Chapter 16: Demon Arena (14)
The world’s smallest pistol — the SwissMiniGun G1ST — a miniature revolver only 5.5 centimeters long and weighing 19.8 grams, barely larger than a coin.
It fires custom-made bullets produced by the same company, with a caliber of only 2.34 millimeters. The bullet’s flight speed is 121.92 meters per second, delivering 0.96 joules of kinetic energy — yet a penetrating wound typically requires at least 1.35 joules.
In other words, it can only inflict real damage at extremely close range, practically pressed against the skin.
Tang Mobai’s pistol, however, had been modified—almost custom-built. About half the size of a palm, it was small enough to be disassembled into ten parts. Along with its specialized bullets, it only took up the space of two capsule slots. Its power had also been enhanced—deadly within five meters—but to ensure a guaranteed kill, Tang Mobai had taken the risk of trading injury for life.
Yesterday, during the dinner gathering in the cafeteria, the experts had sent him an encrypted message—hinting that Xu Weiyi was suspicious. Tang Mobai had tried to persuade Xu Weiyi to stay the night, hoping to salvage something. But reality proved that once someone had made up their mind, they couldn’t be saved.
That was why, when Tang Mobai left this morning, he’d hidden the gun in his sleeve.
And this became his first kill.
Tang Mobai gently pried Xu Weiyi’s hand away. The dagger was still lodged in his abdomen as Xu Weiyi’s body went limp, confirming once again that in this world, the sane lose to the mad, and the mad lose to hot weapons.
A death duel allowed any means necessary, so what he did wasn’t against the rules. Everything he’d done was perfectly legitimate—except for the fact that it exposed his secret of smuggling in a firearm.
Even the audience fell eerily silent. Perhaps they hadn’t yet processed how abruptly the fight had ended.
Hot weapons weren’t listed among the redeemable items. Even if someone had exchanged for one earlier, all inventory would be locked before entering the Revival Matches—no items allowed, not even clothes with special attributes, for the sake of “viewing experience.”
And besides, no one had seen a firearm used in the arena for ages.
For a long moment, even the scrolling comments went completely blank.
In that heavy silence, Tang Mobai stared into Xu Weiyi’s lifeless eyes—eyes still frozen with the last traces of emotion: cruelty, cunning, and twisted joy, as if he had already glimpsed the beautiful future waiting for him.
Tang Mobai remembered the first rookie trial—how Xu Weiyi had saved him from being devoured by a vengeful ghost. His impression of Xu Weiyi had always been that of an average but decent man—cautious, yes, but still holding onto some shred of moral bottom line.
But now, looking at that face warped by desire, he could hardly reconcile the two.
Was Xu Weiyi just good at hiding it?
Or was there something in this place that drove people into monsters?
Suddenly, the arena exploded—cheers and curses filling the air. Tang Mobai looked up at the crowd: some screamed that he’d cheated, others cheered his miraculous reversal. Even the live comments were divided into two camps.
[Damn—just like that? It’s over??]
[That was so abrupt… Everyone was betting on either Xu Weiyi’s brutal win or Tang Mobai’s desperate comeback, but no one saw this ending coming.]
[Ugh, I hate hot weapons! Zero excitement! Why hasn’t the arena banned them yet?!]
[Cheating! How did he even get a gun?! Lost Paradise, investigate this guy!]
[I checked the rules—nothing explicitly bans firearms. The Revival Matches lock your inventory and forbid exchanges for guns or parts, that’s all. So no one uses them—but technically it’s not illegal. Death duels allow anything, remember?]
[So Tang Mobai exploited a loophole? A bug in the system? Is that even fair?]
[Of course it’s unfair. But come on—since when was life fair? Even my preschooler knows that the moment you crawl out of the womb, the competition’s already rigged.]
[Who cares about fair or not? Xu Weiyi’s death was boring as hell!]
[Exactly! The arena bans guns for a reason—I want to see blood and sweat, beasts tearing each other apart! Otherwise why am I paying for this channel? Lost Paradise, refund me!]
[Refund +10086]
The barrage of [Refund] and [Boring] comments flooded the sky. Compared to that, the debates about cheating almost sounded humane.
Tang Mobai knelt on the ground, Xu Weiyi’s corpse in his arms. The red moonlight spilled across them, the scene distorting, nearly drowned out by jeers and scrolling text.
None of these people were righteous bystanders. The boos weren’t out of sympathy—only frustration at a death too dull, too abrupt.
Xu Weiyi had indeed gained the attention he wanted—in death. Even so, most of the audience’s commentary still mocked his “pathetic final act.”
