Chapter 161: Beast Arena(1)

The beast arena was tied to the gamblers’ interests—many nobles had staked their fortunes, even their lives, on the outcome.

"While there’s still time before it starts, I might as well just buy her."

Phield made the decision immediately. A silver fox demi-human wasn’t a rare race—several thousand gold should be enough.

Before he could speak, someone suddenly pointed at contestant number one and shouted,

"Sister! I finally found you! Damn you bastards—that’s my sister! I’ll pay one hundred thousand gold—let her go!"

Laughter erupted all around.

"Another one looking for family."

"Not easy to track someone down here. How touching."

"I can’t wait to see him break down."

The host wagged a finger. "No. Once someone enters the arena, no matter who they are, they cannot be released. Otherwise, you’ll become the enemy of everyone present. You can take the corpse back afterward, though—heehee."

So buying her out wasn’t an option.

Phield frowned. Was he supposed to jump in himself?

The reward would be huge—but so would the risk. He gritted his teeth as magic quietly began circulating through his body.

"...I could try."

Before he could act, a cold snort sounded behind him.

"You festering filth of the Empire—how dare you abduct my fiancée! Looking for death! I’d like to see who can stop me today!"

In the next instant, a young man in black combat attire burst forward, erupting with powerful third-tier magic as he charged straight into the arena.

"So bold... a true warrior." Phield nodded in appreciation.

At least there were still decent people. Let him take the lead.

But in the very next moment—

A green wind blade tore through the air, carrying a terrifying aura. Moving at a speed nearly impossible to track with the naked eye, it cleanly sliced through the young man’s body, exiting through him before slamming violently into the stone wall of the arena.

"Splurt—"

By the time he fell, his body had already been split cleanly in half down the middle. Blood sprayed everywhere.

The sight drove his fiancée into despairing screams.

"...Damn. Are they really going this far?" Phield wiped the cold sweat from his forehead. "As expected—not every situation is suited for showing off with brute force. There are too many powerful people here."

Trading his own life for it definitely wasn’t worth it.

"What’s the best way... There’s too little time to plan something perfect. But I can’t act rashly."

Phield tapped his fingers rapidly against the railing, thinking hard.

"Got it!"

His eyes lit up, instantly regaining composure. "Since these lunatics enjoy human suffering, I might as well play along... though it’ll depend on her luck."

He snapped his fingers and brushed his hand across the magical envelope.

"I’m betting on number seven to survive till the end. Two hundred gold."

"Apologies. Bets in the arena are in units of ten thousand. The minimum is ten thousand gold."

A servant reminded him from the side.

"That expensive?" Phield scratched his head, feigning irritation. "Fine, then ten thousand. I bet on number seven to survive till the end."

"Hmm? That’s quite bold. Doesn’t match your earlier cautious behavior." The female merchant looked surprised. "Fox demi-humans don’t have much combat talent. I’m afraid your gold is going down the drain."

Leaning against the railing, Phield said calmly, "Nothing is absolute. If the payoff is big enough, the risk is worth it. Besides, that girl is cute—she deserves a little extra investment."

"Hmph. Let’s see if you’re still this calm when it’s over."

"Clang—"

The bell rang.

The restraining chains vanished instantly. The aberrant mantis, moving at near afterimage speed, lunged straight toward the slaves. It had been starving for twelve days—now that it smelled fresh human flesh, it could no longer hold back.

The female merchant’s expression changed drastically. She immediately tore her betting slip to pieces.

"Damn it."

"...Hm?" Phield didn’t understand.

The next moment, a streak of bright red blood splashed across the wall.

Contestant number four—the strongest, the fastest—became the first target.

She had just reached out for a spear on the weapon rack. It was right in front of her... yet she suddenly realized she couldn’t grab it.

"My... hand?"

She stared blankly at her right arm. The cut was smooth—there wasn’t even blood spurting out immediately. Her pupils trembled violently. When she turned her head, she saw a grotesque insect, casually chewing through her severed arm like it was a snack.

"No... no, help!"

The mantis struck again.

The audience instantly erupted.

"Good! Good! Glad I didn’t bet on number four!"

"That was my last gold! How could you do this to me?! Refund!"

It took the mantis less than a minute to devour her completely before charging toward the next target.

No suspense at all—the fiancée of the young man in black became the second victim. She walked straight toward the monster, her eyes already devoid of light.

Faced with such easy prey, the mantis accepted without hesitation.

The crowd roared again.

"Damn it... they’re all scum."

Phield’s eyelids twitched as he watched. It had nothing to do with sympathy—he simply found this kind of slaughter meaningless. These people could have been farming in his territory, or assigned to unmarried soldiers. Instead, their lives were wasted to amuse nobles.

The slaves began to resist. They picked up whatever weapons they could, trying to fend off the beast—but it was almost useless. One girl attempted to strike the mantis with a hammer, only to have her head split open in a single blow.

"Good... its feeding speed is slowing down. Looks like my luck isn’t bad."

Phield observed the monster below. Its attacks were no longer as frenzied. It had started eating more selectively—consuming brains or internal organs.

Fox demi-humans were known for their intelligence.

Gogris trembled all over. The stench of blood made the fur on her tail stand on end. Overwhelming fear stiffened her body. She had to dig her nails into her thigh—only the pain could reignite her will to survive.

"Where can I run... I just need to be the last one alive..."

The arena hadn’t told them the truth—that everyone would die. Instead, they were told: the last survivor would live... and gain freedom.

It was meant to fuel their survival instinct, rather than leave them waiting helplessly for death.

Barefoot, the girl stepped across the cold, slippery stone floor, ignoring the jagged debris cutting into her feet. Taking advantage of the time bought by others, she rushed toward the weapon rack.

Gogris took a deep breath, then another, steadying herself. She grabbed a shield, then scanned the weapons.

"There’s no way to break the beast’s defense... I just need to avoid being killed by the others."

Her slender hand reached for a longsword—but it was too heavy, nearly smashing onto her foot. With no choice, she picked up a dagger instead.

"Buzz—"

A chill shot down her spine.

She immediately threw herself forward. A gleaming silver javelin grazed past her, leaving a vicious cut across her pale shoulder.