Working Before the Martial Arts Tournament: The Dog Emperor Treats the List of Prodigies as a Conscription Roll

Three days later.

Western outskirts of the capital, Wuling Plains.

This previously long-abandoned wilderness was transformed into a massive training ground by the Great Zhou's Ministry of Works at a terrifying speed in just three days.

Walls, formations, sentry posts, watchtowers, temporary barracks, kitchens, medical tents, weapon racks, training dummies, mud pits, water pools, trap zones...

It had everything.

The people from the Ministry of Works were so exhausted their eyes nearly popped out of their heads.

But the silver Wang Hao provided was truly sufficient.

According to Wei Zhongxian's exact words:

"His Majesty has decreed that this place shall henceforth be called the 'Chosen Prodigies Gang Demon Suppression Training Ground'. It must be grand, it must be practical, and it must—"

"Make those little brats know the moment they step in that they are here to suffer."

Thus, this training ground completely became a devil's playground that was imposing on the outside and lethal on the inside.

Early morning, at the third quarter of the hour of Mao.

Before the sky was fully bright, one hundred ranked chosen prodigies had already lined up in front of the gates of the Wuling Plains.

Each of them wore a uniformly issued dark gray training uniform.

The cut was crude, the fabric rough, and three words were embroidered on the cuffs:

"Chosen Prodigies Gang."

Xiao Chen stood in the middle of the formation, expressionless.

Ye Guyun stood diagonally behind him, his sword-like eyebrows slightly furrowed, his expression like a cold blade hidden in its sheath.

Gu Han did not say a word.

Bai Zhantang was the only one in the group who could still manage a smile.

"Brothers, this day has finally come."

"We have officially transitioned from chosen prodigies to—"

"Young laborers on a construction site."

No one paid him any attention.

At the very front of the formation, Yu Huatian stood with his hands behind his back.

He wasn't wearing his Flying Fish suit today, having changed into a crisp training outfit.

But the sword at his waist was still there.

He swept an expressionless gaze over the crowd, his voice steady yet indisputable.

"From today onwards, you are—"

"Not chosen prodigies."

"Not sect disciples."

"Not young masters of noble families."

"Not sect inheritors."

"You are—"

"Cadets of the Chosen Prodigies Gang Demon Suppression Training Camp."

"Here, we do not look at background, seniority, or ranking."

"We only look at—"

"Whether you can endure it."

He paused, his eyes turning slightly cold.

"Those who cannot endure will return to the capital, have their names removed from the Chosen Prodigies List, and never be allowed to enter it again."

A commotion rippled through the crowd.

A young master from a noble family in the Southern Ridge immediately showed his displeasure.

"Director Yu, I am of the direct lineage of the Gu family of the Southern Ridge—"

With a plop, before he could finish his sentence, a pebble flew from nowhere and struck his forehead, sending him face-first into the adjacent mud pit.

Mud splashed half a person high.

The entire field fell silent.

Yu Huatian withdrew his hand, his tone calm.

"Just now, Young Master Gu gave everyone a demonstration of—"

"The first item of training."

"Anti-interference ability."

"Young Master Gu, failed."

"Two hours of extra training."

Gu Chengyu crawled out of the mud pit, his face covered in muck, staring dazedly at Yu Huatian while letting out a despairing groan.

Every chosen prodigy present felt their scalps go numb.

It was over.

A truly ruthless man had come to this training camp.

Day one.

A twenty-mile morning run, weighted cross-country.

Day two.

Forest pursuit, simulating an encounter with eerie auras.

Day three.

Formation cooperation assessment, groups of five. If the task was not completed, the whole group received extra training.

Day four.

Endurance training in a freezing water pool.

Day five.

Logistics drill, all chosen prodigies were dragged off to be porters, moving grain and forage from one warehouse to another.

Day six—

A direct disciple of a hidden sect in the Eastern Wasteland finally broke down.

He stood in the center of the training ground and roared at the sky.

"I am a dignified direct disciple of the Tiancheng Sect! How can I do such menial work!"

"I am a chosen prodigy! Not a coolie!"

"I—"

His roar came to an abrupt halt.