The match was over, yet Tang Mobai didn’t move for a long time. Then he heard footsteps approaching from behind—009.
“The match is over. We need to clear the field.”
Tang Mobai blinked, then looked down at Xu Weiyi’s body. He meant to lift him up—but noticed something strange: a blue crystalline substance beginning to form in the pool of blood beneath the corpse.
“What is that…?”
009 casually picked up the crystal and slipped it into Tang Mobai’s pocket.
“You’ll find out later. Time to go.”
Tang Mobai tried once more to lift the body, but he was badly injured and completely drained. Not only did he fail to lift Xu Weiyi, he nearly fell himself.
009 steadied him.
“Leave the body. The arena will clear it automatically.”
“…Alright.”
Tang Mobai stood still for a few seconds before finally setting the corpse down and following 009 out of the arena.
The crowd had gone silent again. The once-expressive faces turned stiff and lifeless, like humanoid robots programmed only to react during combat.
Left alone under the dim arena lights, Xu Weiyi’s corpse seemed to… shimmer. Tang Mobai could’ve sworn he saw faint blue lines pulse across the floor before the body simply vanished.
…What was that?
He rubbed his eyes, unsure if it was a hallucination from blood loss—until 009’s voice broke the silence:
“Are you mourning his death? Or just showing the fox’s sorrow for the rabbit?”
Tang Mobai turned to him, momentarily speechless.
009 continued, “If I recall correctly, he betrayed you, didn’t he? You’re not laughing, sure—but your face looks like you just realized you accidentally killed a long-lost brother.”
“We’re from different worlds. No way we’re related,” Tang Mobai muttered. “He saved me in the last trial, and I saved him here. So really, we’re even. He didn’t hesitate to kill me, and I didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.”
“So, fox’s sorrow?”
“You could say that,” Tang Mobai said quietly, ruffling his hair. “Even for your enemy—if you don’t grant them dignity in death, you’ll never have any in yours.”
009’s tone was indifferent.
“Unfortunately, this place lacks both — the freedom to live, and the dignity to die.”
From the shadows behind them, Yan Wuzhen’s voice echoed—smooth and smiling. Tang Mobai’s face darkened.
As he stepped into the dim light, his grin flickered between light and darkness.
Like the smile of a devil.
??”Everything must yield to original sin; everything must yield to the awakening of evil. Only baseness is noble, only shamelessness is honorable, and only desire is pure.”
“Tang Mobai,” he said as he stepped closer, one hand resting lightly on Tang Mobai’s shoulder. His face was so close their breaths nearly mingled, his voice soft and haunting. “Welcome to Lost Paradise.”
009 quietly slipped away. Tang Mobai leaned back, expressionless, pulling away from the man with visible distaste. “I’m not interested in standing this close to another man.”
Yan Wuzhen shrugged and obligingly stepped back to a more normal social distance. He pointed to the blue crystal in Tang Mobai’s pocket. “Aren’t you going to try it? It might not share your fate, but to personally bite into a man’s crystallized Envy… the taste is quite exquisite.”
Tang Mobai took out the blue crystal. “What is this?”
“Sometimes I really wonder if you’re stupid. Ignorance should have limits,” Yan Wuzhen drawled lazily. “That’s a Desire Crystal, formed when a demon dies. It contains all of that demon’s desires. The simplest use? Eat it—and for a short while, you’ll feel those desires for yourself.”
Tang Mobai almost asked what good that would do—but then realization dawned. In Lost Paradise, where one grew stronger by awakening desire and original sin, such a crystal was invaluable. The most direct function was to awaken desire itself.
For example, Tang Mobai had yet to awaken his own desire or sin. If he swallowed this, he might be able to understand what Xiu Weiyi felt—and follow the path of Envy.
Still, he tucked the crystal back into his pocket, deciding to bring it to the scientists in the real world for analysis.
“Xiu Weiyi challenged me to that duel because of you, didn’t he?”
“Me?” Yan Wuzhen blinked innocently, his expression all wide-eyed denial. Then, pretending to suddenly realize something, he said, “You don’t think I told him to challenge you, do you? Please. Do I look like some omnipotent god? I told him to, so he just obeyed? Did I plant the seed of Envy in his heart? Control his thoughts? Move his hands?”
“You’re no god,” Tang Mobai replied flatly. “You’re just the devil who tempted him. Thinking back now—at the cafeteria, you deliberately hinted at the path of Original Sin, didn’t you? But there’s one thing I don’t get: what did he promise you?”
