

Their weapons clashed dozens of times per second, sending violent shockwaves rippling through the containment array. It was a masterclass in weapon mastery and high-speed lethal engagement. Every strike was calculated to maim or disarm, testing the absolute limits of reaction speed, weapon intent, and mana control under high-stress conditions.

After a breathless ten-minute exchange of bloody slashes and deflected elemental strikes, the Imperial spear-mistress executed a brilliant feint, snapping her pike’s butt-end into the knight’s wrist, disarming the claymore before pinning her spear-tip half an inch from his throat.

"Yield!" the knight gasped, his armor scorched and frosted in equal measure.

"Winner: Sol-Aethel Empire!" the referee declared.

Up in the gallery, the Imperial spectators cheered wildly, but Rowan remained calm, a quiet, knowing smirk playing on his lips. Watching these intense physical battles only solidified his strategic vision.

"Every single one of those weapon masters and unarmed brawlers is taking severe micro-damage to their internal organs and meridian pathways," Rowan remarked to Jeremy as the ring cleared for the next bracket.

"When this tournament ends, every major realm is going to be desperately searching for top-tier, slag-free recovery herbs to heal their champions without ruining their long-term potential."

"And there’s only one brand on earth that can provide that level of pure, uncorrupted recovery," Jeremy chuckled, shaking his head with deep admiration. "You really think ten steps ahead, don’t you, Rowan?"

"Quality always dictates the market," Rowan replied smoothly, tipping his straw hat.

Down on the arena floor, the martial duels continued to heat up the Swiss Colosseum, building the electric atmosphere to a fever pitch just before the grand botanical and life-cultivation trials were set to begin.