Chapter 184#

Cost 07#

“White Soldier 1263, swear allegiance to the sovereign.”

This time, the white soldier’s ID was “Loves Frontal Duel.”

He was controlled by an invisible force, just like the cheetah in the demonstration round, and slashed a deep wound across his own chest.

Then it was the black soldier “Cross Lock”’s turn to choose the combat method.

The two fought fairly. It was already hard enough to bet on who would win or lose. But the arena added two more variables: the injury from the oath and the right to choose the fighting style.

What had to be compared was no longer a simple “who can win,” but “who can still win after being weakened and forced into a predetermined combat method.”

In the end, Black Soldier Cross Lock chose “unarmed,” meaning bare-handed combat.

As the “begin” command fell, he crouched slightly, lowered his center of gravity, made a crisp starting gesture, then moved toward his opponent with orderly steps, suggesting some training—clearly professionally trained.

“Loves Frontal Duel,” on the other hand, seemed quite awkward. His forward movements were hesitant and stiff. When the wound tugged, he hissed and drew in a breath.

Some people, when they see blood from a wound, are provoked into extraordinary ferocity and unleash potential they normally couldn’t imagine—like the cheetah from the previous round. Others grow sluggish and lethargic after being hurt and slowed in every movement. The white soldier on the field now seemed to be the latter type.

The two quickly closed the distance.

Cross Lock fought efficiently, his techniques smooth. He soon closed in and engaged in a grapple.

Compared to him, the white soldier was far less composed. He looked like he didn’t know how to fight, always on the defensive, scrambling to dodge. Within minutes, he had been forced to the edge of the field.

Dodging a punch aimed at his face, “Frontal Duel” grunted—Cross Lock had only feigned; the real attack was a sharp elbow strike to his left chest wound, the hardest part of the elbow.

He staggered. His opponent, seizing the absolute advantage, followed up with another blow—a heavy right hook from the side to his temple.

In that critical moment, the situation on the field suddenly changed!

“Frontal Duel” abruptly tensed his body. His cowering posture suddenly straightened, turning steel-like. In an instant, he first blocked Cross Lock’s wrist, then used the momentum of his previous dodge to slip behind his opponent. He drove his right knee up and slammed it into Cross Lock’s back, then wrapped his arms around the man’s neck and yanked it backward with force—

Cross Lock, lulled by the repeated retreats and feigned weakness, had let down his defensive guard and was going all-out. He took the hit with almost no preparation.

Two massive forces wrenched his body in opposite directions. A barely audible crack came from the joint between his neck and spine.

Then, like a snake without bones, his whole body slumped and slid downward.

“Loves Frontal Duel” let go coldly from behind. Cross Lock’s body hit the ground, twitched a few times, and never got up again.

His neck was broken. Even if he survived, he would be paralyzed.

Thirty seconds later, the croupier announced the white side’s victory.

“So insidious.” Claros clapped his hands and said with a smile, “I like it.”

The announcer’s voice was calm and emotionless: “Good night, everyone.”

The arena lights went out, the audience seats lit up, and a mournful mist rose around the people—this round of betting had killed nearly a third of them.

There was so much mist that it inevitably touched the bodies of those nearby. At first, it was still warm, as if the heat from the living hadn’t dissipated. But in a mere moment, the warm mist turned into an icy chill that pierced the skin. Those touched couldn’t help but shiver from the cold deep within.

After the shiver, the mist vanished without a trace.

Death came silently.

Those lucky enough to survive breathed a sigh of relief for escaping this time, but the next round of betting loomed, turning their faces pale. All they could hear was the pounding of their own hearts.

The second round began quickly. The white side stayed on, a new black soldier took the field.

The white side had an advantage.

His name was “Loves Frontal Duel,” but in truth, he was a master of striking from behind.

He had hidden and bided his time in the previous round, then suddenly ambushed his opponent. That would undoubtedly put immense psychological pressure on his current opponent.

However, the disadvantages were also clear: first, his offensive pattern was exposed, and the opponent would be on guard against it; second, he had already expended stamina from being beaten in the previous round, so he couldn’t perform at full strength.

Still, Yu Feichen placed his chips on him.

Almost at the same time as Yu Feichen, Jie Lv’s chips also went to the white side.

“White?”

“Mm, still white.”

“White.”

The Black Raincoats’ answers would be late but never absent.

