439: Chapter 439 The system crashed again?

The "sandstorm" on the arena stage was still continuing.

Yellow-Hair's "Thomas Flair" had already spun into a blur, his pant legs grinding violently against the hard stone floor, faintly kicking up a trail of sparks.

Blue-Hair's windmill was not to be outdone; the two of them were like two out-of-control robotic vacuums, sweeping wildly across the arena.

"As long as the 'Spirit Lads' are here, the Shamate will never admit defeat!" Yellow-Hair roared.

"The 'Spirit Lads' arrive uninvited, this arena is dominated by me!" Blue-Hair replied.

Red-Hair stood at the very front, his cheeks puffed up and turning bright red, his beatboxing having evolved from a simple "boots-and-cats" to an incredibly complex "pshh-pitter-patter-boots."

Tens of thousands of eyes in the audience stared fixedly at this bizarre scene.

The players held their breath, while the NPCs were dumbfounded.

"Good! What great waist strength!"

A thunderous roar suddenly rang out.

On the throne, Salos slapped his hand heavily against the armrest.

His large, bell-like eyes were wide open as he stared fixedly at Yellow-Hair, who was grinding frantically in the dust, his breathing ragged.

"Incredible! Simply incredible!" Salos stood up abruptly. "Utilizing the centrifugal force generated by high-speed rotation, combined with the friction of the earth, to forcibly temper the spine and abdomen!"

"This kind of masochistic cultivation method is something even the most rigorous ascetics of my Titan race could not achieve!"

He turned his head sharply to look at Chen You below the arena, his eyes filled with a hint of fanaticism: "Did you teach them this as well?"

Chen You's eyelids twitched wildly. Does this big guy have a hole in his brain?

"Ah... yes." Chen You clasped his hands behind his back, suppressing the corners of his mouth that were threatening to curl up, his tone deep and grave.

"This is a secret technique exclusive to my sect, known as the 'Social Shake.' It emphasizes following one's heart and breaking conventions."

"Social Shake? What a great 'Social Shake'!" Salos laughed at the sky. "It's wild! It's savage! It suits my taste!"

On the NPC side, the Centaur and the Murloc Bobo looked at each other, clearly made to doubt themselves by Salos's remarks.

Could it be that these three skinny monkeys were really performing some ancient secret technique?

Just then, a cold snort broke Salos's fanaticism.

"Enough, Salos, put away your ridiculous exclamations."

To the right of the throne, Oro slowly stood up.

He tapped his staff lightly, and an invisible ripple spread out, instantly suppressing the dust on the arena and revealing the trio inside, who were covered in dirt and panting heavily.

Yellow-Hair's skinny jeans were worn through, revealing his knees.

Blue-Hair's side-swept bangs were plastered to his face by sweat and dust, making him look like a drowned rat.

Red-Hair was clutching his jaw, clearly having gotten a cramp from beatboxing.

Cold light flickered in Oro's narrow eyes.

He didn't even look at the three people on the stage, instead locking his gaze onto Chen You.

"This is not a dance at all, let alone art. They are just rolling around on the ground, maliciously stalling for time."

He raised his staff and pointed at the scoreboard in mid-air. There, seven minutes and twenty seconds remained on the countdown.

"There are seven minutes left until the countdown ends. But I will now exercise my authority as a judge to declare these three clowns—unqualified."

A mocking smile curled the corners of Oro's mouth. "The rules of the 'Artistic Judgment' are clear: passive participation results in an immediate loss."

Chen You's eyes turned slightly cold. This cunning old fox is indeed not easy to fool.

"Lord Oro, that's not the right way to put it." Chen You stepped forward, looking straight at Oro.

"Art takes many forms; what you consider vulgar might be the pinnacle in someone else's eyes."

"Sophistry." Oro sneered. "I only believe what I see."

"You don't see sh*t!" A furious roar exploded.

Salos took a sudden step forward, his massive body blocking Oro directly.

"You soft-boiled egg who only knows how to rub fireballs in the back, what do you know about physical confrontation!" Salos glared at Oro, his spit spraying onto the other's hood.

"Do you understand what the rhythm of muscles is? Do you understand what the resonance of the earth is!"

Oro's expression darkened, and the gem at the tip of his staff shone brightly: "Salos, have the muscles in your brain crushed your optic nerves? This is clearly malicious stalling!"

"Bullsh*t!" Salos interrupted rudely. "If you aren't going to watch, then get lost. Don't hinder me from observing this ancient combat technique! If you dare to blather again, I'll chop you down right now!"

"Do you think I'm afraid of you?" The space around Oro began to distort, with faint blue light flickering.

The leaders of the two top god races were actually at daggers drawn over the "Social Shake" of three Spirit Lads, on the verge of coming to blows on the arena stage.

Arrow of the Moon sat on the central throne, glancing at the dust on the arena with disdain, then looking at the two who were about to fight, her cold voice ringing out.

"The system hasn't indicated anything, so what are you arguing about?"

Oro snorted coldly, put away his staff, and sat back down.

Salos glared at Oro, then turned around and continued to stare fixedly at the arena.

"You three, continue!" Salos roared.

On the arena, the red-yellow-blue trio looked at each other, seeing the determination in each other's eyes.

"For God You!!" Yellow-Hair yelled, throwing himself onto the ground again.

"Flower hands shake well, big brother has no worries!" Blue-Hair's arms turned into propellers once again.

"Pshh-boots-and-cats..." Red-Hair clutched his jaw, continuing to spit out sounds indistinctly.

Time slipped away second by second. Five minutes. Three minutes. One minute.

The complexions of the NPC faction grew increasingly pale.

The Murloc Bobo covered her face in despair; she knew the game was lost.

As long as time ran out, this round would be a draw, and the player faction, relying on their victory in the first round, would completely win this "Artistic Judgment."

Ten seconds. Five seconds. Three, two, one.

"Hum—" The scoreboard in mid-air flashed suddenly, and the huge red numbers returned to zero.

A cold, mechanical voice resounded throughout Cangxing City.

[Judgment time has ended.]

[Both sides failed to complete the performance; this round is judged as: a draw.]

[Comprehensive results of the two rounds: the "Artistic Vanguard" faction wins.]

"The victory of art!"

"God You is awesome!"

"The Social Shake saves the world!"

Tens of thousands of players erupted in cheers that threatened to tear the roof off.

The red-yellow-blue trio collapsed on the arena stage, gasping for breath, but their faces were filled with the pride of having saved the world.

The NPC faction was deathly silent.

Chen You let out a long breath of stale air. Fortunately, he managed to hang on.

[Purge mode activated.]

[Server-wide announcement: The Source Realm will undergo a system restart in one minute, expected to take ten minutes.]

[All players will be forcibly kicked out of the game.]

[Please find a safe zone within sixty seconds, countdown starting...]

The players in the plaza were stunned.

"What's going on? Did the system crash?"

"Damn, God You played the system until it crashed!"

"So this 'purge' is just a system restart?"

Chen You frowned and turned to look at Lin Miao: "Log off first."