The Bronze-level Gladiator, Lionheart Bladeshade, gave up all resistance.
Despair spread among the gladiators like a plague, and once infected, there was no cure.
With no escape, fighting to the death meant only death and nothing more.
More and more gladiators dropped their weapons, fell to their knees, faces showing confusion and loss.
Clutching their heads with expressions of collapse, desperate and pained roars tore from their throats—it seemed the only thing left for them to do.
“Look, look! They’ve already given up. How boring.”
“A bunch of lowlifes, aren’t you going to even try struggling? Hahaha!”
“Hey! You ugly brute! Slaughter them all!”
On the stage, the nobles cheered and applauded the gladiators’ predicament.
Their excited, joyful, and frenzied voices filled the air with an almost festive mood—but for the gladiators in the arena, it was like whispers from the depths of hell.
“I’ll slaughter you all.” Luo Shi put down his sword, gripping it and standing firm.
He already knew escape was meaningless.
After watching several of the ogre’s assaults, he realized that with that kind of speed, no one could hope to get away unscathed.
Even if you managed to avoid a fatal wound, you’d lose the ability to move because of your other injuries, then get caught and eaten—just like Lebron.
Anyone chosen as food by the ogre was as good as dead; there was no way out.
Luo Shi didn’t have the courage to fight the ogre.
Bronze versus Gold—no matter how he looked at it, it was certain death.
Now, all he wanted was to take a few of those dogs from the Meeting down with him before he died.
As for the thought of survival, it had vanished long ago.
The nobles on stage thought the gladiators were as good as dead, and the gladiators themselves also believed they would become the ogre’s meal.
By all normal reasoning, everything was going as expected.
Arthur pressed his lips together, stifling a triumphant laugh.
After three months at sea, this was the first time he had felt so happy.
The prospect of certain victory wiped away all his fear of Liu Miyon.
Liu Miyon’s greatest trump card—[Ruler of Life and Death]—would soon be his! And then, Liu Miyon would meet his end!
“Your Highness Liu Miyon.” Samsara Tianqi’s face showed rare worry.
Standing beside her, Liu Miyon’s forehead was bulging with veins.
He made no attempt to hide his anger, his usual gentle and calm demeanor completely gone.
What on earth are you doing! Useless! Useless! I beg you! Don’t do this! Aaaaah! Die! Die!
Liu Miyon’s rationality was teetering on the edge of collapse.
In his near-madness, he suddenly remembered something.
Why had he set up this wager, believing Bai Ya could defeat the ogre and win him profit?
So that was it—everything was his own fault, the result of his own cleverness!
Yes! The fact that ‘The Scales of Burial and Revival’ had not killed her but saved her was a miracle!
To possess a rebellious spirit far beyond ordinary people despite being a slave was truly impressive!
But was this really worth betting his own life on?
How stupid must he have been to believe she could be guaranteed to kill the ogre!
Because it’s a game, I will never lose—this is the self-discipline of a player.
—Having made such a stupid statement, get up already and kill that damn ogre for me!
A face streaming with snot and tears was the ultimate disgrace for a noble, something to be laughed at, a stain on one’s reputation and honor.
At this moment, Liu Miyon’s appearance was no different from that of the gladiators facing despair in the arena.
At this time, after several assaults, only ten of the dozens of gladiators remained alive.
These ten were the lucky ones, though strength also played a part.
The three Bronze-level gladiators—Lionheart Bladeshade, Luo Shi, and Tabu—were among them.
The one who had survived purely by luck was the girl who had shared the same stone cell outside the ring as Bai Ya.
The gladiatorial match was drawing to its end.
A couple more ogre attacks, and the blood match would end with all gladiators wiped out.
This was also the last gladiatorial bout—the ship would dock in a few days, arriving at Amidarl.
The arena would undergo long-term repairs until the next transport ship set sail.
The ring-shaped arena was already covered in blood.
At this moment, the ogre stopped chewing.
He put down the flesh in his hand, his beady eyes turning to the last remaining morsels.
There weren’t many who could still move—those could struggle the most, and thus tasted the best.
Ogres have a constant trait: when there is surplus prey, they always eat the lowest-quality meat first, saving the choicest delicacies as their main course for last.
In other words, the ten surviving gladiators should be grateful that their flesh had caught the ogre’s eye, though it wasn’t exactly something to be proud of.
The ten gladiators spread out in ten positions, but none had the thought to gather their last strength for a final stand.
As they saw the ogre stop eating, the signal of the hunt made their fear swell to its peak.
All the survivors had witnessed the ogre’s repeated attacks.
They had figured out the monster’s attack pattern: each time, it would assault only one direction, and only after it finished eating would it launch the next attack.
It was a pathetic, even unforgivable, thing—but nine of the ten survivors all harbored the selfish hope that this time the chosen meal wouldn’t be them but someone else.
To survive, even for a moment, was a basic instinct none of them could abandon, even in the depths of despair.
Soon, eight of the nine relaxed—the one chosen this time was the girl.
The ogre vanished from where it stood, becoming a shadow of death.
At a speed beyond human vision, it appeared before the girl, grinning to reveal several rows of blood-stained fangs.
It showed no pity for her tearful, helpless, pitiful appearance.
Opening its bloody maw wide—it was about to bite off most of this tiny appetizer in one gulp!
To swallow the girl’s frail body whole wouldn’t take it much time at all.
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