Chapter 11: Demon Arena (9)
Lost Paradise — Hell of Hunger
One of the branch casinos of Hellhound Gambling Den was located here — the largest underground casino in the Hell of Hunger. It was always packed, wild every night. The first-floor hall was the most spacious and lively area, divided into countless gambling zones. Surrounded by money, beauty, and the ever-seductive dream of instant fortune, countless stories of “getting rich overnight” played out here every minute.
But what drew the most attention were, without question, the special gambling events unique to each floor of the Demon Casino. Among them, the most crowded and most talked-about attraction on the first floor was the Revival Match—or as most called it, the Demon Arena.
In the casino’s lounge area, many patrons sat quietly sipping drinks while watching the giant suspended screens dominating the hall. The screens formed a semicircle, ensuring they could be seen from any corner. They showed ongoing and upcoming arena matches, each corresponding to a different betting room.
Just then, one screen suddenly glowed gold, its viewer count skyrocketing—naturally catching everyone’s attention.
Hank looked up instinctively. “That many people watching? Another ‘dark horse’ showing up?”
The term dark horse was always said with irony. Everyone thrown into the Revival Matches was a zero-point demon—a reject, a castoff. Yet once in a while, a fluke or an unjustly framed “waste” would upset the odds, and when that happened, the betting floor exploded with energy.
“No, I heard it’s a pure newcomer,” someone replied.
A “pure newcomer” meant someone virtually unknown in the Hell of Hunger—likely fresh out of the novice trials.
“For real?” Hank raised a brow in surprise, but they didn’t have time to speculate. All the screens in the casino switched to show the profiles of the two fighters.
Usually, five matches ran simultaneously, each broadcast on a separate screen—but this time, every screen displayed the same fight. There was only one explanation:
This match’s popularity had completely eclipsed the others—it had been promoted to VIP priority status.
“Damn, it really is a newcomer. The casino barely has any data on him.”
“Looks like he didn’t even pass the novice trials—went straight into the Revival Match.”
“Wait, then how the hell is he a dark horse?”
“No idea. But those clips the casino selected for the preview actually look pretty good.”
He meant the preview footage now playing on-screen. Before each betting round, the casino always gathered material to hype the crowd. For someone like Tang Mobai—an unknown rookie with no prior records (there were too many failed trial candidates for the casino to track individually)—they had to rely on clips from his livestream. Seth’s side, meanwhile, showed his previous fight records.
Seth’s record wasn’t spectacular, but neither was it bad. He’d been in the arena for ages and once had a small reputation in the lower hells. When he first fell to the arena, he already looked half-destroyed—and despite countless challengers over time, he still stood unbroken.
One was a fresh, utterly unknown “dark horse.” The other—a seasoned “war machine,” the unshakable fixture of the Revival Matches.
It was enough to spark Hank’s interest. He even threw in what little money he’d saved for drinks.
The odds were currently 10 to 1, with Seth overwhelmingly favored to win.
[Tang Mobai vs. Seth]
[Standard Gladiator Mode]
Tang Mobai, of course, couldn’t see the betting details—but he could infer things from the crowd’s reaction. Judging by how everyone, both veterans and newcomers, had gathered in the stands, jeering from behind the NPC spectators, this was… probably a big deal.
“Fight! Give the rookie a proper welcome!”
“Hey, newbie, wanna fight me next? I promise I’ll be gentle, hah!”
“Or me! I’ll even go easy on you!”
It took effort for Tang Mobai to pull his attention away from the noisy stands. Across from him, Seth remained silent and unmoved, no matter what the crowd yelled.
“So… we’re just starting like this?” Tang Mobai hesitated. Sure, Yan Wuzhen had arranged this opponent, but this was his first time throwing a fixed match. What if he messed it up…?
When they’d signed the contract, Tang Mobai had admitted he couldn’t act. Yan Wuzhen didn’t seem to care—he’d smiled and said, “Don’t worry, I’ve got everything handled. You just have to stand in the arena.”
The look on his face said, Even if we threw a pig in there, our plan would still work.
Tang Mobai’s thoughts drifted for just a second—then a sudden gust of wind whipped his face. The countdown had ended, and Seth, who’d been standing still, lunged forward like a cheetah, his fist aiming straight for Tang Mobai’s face!
Tang Mobai jerked up his arm to block, lowering his stance. The impact landed solidly. Pain shot through his arm so sharply it made his teeth clench.
