Chapter 22: Demon Arena (20)
“This is impossible!”
Yan Wuzhen shouted hoarsely, instinctively turning toward the window like any person would when the power suddenly went out.
But outside was nothing but total darkness—only the faint glow of phosphorescent stones along the walls remained.
One or two lamps going out could be called an accident, but if every lamp went out at once, there was no need to guess—it had to be intentional.
How ironic. Just moments ago, the two of them had been discussing the fourth rule, about the living and the voting restriction. Now that something had happened, they immediately realized—someone had made the first move.
And that someone clearly understood the same loophole they did. After all, if they noticed it, it was impossible that only they noticed. Since Tang Mobai had found a way to exploit the rule, there was no reason someone else couldn’t do the same.
“They’re trying to wipe us all out!” Tang Mobai blurted out, cold sweat running down his back. Right—the oil lamps! How had he not thought of that before?
That was the first lesson they learned on their very first night here: without an oil lamp, there was no surviving the ghosts’ attacks. Snuffing out their “flames of life” was terrifyingly easy—all it took was extinguishing every lamp at once.
But… how the hell did they do that?!
Even Tang Mobai, a certified “cheater,” hadn’t thought of this possibility.
“It’s magic,” Yan Wuzhen said, the only one still keeping calm. “There’s no way someone tampered with the lamps bought through the exchange system—and even if they could, how could they ensure every lamp went out simultaneously? After eliminating every other impossible answer, no matter how absurd, the truth remains: only one thing could make the impossible happen.”
“Demonic magic—or a divine miracle.”
And since they were in Hell, the answer could only be the former.
“But didn’t the rules say all skills and items are banned in the Revival Match? How can there be magic? Isn’t that cheating?!” Tang Mobai exclaimed in disbelief.
The true victim of cheating, Yan Wuzhen, just stared quietly at him.
“You clearly didn’t read the detailed rules carefully,” he said rapidly—they had no time to waste. The two now stood back to back, alert to every sound, with Deville not far away. They could already sense Death closing in.
“The ban only applies to active skills, items, and equipment. Magic and miracles aren’t included—because nothing can truly restrict them. Magic and miracles exist to make the impossible possible. If there were ever a rule that forbade magic from working, there would inevitably exist a spell that countered that rule.”
“Strictly speaking, the arena only forbids purchasing one-time-use spells. Humans can’t really wield magic—only true demons can fully command it. Those creatures usually dwell above the Fourth Level of Hell. The Revival Match takes place in the lowest levels, far from their domain, so there was never a need to guard against magic.”
“Fine,” Tang Mobai said through clenched teeth. “Then how did they do it?”
“I’m not sure,” Yan Wuzhen said after a pause. “But I have one theory. Just like how you managed to sneak those items in, maybe they used a special technique to seal the magic within themselves.”
“Still, that’s almost impossible. The reason we can’t use magic isn’t just the rules—it’s that our bodies aren’t strong enough to withstand the strain. Buying a single-use spell and casting it immediately is already the limit. Smuggling one inside your own body… that sounds like the work of someone using sealing arts. And demons who can perform sealing magic charge a fortune. Even then, casting it would cripple or kill the user afterward.”
“So even if it’s possible, most people wouldn’t dare. It’s the classic paradox—if you have those resources, why would you ever end up here in the first place?”
At that moment, both Tang Mobai and Yan Wuzhen froze—like a spark of realization had struck them simultaneously. Their eyes met.
“Qiong!”
If anyone in this arena had the skill and audacity to pull this off, it could only be her—someone with guild backing just like them.
Meanwhile, five minutes earlier—A bearded man lay sprawled on the floor. His chest and abdomen looked as if they’d been stomped flat by a giant—bones shattered, flesh turned to pulp. More disturbingly, wisps of black marks spread from his wounds like corrosive acid, eating into his flesh and making him writhe in agony.
