Chapter 14: Demon Arena (12)
Yan Wuzhen ultimately couldn’t finish his “slime meal.” Frowning, he carried the remaining half portion away. Xiu Weiyi looked like he wanted to follow, but Tang Mobai said casually, “You done eating? Wait for me a bit.”
Xiu Weiyi instinctively avoided Tang Mobai’s gaze. “No… I, uh… still need to pick my next gladiator opponent. Even with the intel you two gave me, I’m not getting much heat. I’ll need at least one more match.”
Tang Mobai didn’t stop him.
Once both of them had left, Tang Mobai, enduring the stares of the entire cafeteria, forced himself to finish the slime meal with a contorted expression. Then he headed straight for the bathroom, shut the door, and pulled a small packet of medicine from his pocket, pouring it into his mouth.
Honestly, the taste was indescribably awful. If he hadn’t gone through two weeks of wilderness survival training—where he’d eaten bugs, frogs, even raw birds—he probably would’ve thrown up. It was overpowering and bitter enough to numb his tongue.
Neither Xiu Weiyi nor Yan Wuzhen had managed to finish theirs… Xiu Weiyi’s reaction wasn’t surprising, but Yan Wuzhen’s was interesting.
Outside the screen, the expert team made another note in Yan Wuzhen’s database.
Later, Tang Mobai fought two more arena matches, both against opponents arranged by Yan Wuzhen.
To be honest, he was beginning to admire Yan Wuzhen’s network and manipulation skills. In the rules of the revival matches, being someone’s stepping stone meant risking your life. For others to willingly do it meant one of two things—either Yan Wuzhen had promised enormous rewards that made betrayal worthwhile, or he had a firm grip on their weaknesses.
Either way, it was a massive investment. Clearly, Yan Wuzhen had gone all in—there was no way he’d work this hard just to benefit someone else.
That could only mean one thing: the “qualification test” itself had a catch. Either it took longer than expected or had an extremely low success rate.
The more Tang Mobai realized the danger waiting three days ahead, the calmer he became.
After completing three matches and paying for treatment, oil, and food, he had 80 soul coins left. At this rate, he’d hit the 100-coin requirement by tomorrow.
While the other newcomers cried out in despair for not even earning 5 coins, night once again fell as scheduled.
Tang Mobai returned to the same dilapidated shack. It was tattered, but at least it was one of the few free shelters. Taking advantage of Deville’s absence, he quickly scribbled an encrypted message on the ground, syncing up with the expert team outside about their unfinished plan.
Later that night, Deville returned.
The writing on the floor was long erased. When Tang Mobai saw him, he unexpectedly felt a sense of relief. Lifting his chin, he smiled. “Feels kind of nice seeing a familiar face in a place like this.”
Many rooms around them were now empty. The night was eerily quiet.
Deville stayed silent as always, and Tang Mobai didn’t mind. He could tell from the man’s withdrawn demeanor that he wasn’t in the right mental state to talk.
In a hellhole like this, even a madman could feel reassuring.
With nothing else to do, Tang Mobai started talking—about the day’s events, small things, anything. It was a one-sided chat, but when he glanced over, he found Deville’s eyes quietly following his movements, as if listening.
When Tang Mobai finally ran out of things to say, he murmured softly, “Maybe I’ll only last three days here… well, that’s not so bad, right? I’m sure they’ll try to pull me out somehow. I just… want to go back and see them…”
Even though the livestream was already closed, Tang Mobai still instinctively used “them” to refer to his country.
God, how he wanted to go home to the modern world.
At that moment, he noticed Deville pull out a piece of moldy bread from his pocket. Tang Mobai, having already seen the cafeteria food, knew that moldy bread was considered normal food here—actually a bit of a luxury. At least it was better than that slime sludge.
He remembered trying to stop Deville before. Considering how expensive that bread was, being attacked over it didn’t sound strange anymore…
While Tang Mobai was lost in thought, his eyes unconsciously lingered on the bread. When he came back to himself, Deville was already standing in front of him.
Deville’s sheer presence radiated an almost predatory pressure, and Tang Mobai’s mind flashed back to the man’s brutal performance in the arena. His nerves tensed instinctively.
Then Deville stuffed half the bread into his hand.