Yan Wuzhen smiled faintly. “Three days later, his first duel would be against me—and it would be a wagered duel.”
A wagered duel forbade all weapons, and both sides had to stake equivalent bets.
“I see,” Tang Mobai sneered. “A dagger costs three soul coins at the exchange. If he’d beaten me today, he would’ve unlocked Id Bloom, becoming the new dark horse of the arena. Then once the newbie protection ended, you could legally duel him and take everything he owned. A sure-win investment.”
“The best part,” Yan Wuzhen said lazily, leaning back against the railing, “is that he came to me first. I didn’t have to do a thing.”
Tang Mobai frowned, but Yan Wuzhen continued with idle admiration. “I actually liked him. Clichéd, yes—but he had courage. The will to crawl up from the pits of hell. Admitting your desires isn’t shameful when the world itself is corrupt. Given time, he might’ve even carved out a decent path for himself.”
“But unfortunately, he ran into you.” Yan Wuzhen tilted his head toward Tang Mobai, or more precisely, to the sleeve hiding the pistol. “Still, he served his purpose. I never actually expected him to defeat you.”
Tang Mobai raised an eyebrow. What? I’m that strong? Funny—I didn’t know that myself.
“The person backing you isn’t a lover or a sponsor,” Yan Wuzhen continued, his tone growing sharp. “Ordinary sinners wouldn’t risk breaking the rules or pay the cost of doing so—unless their ambitions were far greater.”
Tang Mobai’s chest tightened.
“Someone’s behind you—a guild, isn’t there?”
Tang Mobai exhaled quietly, the tension easing, only to be replaced by confusion.
Meanwhile, the live chat exploded:
[Huh? A guild?]
[Actually… not that surprising.]
[Yeah, I suspected it the moment he smuggled all that stuff in.]
[Exactly. He even studies those alchemy symbols outside the arena—probably some big shot’s assignment.]
[Come on, no way! Guild members don’t sink to revival matches!]
[Why not? If there’s enough profit, even a top demon on the brink of damnation would restart from scratch. And there’s plenty of profit here.]
[Alchemy, right? Alchemy products are monopolized by the Jade Society. Filthy rich business—enough to make even great demons drool.]
[Yep. And the upper limit’s terrifying—it touches concepts like Revival and soullessness. You know what I mean.]
[Oh snap, I agree with Spider-sis here. No secret lover, no patron—his backers are after the alchemy of this world.]
[Makes sense. When the Jade Society monopolized alchemy, other guilds tried to muscle in. They sent in demons before—but none succeeded.]
What are they even talking about? Tang Mobai stared at the chat in disbelief. Alchemy business? Guilds?
Yan Wuzhen, meanwhile, never took his eyes off Tang Mobai’s expression. Years of scheming in the intelligence trade had honed his instincts razor-sharp. The briefest flicker of emotion, the tiniest hesitation—those revealed a person’s true heart.
That ability had saved him from countless traps—and lured him to many profitable marks. Now, he was still uncertain about Tang Mobai.
If Tang Mobai knew exactly what his so-called patron was planning—if he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing—then Yan Wuzhen would drop everything and walk away. No point in touching a loaded mine.
But after spending a day observing him…
Tang Mobai really seemed like a naïve, sweet rookie.
He didn’t even know some of the basic rules of Lost Paradise. If that was an act, then it was terrifying—because even he believed it himself.
But another possibility occurred to Yan Wuzhen: maybe Tang Mobai was just a pawn—a frontliner deceived by his supposed “lover,” totally unaware of his backer’s real intentions.
In that case, Yan Wuzhen was willing to take the gamble. Eat the sheep whole, fleece and all. After all, no “big boss,” no matter how powerful, could descend into the revival match to stop him.
And now, he had his answer.
Seeing the confusion flicker across Tang Mobai’s eyes, Yan Wuzhen’s lips curled upward. His gaze shone with the delight of a hunter about to claim a fat prize.
Outside the screen, in the experts’ monitoring room, psychologist Gong Yao exhaled slowly, then smiled at Wang Yuanzhi.
“The spider’s taken the bait.”
Mini-theater:
About the encryption plan.
Experts: There’s something wrong with Xiu Weiyi, remember to bring your gun.
Tang Mobai: Got it!
Experts: There’s something wrong with Yan Wuzhen too.
Tang Mobai: Yeah, so what should I do?
Experts: Kid, you have to act like a foolish, naive person who gets tricked. (That way the spider wi
Il take the bait)
Tang Mobai: Okay, how do you act like that?
Experts: Just play your normal role.
Tang Mobai: o.0?
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