Because Wang Hao was standing in front of him, having appeared at some unknown time.

Dressed in everyday black and gold clothes, his smile was gentle.

"What did you just say?"

The direct disciple froze for a moment, then braced himself and repeated it.

"I said... I am a chosen prodigy, not a coolie."

Wang Hao nodded, looking as if he deeply agreed.

"Not bad."

"You are a chosen prodigy."

"Then let me ask you—"

He raised a finger and pointed in the direction of the distant Crimson Moon.

"If one day the Night Fiend breaks its seal, the Crimson Moon Demonic Sect comes out in full force, and eerie horrors run rampant across the Great Wasteland."

"Standing on the battlefield, do you plan to have those evil entities—"

"Wait for you to put on your airs before they kill you?"

The direct disciple's pupils shrank slightly.

Wang Hao's smile did not fade, but his tone slowly grew cold.

"Or, do you plan to rely on the words 'I am a chosen prodigy' to scare away the horrors?"

The entire field was silent.

The direct disciple opened his mouth, but ultimately did not say a single word.

Wang Hao patted his shoulder.

"Go move the grain."

"After you finish this trip, remember one thing."

"In the face of true evil entities, status, family background, and ranking are nothing."

"The only thing that can save your life—"

"Is the breath of grit you train into your body."

The direct disciple lowered his head.

For a long time.

Then he silently turned around, hoisted the sack of grain that was heavier than he was onto his shoulder, and walked step by step toward the warehouse.

And while the chosen prodigies were being trained half to death, Wang Hao was high up on a platform, leisurely drinking tea.

Beside him stood Shen Xue, Yun Meng, and Ren Mingyue.

The three women had different expressions.

Shen Xue's gaze was a bit more complex than it had been a few days ago.

At first, she thought Wang Hao was sinister.

Later, she thought Wang Hao was manipulative.

And then, she thought Wang Hao was shameless.

But after seeing the training process over these past few days, she had to admit—

This shamelessness was effective.

Those noble scions who usually looked down on everyone had their arrogance ground away here;

Those rogue cultivators who usually acted alone were forced to learn cooperation here;

Those holy sons and daughters who usually polished their swords until they gleamed had their faces repeatedly plastered with mud here.

And the moment they were forced to stand up, endure it, and keep going—

That superficial chosen prodigy air about them began to fade bit by bit.

Replaced by a solid, genuine ruthlessness that could survive on a real battlefield.

Shen Xue said softly, "You are not hosting a competition."

"You are forging a group of people for the world—"

"Who can truly go to the battlefield."

Wang Hao turned his head to look at her.

"First time praising me?"

Shen Xue said coldly, "Don't flatter yourself."

Wang Hao laughed.

"No, I definitely got praised this time."

Yun Meng rolled her eyes beside them.

"You really have no shame."

She looked at the chosen prodigies in the field who were being tormented to the point of exhaustion and couldn't help but mutter—

"But this approach of yours, I seem to—"

"Find more sense in it the more I look at it."

"The young ones from the Illusory Sea Immortal Sect, I'll have to drill them like this when I get back."

Ren Mingyue whispered from the side, "If Fairy Yun truly wishes to copy this, I can compile a set of procedures for you."

Yun Meng paused, turning to look at her.

Ren Mingyue smiled faintly.

"As long as you pay a little— cooperative sincerity."

Yun Meng: "..."

Good heavens.

She finally understood now.

This seemingly aloof daughter of the Ren family, who had been following by Wang Hao's side every day recently, was no longer a mere observer.

She was—

The piece in Wang Hao's game of chess specifically responsible for settling accounts.

The seventh day of training, at dusk.

Wang Hao gathered all the prodigies.

The one hundred individuals stood in ten neat rows. Their bodies were covered in mud and their faces slick with sweat, yet their gazes were far more composed than a week ago.

Standing on the high platform, Wang Hao looked down at this batch of seeds that would eventually be scattered across the entire Eastern Wasteland.

He spoke slowly.

It has been seven days.

Not too long, but not too short.

Among you, some have been completely reborn.

Others still feel they have been wronged.

I do not force everyone to understand right now.