After the audience finished betting, it was the sovereign’s turn to bet.

Almost everyone held their breath, watching the chip in the sovereign’s hand that could decide their fate.

With hardly any pause or hesitation, the gold chip dropped into the white demon’s mouth.

For a moment,

Those on the white side felt their lives hanging by a thread, unable to stop their hearts from racing.

Those who had chosen the black side were gripped by immense terror—if the sovereign was right, their fate had already been sealed.

The dim environment didn’t affect Yu Feichen’s vision much. He took in the expressions of the crowd and thought to himself that the Misty City had truly exhausted its tricks, using a single chip to make almost everyone resent An Fei.

In the arena, the white soldier’s wound was still there. This time, it was the croupier’s turn for the black side to choose the combat method.

Both chose weapons. “Loves Frontal Duel” pulled out a matte-black assassination dagger with a carburized surface, devoid of reflection—consistent with his fighting style. This guy seemed to be an assassin by trade.

The black soldier on the other side took out an exquisite hand crossbow.

The fight began.

This match had almost no suspense—because the black soldier was completely not a fighter.

He was a scholarly, elegant-looking man with gold-rimmed glasses. Every expression and movement was refined and courteous. He had no obvious muscles. The type who clearly was used to using his brain, not his hands.

Within three minutes of the fight starting, the white soldier deftly dodged a crossbow bolt, closed in, and with the assassination dagger, casually slit the opponent’s throat.

The black soldier, his throat cut, collapsed silently to the ground. Blood spurted in pulses from his carotid artery, quickly spreading into a large pool. He lay as docile and powerless as a slaughtered animal.

Someone sighed and bowed their head.

Yu Feichen’s thoughts began to wander. It seemed he could already see Murphy’s end.

Murphy suddenly felt a wave of unease, as if hit by some unknown curse. He couldn’t help but move a little farther away from Jie Lv.

The outcome was decided. Time to settle bets. The disparity in strength was too great, so this time, not many people died—only a dozen or so.

Everyone might need improvement in discerning strength, but they were very good at recognizing weakness. Those who had bet on the black side were probably just people with overly twisted thought processes.

Third round. The white side stayed on.

This time, his opponent was a fierce man.

An Fei’s chips went to the black side.

Now both of them had chest wounds, creating an eerie balance.

As soon as the fight started, “Loves Frontal Duel” retreated step by step and eventually failed to land a backstab, instead getting hammered to the ground by overwhelming frontal force.

But he had chosen unarmed combat, which reduced the risk of fatal injury. He barely survived and withdrew from the field alive.

This round killed a fifth of the bettors.

Gray mist rose and vanished. In an atmosphere where life felt like dust, time lost all measure. Before anyone could feel its passage, a dozen rounds had already been fought.

Only half of the original audience remained seated. The death rate was even higher than during the free hunt phase.

The fights continued round after round, but the atmosphere in the arena grew increasingly strange.

More and more eyes were fixed on An Fei in the center.

An Fei had become the focal point of the arena, seeming even more important than the two fighters.

Admittedly, those still alive had all been betting correctly so far.

But only they knew how much luck was involved. Some had gritted their teeth and won on a gamble; others had simply chosen an option at random; still others had lost all confidence in themselves and relied on copying their neighbor’s choices to throw in their chips.

Survival was almost a matter of luck. Yet, through every round of judgment, they saw: the sovereign, high above in the center, placed his bets calmly every time and always picked the final winner.

After more than a dozen rounds, storms of emotion had surged through their hearts countless times, but they never saw the sovereign show any unease or surprise. His frost-blue eyes held only a stillness that seemed to annihilate everything, as if everything was within his expectation.

Gradually, his choices began to feel different.

It wasn’t like betting anymore. It felt like he was revealing the answer before the game even began.

And his choices came after everyone else had already placed their bets.

If he was right, it meant that everyone who had chosen differently would be sentenced to death soon.

But if he was wrong, that wasn’t good either—all those on the side he bet on would be wiped out.

Everyone had to pay for their own choices, and they accepted that. But above them, there was someone else who could decide life and death without seemingly paying any price himself.

A murky resentment spread and grew through the dim hall.

It was as if the power to judge their life and death wasn’t in the choices they made, or in the outcome of the two fighters in the arena, or even in the rules of the Misty City’s game—but in the golden-glowing “scepter” in the sovereign’s hand.