Just as Yan Wuzhen and Tang Mobai had guessed, the bearded man was indeed a newcomer—and he had used a forbidden technique to seal a spell within his body, bypassing the arena’s restrictions.
The spell had a single effect:
Within a fixed area, extinguish all light emitted by anything defined as a “lamp,” except the caster’s own.
Qiong’s lamp had gone out too, but she didn’t panic. Kneeling beside the bearded man, she quickly finished treating his injuries. The two huddled together, relying on the faint glow of his lamp to barely hold off the encroaching ghosts.
Hold on… there’s no turning back now.
“One hour…” the bearded man coughed, spitting blood. “The spell lasts… one hour…”
“Don’t talk. I know,” Qiong murmured.
The key to their plan lay entirely in this one hour—whether the NPCs would notice the commotion and, in order to “protect their property,” lift the restriction that prevented movement at night. That was the crux of their entire operation.
And they could only hope that, within that hour, most of the other contestants would be dead.
Back in Tang Mobai’s room—Deville’s arms had transformed into blades. He was the only one standing away from Tang Mobai and Yan Wuzhen, cutting down swarms of ghosts like a human blender, taking enormous pressure off them.
But even the few that slipped through were enough to keep the two fully on edge.
“Damn it, there’s seriously no other way?!” Tang Mobai cursed, pulling out the collapsible three-section staff he had bought with coins. With a sharp flick, it snapped into a full-length staff. He swung it backward, smashing the claw of a ghost that lunged at him.
During the two weeks of training, aside from hand-to-hand combat, the instructors had emphasized staff fighting. Longer reach meant better survival odds. Daggers and short blades might look cool—but unless you were right up in your enemy’s face, they were useless.
A snarling ghost face shattered under his strike—but just as quickly, it reformed like smoke and came rushing again.
“It’s no use. You have to hit them the instant they attack—that’s when they become physical. Only then can you actually hurt them. Otherwise, you’re just wasting energy.” Yan Wuzhen calmly pulled on a pair of black fingerless gloves, his left eye flashing gold as he smirked at the ghost swarm.
“Is that all you’ve got?”
The ghosts went berserk, rushing him mindlessly. Just as their claws were about to touch his skin, Yan Wuzhen’s expression didn’t waver—he flicked both hands, and razor-thin wires gleamed in the darkness. In an instant, the ghosts were bound and shredded, limbs and heads tumbling.
Even seasoned gladiators could only last for a short while once the lamps went out. The terror of the night wasn’t in the strength of the shadows—but in their endless, unrelenting numbers.
As the fight dragged on, Tang Mobai’s inferior stamina became obvious. Short, explosive duels were fine—but prolonged combat left him gasping and weak.
Yan Wuzhen shot him a sidelong glance, eyes gleaming. “I knew it. Are all men with kidney deficiency this bad at endurance?”
Tang Mobai froze, incredulous. “You’re the one with kidney problems! Your whole family is!”
He was perfectly average for a university student!
Yan Wuzhen smirked. “Oh? That triggered you already? Relax. Next time you pee on your hand, I promise I won’t laugh.”
If it weren’t for the life-or-death situation, Tang Mobai would’ve smacked him over the head—but then he noticed something odd: the ghosts around him suddenly seemed to slow down.
No—his reaction time had sped up again! Just like during the last gladiator match!
He swung his staff toward Yan Wuzhen’s side—hitting a ghost that had been about to strike him from the right.
Wrath triggered the “Original Sin” buff. Tang Mobai knew that—but in the heat of battle, it was hard to stay furious all the time.
Thankfully, Yan Wuzhen’s ability could force others into specific emotional states. In combat, that made him a devastating support.
“Keep going!” Tang Mobai growled through clenched teeth.
Yan Wuzhen gave him a long look, lips curling into a grin.
“Poor stamina, no combat skill… how the hell did you even make it this far?”
“Seriously, are you just living off someone? Love-brained to the point of stupidity—never seen anyone dumber than you. In my country, I’d have you checked into a psych ward for a few days to fix your head.”