I will only do one thing—

He paused, his voice leveling out.

Starting today, training points will be officially incorporated into the Prodigy Roll evaluations.

Every training session will be recorded.

Every performance will be evaluated.

Every single point will directly affect your seed ranking in the Martial Arts Tournament.

In other words—

Every drop of sweat you shed here, every punch you throw, every limit you endure—

Will directly determine your starting point in the arena.

The entire venue was dead silent.

The next moment—

An uproar.

What?!

Training results count towards the competition?!

Your Majesty—does that mean we couldn't even slack off here?!

Those few times I faked a cramp the other day... will those be recorded too?!

On the platform, Wang Hao smiled and nodded gracefully.

Of course they were recorded.

Every time you faked an illness, an injury, or a cramp, the men of the Western Depot were silently grading you from the sidelines.

And those scores—

Are inversely proportional to your ranking.

The crowd exploded.

The Northern Holy Son who had faked a cramp three times rolled his eyes and genuinely fainted on the spot.

Bai Zhantang laughed so hard in the crowd he couldn't stand straight: Brothers!

This is what they call the cycle of karma—

The heavens spare no one!

Xiao Chen stared expressionlessly at the dog emperor on the platform, who was smiling like a spring breeze.

...

He deliberately waited until the seventh day to say this.

Gu Han added flatly: Because during the first six days, everyone already exposed all their flaws.

Ye Guyun gripped the sword at his waist tightly.

This man...

Just how many backup plans does he have?

None of them could answer.

Because they were all gradually realizing one thing—

Wang Hao's chessboard was always one size larger than what they could see.

Meanwhile, upon the high platform.

Looking down at the shocked, unwilling, devastated, aggrieved, yet helpless faces, the curve of Wang Hao's lips slowly flattened.

He looked toward the southwestern horizon.

That phantom image of a blood moon still hung in the distant direction of the Crimson Moon, like an eye that had never closed.

He picked up his teacup and took a gentle sip.

Night Fiend.

Crimson Moon Demonic Sect.

Heaven's Secret Pavilion.

Heavenly Dao Alliance.

He slowly exhaled.

The time I have given you is running out.

And on my side—

He glanced at the one hundred young prodigies below, who were being battered by the training yet visibly growing.

His gaze gradually deepened.

—the soldiers are taking shape.

The blades are almost sharpened.

The night wind howled.

In the direction of the Crimson Moon, the crimson hue grew deeper.

A new storm was brewing.

And this game of chess concerning the Great Zhou—

Had only just reached its second move.

On the final night of the seven-day hellish training at the Mist Spirit Plains, Wang Hao sat on the high platform, holding a bowl of freshly stewed ginseng soup, leisurely blowing on the hot steam.

Wei Zhongxian bent at the waist, holding a thick roster.

Your Majesty, this old servant has organized the training points, physique evaluations, combat tendencies, and mental state fluctuations of all one hundred shortlisted prodigies.

As Your Majesty commanded, every detail has been clearly annotated.

Wang Hao gave a grunt of acknowledgment. Without even looking at it, he took a leisurely sip of his soup.

Where is the lot-drawing array disc?

Wei Zhongxian bowed even lower.

The Ministry of Rites has already prepared it, just waiting for Your Majesty to—

He paused, lowering his voice to a mere whisper.

—calibrate it.

Hearing the word calibrate, the corners of Wang Hao's mouth twitched upward slightly.

Good word.

This old dog Wei Zhongxian had served him for so long that even his choice of words was becoming increasingly refined.

What did calibrate mean?

To put it bluntly, it meant taking that grand lot-drawing array—which claimed to automatically generate patterns by the mandate of heaven—and quietly adjusting its dials according to Wang Hao's desires.

Wang Hao set down the soup bowl, stood up unhurriedly, and walked toward the outside of the hall with his hands clasped behind his back.

Let us go. I wish to see my National Destiny Grand Array.

Wei Zhongxian kept his head down and followed, silently muttering a sentence in his heart—

Your Majesty, before you make your move, could you perhaps stop throwing around the words National Destiny?

You are about to use that very thing to cheat.