Tch. At least those two weeks of training weren’t for nothing—his instructors had been masters of hand-to-hand combat and martial arts. If there was one thing he’d learned properly, it was how to take a hit.
Still… it hurt like hell.
Seth’s fighting style was unlike anything Tang Mobai had ever seen—brutal, direct, efficient. Every strike was meant to maim or kill. When the first punch failed to break him, Seth swept a powerful kick at his ankle, trying to take him down.
Tang Mobai had already shifted his weight, so he wasn’t fully knocked over, but he still stumbled. Seth seized the opening and drove a heavy punch into his gut. Tang Mobai grunted, his stomach churning violently—he almost vomited on the spot.
Bro… are you seriously hitting me for real?!
Seth’s assault poured down like a storm—unceasing and merciless. Tang Mobai could barely defend himself. He’d already taken several hits; his lip was split. But then, as another blow landed, something clicked in his head.
Now he finally understood why Yan Wuzhen’s smile had looked so sly when Tang Mobai said he couldn’t act.
Turns out, even a pig could pull this off—since all he had to do was get beaten up!
Outside the arena, Yan Wuzhen watched with amusement, ears perked to the chatter around him.
“Told you, rookies always get cocky. Why pick a veteran? Experience alone decides this one.”
“Exactly. And Seth’s not weak—he’s a combat-type cyborg. His whole body’s built for killing.”
“This rookie’s done for.”
“Man, why didn’t he challenge me instead? Such easy points wasted.”
Everyone thought the same thing—and so did the live audience. Even those who had originally rooted for Tang Mobai now lost faith.
After all, rookies might have potential, but Seth had proven experience. In real combat, there was no comparison. A talented newcomer was still just that—unproven.
Exactly what Yan Wuzhen wanted.
When the tables turned and Tang Mobai made his comeback, the shock and hype would be explosive.
And judging by the timing… it was about to begin.
In the arena, no one could discern the surprise hidden beneath Seth’s perpetually expressionless face.
Everyone knew that Lost Paradise connected to multiple planes, which explained the diversity of people seen here — from different universes, cultures, races, even species. Seth, for example, was a cyborg from a future world. His combat skills combined multiple martial arts styles uploaded via AI with the vicious cunning honed on real battlefields. Even without weapons, his hands and feet alone were lethal.
At first, Tang Mobai’s defense was clumsy, but as the fight went on, his movements became increasingly steady. The pain didn’t seem to affect his mind — instead, it forced him to learn how to protect himself while taking hits, like a sponge absorbing every strike and bit of experience from his opponent.
It was clear he had some training — not much, and too short a time — but still… Anyone who could think and learn in the midst of pain and battle only lacked time.
According to Yan Wuzhen’s script, Seth should have already started pretending to lose by now — throwing the match to make it look convincing — but after a moment’s thought, he decided to keep feeding Tang Mobai more moves, just easing up on his strength.
Tang Mobai was already dizzy, his head ringing, and for a brief moment, he even wondered if he’d been tricked — that this whole thing was a trap to lure him into fighting.
Bang!
He twisted his head as hard as he could, but Seth’s punch still grazed his cheek. He was certain his face would be covered in bruises tomorrow.
This wasn’t training. There was no room to dodge, no second chances. This was a gladiatorial fight — a fight where people could die in front of an audience.
At that moment, the last shred of luck in Tang Mobai’s heart disappeared. He couldn’t afford to rely on mercy.
He’d taken so many hits that maybe the blood rushing to his brain stirred his memory — flashes of the combat drills from the past two weeks came to him. Of course, with such little time, he’d mostly been a punching bag, only learning how to guard himself. Still, he’d memorized a few of his instructors’ key techniques.
When Seth’s right hook came at his face, Tang Mobai lowered his stance to block, stepped in to close the distance, parried with his right arm, and grabbed Seth’s forearm with his left hand.
Seth’s movement stalled — a brief, fatal opening in such a fast-paced fight. Tang Mobai twisted his body to the right, using Seth’s momentum against him, forcing him off balance, then slammed his shoulder forward and drove his elbow into Seth’s face, forcing the cyborg to stagger backward!
That crisp, fluid counterattack silenced the jeering audience mid-chant. Even the barrage of live-stream comments paused for a heartbeat.
But then, an even louder cheer erupted. The crowd loved one-sided fights — but they loved comebacks more.
[OHHHHHHHHH!!]
[Beautiful move! Keep it up, rookie, I’m rooting for you!]
[Come on! I bet everything I have on you!]
[Damn, he’s actually turning it around! Seth, are you serious? Go back to the scrapyard if you lose to a newbie!]