“…You’re just taking this chance to insult me, aren’t you?” Tang Mobai muttered.
Yan Wuzhen smiled sweetly. “Of course not. You’re overthinking.”
“Oh? Then pick another insult,” Tang Mobai said. “Because I don’t feel ashamed for loving someone, or for being called a love idiot. I don’t even mind living off someone—hell, I’d love to do it for life.”
Yan Wuzhen took a deep breath, still smiling—then proceeded to roast Tang Mobai from head to toe, from his height to his looks, with such vicious creativity that Tang Mobai felt himself overflowing with power.
All that wrath, of course, he unleashed entirely on the ghosts. Under Yan Wuzhen’s relentless insults, Tang Mobai’s strikes grew sharper and faster. His body numbed, his movements mechanical—like a cold, precise killing machine.
And in that numbness, his staff movements became smoother. In the real world, he’d never been able to transition seamlessly from staff to three-section mode—but when a female ghost lunged at his back, his weapon shifted fluidly in his hands, the sections snapping apart with clinking chains—more flexible than a staff, more lethal up close.
Just like in the arena, Tang Mobai didn’t think—he simply moved, instinctively applying every technique his instructors had taught him.
Between life and death, skill becomes instinct. And real combat is the greatest teacher of all.
If he could really make it back to the real world, Tang Mobai thought, he’d definitely give the instructors one hell of a surprise.
—Provided, of course, he could survive this tide of ten thousand ghosts gnawing at his heart!
How long had it been? An hour? Two? Half a day? It felt as though every minute had been stretched to its limit, every second dragged into eternity. Tang Mobai’s chest burned like a broken accordion, every breath bringing the taste of blood to his throat. His limbs were numb, and he swung his staff purely on instinct.
Just then, a strange vibration pulsed from the very depths of the floor—every slave’s collar began to hum softly. Tang Mobai and Yan Wuzhen locked eyes. Tang Mobai happened to be closest to the door, so he instinctively reached out and pulled it open.
Outside, waiting as if it had been there all along, stood a nearly two-meter-tall shadow—thick as storm clouds. From its hollow eyes flowed black tears, and its mouth yawned wide, ready to swallow Tang Mobai whole.
“Watch out!” Yan Wuzhen’s pupils contracted. He flicked his fingers, the steel piano wires snapping out to pull Tang Mobai back—but his speed couldn’t match the ghost’s.
At that split second, Tang Mobai’s rage flared to the limit. Time seemed to slow. He thrust his staff straight into the ghost’s gaping maw—yet still couldn’t stop the jaws from closing.
Crack—
The jaws froze—not because the ghost wanted to, but because they had to. A massive, steel-hard body had wedged itself between them. From its back jutted sawblades, scythes, maces—an entire arsenal hidden within flesh. Every inch of exposed skin shimmered with metallic light.
Tang Mobai found himself pressed against Deville’s chest. The next instant, Deville swung his arm, and the ghost blocking the doorway was cleaved neatly in half by a single swing of his scythe, vanishing without a trace.
But Tang Mobai didn’t feel the least bit relieved. Through Deville’s arm, he could see the corridor outside—countless more ghostly shadows crawling out from every corner of the darkness. Limbs twisted pale and wrong, flooding the hall like a tide.
Even if the restriction had partially lifted, escaping was almost impossible—the corridor was crawling with at least three times as many ghosts as the room. Inside, they could barely hold on. Outside, they’d be torn to pieces in seconds.
In that instant, Yan Wuzhen understood. This must be how the black-robed overseers were responding. They knew someone had extinguished the lamps—perhaps to stop her from reaching the arena.
But if they could control the ghosts, why not simply command them not to attack? And why hadn’t any of them shown themselves yet?
Countless questions tangled in Yan Wuzhen’s mind like fraying threads, but there was no time to think. Reaching the arena was their top priority. This crisis was also an opportunity—there was only one qualification test per day. If Qiong had set up this mess, others might seize the chance to snatch victory.