Perhaps it’s hard for people to hate themselves, or to hate the intangible rules and fate. Fear and hatred have nowhere to land, so they naturally turn to whoever is closest and connected to their fate.

An unknown undercurrent seeped from the narrowest corners of people’s hearts, surging into a vast ocean over the arena. Yet An Fei, at the center of the vortex, still held the gilded chip, his silent eyes reflecting only a grim, bloodstained coliseum.

After another round of betting, Yu Feichen suddenly turned his gaze toward Jie Lv.

Jie Lv met his eyes and nodded slightly.

Xina: “…”

She could see absolutely nothing meaningful in those expressionless glances. It was the worst situation for someone with her intelligence. She’d rather listen to a hundred repetitions of Clarose’s affected voice.

But then Yu Feichen spoke: “Gatekeeper.”

Claros, who had been idly swinging his legs, looked up. “Huh?”

Yu Feichen: “Move the candles over here.”

Claros: “Huh? Do I look like I have the strength? I’m so young, you know?”

Yu Feichen: “Less talk.”

“Fine, fine.” The loli in the Western dress pouted and went to pull the candles, her little heels tapping on the floor, making everyone from Eternal Day grind their teeth. Several Black Raincoats finally couldn’t stand it and joined in moving the candles.

The candelabras in the audience area were originally scattered. Dozens of white candles sat on ornate, branching stands, illuminating only a limited area, allowing people to barely see their neighbors to the left and right, but not much farther. The view only opened up when the Misty City deliberately shined a light.

Thus, the candlelight was faint but important.

But now, a few ghostly Black Raincoats, reeking of blood, came from the VIP area and started taking their candles away—causing quite a stir and murmur. They were clearly unhappy but dared not voice their anger.

The Black Raincoats moved quickly. Before one round had even finished, nearly a hundred candelabras were gathered around the VIP seats. In the dim, low-hanging world, the layered white candles were arranged in a staggered pattern. The flames swayed into a brilliant sea, surrounding An Fei in the center, adding a classical, solemn air.

What? The special lighting from the Misty City wasn’t enough? They had to steal everyone’s candles for a scenic display?

Noble. Very noble.

As resentment boiled and eyes nearly bled, they noticed two other figures were also illuminated by the flames. The candlelight shone brightly on them, so that even the farthest person could see their faces and the black-and-white demon statues before them.

“A… a rabbit! That…” Someone caught sight of the rabbit perched on Yu Feichen’s shoulder, a black cloud looming over it. The exquisite, cute rabbit stirred up unpleasant memories. He shrank deeper into his seat.

No one could discern any trace of emotion on the other person’s handsome, icy face. The rabbit looked extremely eerie. And the one on the left, with silver short hair and an RGB earring, was no less bizarre—more like a mechanical statue than a living person.

They sat to the right and left of the sovereign, one in black robes, one in silver, with no particular movements. But from their positions, it was clear they were guarding and protecting the central figure.

People guessed briefly, cursed “quite the display,” and then turned back to watch the fight in the arena, waiting for the judgment of their own fate.

But after one round ended and before the next began—

“Hey,” someone elbowed their neighbor, “didn’t they both bet on white?”

The neighbor replied, “Yeah, I saw it too.”

Murmurs rose. The crowd suddenly realized: under the candlelight, the choices of those two were clearly visible to everyone.

And now they understood why the Black Raincoats had gathered the candles—to make sure everyone could see this.

“…Do I follow?”

“They look shady. Could it be a trap?”

The audience finished betting.

Then the sovereign bet, also on white.

The fight ended. White won.

Second round. Those two bet on black.

Some followed and bet black.

The sovereign bet black.

Black won.

…

Time passed. More and more people followed the bets. Fewer and fewer died.

“Darling, place my bet for me.” Claros tossed his chips to Murphy, then hopped over to a spot behind and beside An Fei. He perched high on the back of a seat, the crystals on his parasol glowing with a dim purple light.

“I’ll do some lighting too~~”

Xina had also started copying the answers, betting along with Yu Feichen and Jie Lv every time.

As she copied, she gave earnest reminders.

“Jie Lv, take your time computing, don’t rush. Take care of yourself, save power most importantly~ If you don’t want to compute, just copy Xiao Yu’s.”

“Xiao Yu, uh… well… you’ve worked hard. Drink more hot water.”

“Rose…”

Claros, you really are redundant.