Tang Mobai: “???”
“For… me?” he asked hesitantly.
Deville nodded.
Huh. That was new.
Still, Tang Mobai accepted it happily. Who knew if he’d even live three more days—no need to be polite.
“Thanks, man.”
Funny, really—the first genuine bit of warmth he’d received since arriving here came from someone who was probably insane.
But since he’d already eaten dinner, he hesitated for a moment, then tucked the bread into his pocket. He’d save it for breakfast tomorrow—at least he wouldn’t have to touch that slime mess again.
That night, the shadow creatures appeared as usual. But this time, Tang Mobai was prepared. Calmly, he lit the oil lamp.
Unlike the cheap one from last night, this new lamp from the supply exchange was brighter, steadier, and could last till morning. That eased his nerves a lot. The previous lamp must’ve been a shoddy “newbie model.” If every night were like that, they wouldn’t need battles—the exhaustion alone would kill them.
Even the best weapon needed maintenance—and the arena gave them no room to exploit loopholes. The lamp’s light only covered a narrow area, just enough for one person. Two people would need to stay close together—
“Huh?”
Tang Mobai froze. Deville hadn’t moved at all. After a long moment, he asked hesitantly, “Where’s your oil lamp?”
Deville looked at the lamp in Tang Mobai’s hand, then opened his arms. He didn’t say a word, but the message was clear.
“No way!”
Deville tilted his head.
“Last night was a one-time thing! You’ve got enough soul coins…” Tang Mobai stammered. Two grown men hugging—how was that comfortable? And surely Deville could afford a lamp of his own!
Wait—come to think of it, he hadn’t seen Deville carrying a lamp last night either. The one that saved him was the newbie’s complimentary lamp from 009…
Tang Mobai hesitated. But the shadows weren’t the type to hesitate—the chill wind was already howling outside. Deville stood silently at the edge of the light, his eyes clear and childlike.
Damn it.
Cursing under his breath, Tang Mobai sighed. For the sake of that half piece of bread, he finally picked up the lamp with one hand and pulled Deville close with the other. “You seriously couldn’t just come over yourself?”
In the end, they ended up in the same position as the night before—Deville sitting on the straw pile, Tang Mobai curled up in his arms.
He didn’t even realize that they did have another option: sitting back-to-back. This new lamp’s range was wider than before—if they sat tightly together, it would’ve worked. But instinctively, they chose to hold each other again.
Maybe it wasn’t just Deville who had been moved last night. After enduring another brutal day, maybe only that closeness—however awkward—could give them a trace of human warmth.
Forget it, forget it—just think of it as repayment for that half piece of bread.
Tang Mobai convinced himself. Really, he was the one profiting here. What’s a hug? At worst, it’s just like having a big mattress!
To be fair, Deville had a solid build, but when relaxed, his chest muscles were soft enough to make a decent pillow. Tang Mobai felt a bit awkward at first, but then thought—if the “pillow” himself didn’t mind, why should he?
Sleep! Sleep however you want! Human-shaped mattress, here we go!
Once he thought that, his mind settled down. The exhaustion from fighting three arena battles during the day hit him like a wave. He thought he’d have trouble sleeping while holding a stranger—turns out he overestimated himself.
He slept soundly, straight through until dawn.
*
Tang Mobai slept well, but someone else couldn’t close his eyes all night. A few houses away, Xiu Weiyi stared at the dried bloodstains on the floor, gnawing anxiously at his thumb. In his mind, Yan Wuzhen’s words kept repeating.
After a long moment, he gripped the short dagger in his hand tightly—like it was the only thing left in his life he could still hold onto.
When Tang Mobai woke, Deville was already gone, probably left early. He tidied up carefully, reassembled his small traps for reuse, slipped a compact firearm into his sleeve pocket, and got ready for another day in the arena.
But today, Yan Wuzhen had arranged only one opponent for him. Tang Mobai was surprised—but also relieved. If he’d been scheduled for three consecutive battles every day, he’d start questioning reality itself. If Yan Wuzhen really controlled that many fighters, he might as well just crown himself underground emperor.
After his routine “staged” fight and win, Tang Mobai noticed the live viewership had multiplied several times over. Even without Yan Wuzhen explaining, he knew this was the ripple effect of the previous matches—he was officially famous now.