But the ghosts were a wall of death standing right in their path. How could they possibly—Yan Wuzhen’s gaze fell on Deville, who had just retreated into the room with Tang Mobai. His eyes lingered on the man’s metallic skin. Tang Mobai had also just recovered from the close call and slapped Deville’s back.
“Thanks, man! But… what’s up with this form of yours? You’re completely immune to ghost attacks—huh?”
Yan Wuzhen’s eyes suddenly lit up. Of course! If Deville could withstand ghost attacks, then anyone he carried would have their danger reduced two or threefold—they’d only have to defend one side!
He saw realization dawn on Tang Mobai’s face too and relaxed a little—until Tang Mobai said, “No wonder you never bought oil lamps—you don’t even need them! …Wait, then why did you hold me every night?”
Yan Wuzhen blinked. “What? You two sleep together every night?”
“Yeah,” Tang Mobai scratched his head. “I thought he was just saving coins—one lamp can barely cover two people anyway. That first night I, uh, used some mild paralyzing stuff, and then… just held him till morning.”
Yan Wuzhen: “…”
“You know why Deville’s still alive in the arena despite being a complete lunatic, right?” he said flatly. “Death matches allow any method. He’s brain-dead, but he’s famous—people line up to fight him. Yet no matter what they use—even drugs—it only works for a few seconds at best.”
“So tell me,” Yan Wuzhen tilted his head, “how did your drug last all night?”
Tang Mobai: “?”
Yan Wuzhen: “?”
The two stared at each other—then both turned to look at Deville. The man gazed innocently back, eyes empty as ever.
Well, they couldn’t exactly ask the madman himself. It wasn’t like he’d answer anyway.
This wasn’t the time to dwell on it. Yan Wuzhen turned back to Deville. Even if he was willing to help, he could only carry one person. What about the other?
Just then, they noticed another door nearby creak open. A glowing figure stepped out.
Wait—glowing?
Tang Mobai and Yan Wuzhen whipped their heads toward it so fast their necks nearly cracked. The person walked calmly into the corridor—where the ghosts should have shredded him instantly. But instead, the ghosts avoided him.
“Seth? Why are you glowing?” Yan Wuzhen immediately recognized whose room it was.
“Not all lamps went out—huh?”
When the ghosts moved farther away, they saw it clearly—the light wasn’t from a lamp in Seth’s hand. It was coming from him.
Both of them: “???”
“Oh, right—you’re a robot,” Yan Wuzhen said suddenly, pupils shrinking. “Don’t tell me your energy system runs on lamp fuel?”
“It’s the easiest energy source to obtain here,” Seth replied, turning his head toward them. “And it’s not kerosene. Strictly speaking, it’s an alchemical compound—rich in energy. A perfectly suitable power source.”
As he turned his head fully, Tang Mobai froze—the words caught in his throat.
“Y-your eyes… what happened to them?”
Seth’s eyes had once looked human—dark, gem-like. But now they were gone, leaving only empty sockets.
“Don’t tell me I—”
“It’s not your fault,” Seth tilted his head slightly. “I removed them myself. As payment to 018, in exchange for a favor.”
You can just… take those out?
Yan Wuzhen narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t walk out here unless you had a reason. Go on, say it—we’re short on time.”
The ghosts still stirred restlessly outside. If not for Deville blocking the doorway, they’d have been overrun long ago—all except Seth, who they avoided entirely.
“I need to go to the infirmary,” Seth said bluntly. “To retrieve something. I need your help.”
Yan Wuzhen smirked. “That’s your request? Unfortunately, we’re pressed for time. We can go there—but we’re heading to the arena first.”
“No. The infirmary comes first. Nonnegotiable.”
“Nonnegotiable?” Yan Wuzhen chuckled. “We’ll see about that. Water, power, rank, flicker, eighty-six, zero—”
Tang Mobai blinked. “Uh, what language is that?”