Those who had bet on Tang Mobai screamed with joy. The others cursed bitterly. But everyone’s eyes were locked on the match — even gamblers in other games had stopped to watch.
VIP-level matches were rare. High-odds matches were rare. But a high-odds match that could actually flip? Almost unheard of.
With all three factors together, it wasn’t just the bettors’ hearts that were racing — even bystanders couldn’t look away, waiting to see if a new legend of fortune would be born tonight.
In the arena, Tang Mobai shook his arms loose and pressed forward, striking while the iron was hot.
Seth staggered to his feet, the optical sensors in his eyes glowing red. His expression didn’t change, but his attacks were still fierce and sharp — though now, everyone could see Tang Mobai was gradually taking the upper hand.
His punches no longer felt weak — every move was aimed at Seth’s vital spots: the nose bridge, the jaw, even the area below the navel.
(It was worth noting that one of Tang Mobai’s instructors followed the “Mad Dog” school — an unrestricted fighting style that focused on using any means necessary to incapacitate an opponent. Unsurprisingly, it was the one Tang Mobai learned fastest.)
The livestream chat began to cool down. Yes, Tang Mobai fought viciously and learned fast — he looked like a rising combat star. But… why was he only attacking the lower body?
In the real world, Tang Mobai’s instructors turned to look at one short, dark-skinned man. He coughed awkwardly, “Well… it works, doesn’t it?”
The others chuckled, “At least now we know why he couldn’t go all-out during sparring.”
But here — against a real opponent — there was no such hesitation.
For the first time, the cold mask on Seth’s face cracked. He could tell — in just one fight, Tang Mobai had changed. From a flashy novice into someone with real combat instinct — a fighter who specialized in ruthless, low-line attacks.
This time, Seth truly was on the losing end — and not because he was pretending.
The audience fell completely silent, watching the scene unfold. Even the newcomers held their breath.
Maybe it was because Tang Mobai was a newcomer like them.
Maybe it was the thrill of seeing an underdog rise up.
…If only he could fight a bit more cleanly.
Bang!
Finally, Tang Mobai landed another hit — or rather, Seth deliberately gave him an opening, as if he’d finally had enough.
Tang Mobai’s left fist smashed straight into Seth’s nose, sending him flying backward to the ground, unconscious.
For a second, there was silence — then the crowd erupted like a tidal wave.
The live chat flooded with:
[OHHHHHHHH!!]
[HAHAHAHA I WON MY BET!!]
[Trash robot!]
Winners screamed in triumph. Losers trembled with fury.
Tang Mobai stumbled, barely managing to stay on his feet. That was when he realized — this was staged. A fixed match. He glanced instinctively toward the exit.
But the arena timer didn’t stop.
Huh?
“Kill him!”
“Rip him apart!”
The audience’s voices rose again, wild with excitement.
Tang Mobai turned toward the stands, dazed. Maybe it was the blood dripping down his forehead, blurring his vision — but every face in the crowd seemed twisted with madness and cruelty.
[What are you waiting for? Kill him!]
[Don’t stop! I want to see blood! Last time they tore apart an elf, it was awesome! I wonder what color a cyborg bleeds?]
[You useless trash! Smash that robot — I lost a fortune because of him!]
[WOOHOO! This is my favorite part of the fight!]
[Do it! Kill him! You’ll be my favorite streamer forever!]
A gladiatorial match was, at its core, a blood performance.
There was no such thing as “pulling punches.”
Even in standard mode — not the deathmatch mode — the fight only ended when one side was unconscious… or dead.
And this stage, after the outcome was already decided, was the crowd’s favorite part — the butchering time.
The frenzy of the live chat was like a wildfire, feeding off itself. The crowd screamed, their faces distorted by raw malice — no longer human.
No, they were the embodiment of malice.
The so-called “Revival Matches” were designed exactly for this — to throw the unworthy into hell, strip away their conscience and morality, and forge them into beasts of cruelty.
That was how people became qualified demons.
The arena’s feverish energy surged, a roaring tide that threatened to swallow Tang Mobai whole.
Mini-Theater:
At this moment, the instructors recalled Tang Mobai’s escape during the virtual exam.
It turns out it wasn’t that they couldn’t bring themselves to do it, but that they couldn’t bear to se e their descendants extinct!
He’s so serious! It made me cry.
Thank you for reading 🙂 I hope you all liked my translations. If you enjoyed my work, please consider buying me a Ko-Fi 😉