He had 95 soul coins, only 5 short of the 100 required to unlock the Qualification Trial.
Once he reached that point, he could finally see what this so-called “trial” really was.
That’s when an unexpected figure blocked his path.
“…Xiu Weiyi?”
Tang Mobai instinctively waved, smiling. “How’s your progress going?”
“Not bad,” Xiu Weiyi replied honestly. “Though I haven’t earned tonight’s coins yet.”
“Oh, I see. Then you—” Tang Mobai didn’t finish, because a notification popped up in front of him.
Within three days, every newcomer had the right to one arena challenge that could not be refused. And Xiu Weiyi had chosen—A Death Match.
*
Why?
Even though he’d been warned beforehand, Tang Mobai couldn’t make sense of it as he stood inside the arena. He and Xiu Weiyi weren’t exactly close, but they weren’t enemies either—they were more like two cautious herbivores traveling together, the kind who’d just try to run faster than the other when danger came.
He wasn’t the most likable guy, sure, but not hated enough to deserve this.
Tang Mobai wasn’t one to stew in silence, so he just asked directly, “I don’t think I ever offended you, right?”
“No,” Xiu Weiyi answered honestly. “In fact, you’ve helped me a lot here. Without you, I probably would’ve been eliminated on the first day.”
“Then why…” Tang Mobai narrowed his eyes. “Did Yan Wuzhen promise you something? But that doesn’t make sense—he can’t afford to lose me.”
Xiu Weiyi was the only newcomer who knew about their contract. And because of it, he couldn’t expose the truth. Still, there was no clause preventing him from challenging Tang Mobai. But if he did, Yan Wuzhen’s whole “hero narrative” around Tang Mobai would collapse, tanking his audience engagement. That would violate their agreement.
Unless… the engagement wasn’t dropping at all.
Tang Mobai suddenly looked up at the sky screen above the arena— Countless glowing comments filled the air, so dense they nearly blotted out the light.
Judging by the flood of comments alone, the popularity hadn’t gone down—it had skyrocketed, several times higher than even his last fight.
“This shouldn’t surprise you,” Xiu Weiyi said, his lips curling into a self-mocking smile.
“Bets drive the audience numbers up. And beyond that, the Revival Tournament is really just a live-action show feeding people’s worst instincts. Tell me, in a reality show—what do people love most?”
“Drama. Betrayal. And the underdog overthrowing the favorite.”
[Ah, the betrayal arc! Classic, and I love it!]
[Dark horse vs cannon fodder, lol—if Xiu Weiyi wins this it’ll be legendary!]
[All in, baby! Go big or die trying!]
[Knew it! I called that this guy would turn traitor!]
The overlapping flood of comments seemed to prove his point.
Tang Mobai stopped looking up and stared straight at him, “Then what about you? Why did you go along with it? You know how dangerous this is, right?”
Arena fights were one thing—people fought for rewards. But a Death Match? That was different. Did they really need to kill each other?
Sure, they weren’t close friends—but Tang Mobai thought their fragile alliance wouldn’t break unless a massive crisis or irresistible reward forced it.
And sure enough, Tang Mobai did have something worth risking everything for… But the risk went both ways. So what made Xiu Weiyi think he’d survive?
Wait.
Tang Mobai’s eyes sharpened. “Is it because of the Original Sin Fate? Your desire—it’s related to me, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Even as the match officially began, Xiu Weiyi didn’t attack immediately. He answered calmly, “Of course I know Yan Wuzhen’s intentions are bad. But I’m willing to bet on the possibility.”
“To bet that—if I kill you, my Fate will advance further.”
He dropped into a combat stance, his expression twisting with a mix of pain and grim resolve.
“I never thought the day would come when my Envy of you… would become the source of my power.”
“Tang Mobai—why was it you that the Great Demon chose?”
Mini-theater:
Xiu Weiyi: Why don’t any big guys like me? (Jealousy makes people twisted) Is it because you are good-looking?
Tang Mobai: …No, brother (Don’t you have your own country?)
Thank you for reading 🙂 I hope you all liked my translations. If you enjoyed my work, please consider buying me a Ko-Fi 😉