Seth stared silently at him.
Yan Wuzhen snorted. “So you’ve found a new master? Then why aren’t you with them? Don’t tell me they tossed you out for being useless?”
Tang Mobai: “Can you two maybe speak in words I understand?”
Suddenly, a wisp of black smoke darted from behind Deville—a lean, dark shadow lunged for his back. But as if sensing it, a spear sprouted from Deville’s spine, skewering the ghost instantly. Still, more shadows began to stir, readying for another attack.
Yan Wuzhen finally gave in. “Fine! We’ll go to the infirmary first—now move!”
Seth stepped closer to him, and Yan Wuzhen swiftly bound his limbs with piano wire, tying him to his own body. The light from Seth’s frame barely enveloped them both.
“Let’s go,” Yan Wuzhen said. “I’ll explain on the way. Tang Mobai, can you get Deville to follow?”
Tang Mobai turned to Deville. “Deville… I need your help.”
Deville lowered his head silently. Then, in the dark, he crouched and scooped Tang Mobai into his arms. Blades and spikes emerged from his back and arms—but not a single one grazed the man he carried.
Yan Wuzhen clicked his tongue in admiration. Then, remembering Tang Mobai’s “lover watching from the livestream,” his expression grew oddly complicated.
With Seth’s glow lighting the way and Deville guarding them, they managed to fend off the ghosts and sprint toward the infirmary. Along the way, they saw other gladiators using their own powers to push toward the arena—some melting into shadows, some controlling ghosts, even some merging with them. Tang Mobai was both horrified and amazed.
Yan Wuzhen explained as they ran: “You know Seth’s a cyborg, right? Born as a human tool—can’t harm humans, must obey whoever gives him commands.”
“The Three Laws of Robotics?” Tang Mobai asked, startled.
“Your world’s term, maybe. Basically, without direct orders, he can’t hurt a human. He’s even compelled to rescue them.”
“Oh—so you gave him one of those commands before, and that’s why he had to obey you?”
“I didn’t just order him,” Yan Wuzhen said with a smirk. “We traded benefits. If I hadn’t issued a valid arena command, he’d have been disqualified ages ago. But my command’s expired now. Someone else must’ve overwritten it.”
Yan Wuzhen didn’t bother hiding any of this, even though Seth was right there. The cyborg showed no reaction at all—just the perfect obedient machine.
A few others noticed Seth’s glowing body and considered stealing him, but one glance at Deville made them think twice.
One cunning contestant pretended to cancel his own ability, instantly getting swarmed by ghosts. His face went pale, and he shouted, “Help me! Seth!”
Seth’s head jerked toward him automatically, though his body remained tied tight. Even so, his limbs struggled for several seconds, nearly making Yan Wuzhen lose balance. With a sneer, Yan Wuzhen tightened the wire into Seth’s joints and flipped the man off.
“Go to hell!”
The trapped man’s eyes went red with fury. He glared at Yan Wuzhen, momentarily forgetting the danger around him—then charged straight into the densest cluster of ghosts.
The screams that followed made Tang Mobai flinch and shrink his neck.
“…You’re terrifying,” he muttered. “Good thing you’re on our side.”
“If it weren’t for those damn rules, I could’ve wiped you all out without spilling a drop of blood,” Yan Wuzhen sneered. “Come to think of it, Qiong’s resolve wasn’t wrong either. Maybe that’s exactly how this revival round is designed — stepping on the corpses of others to move up. Perfectly fitting for the survival-of-the-fittest environment of Lost Paradise.”
“It’s just a pity that she was the one who broke the ice first.” Yan Wuzhen sounded almost regretful at that point… The first to act always holds the greatest advantage! When most people haven’t even figured out how to clear the stage, the first one to uncover the route will always get the biggest prize!
Along the way, screams echoed endlessly. Even those who, like Tang Mobai’s group, barely managed to break through the chaos — many still fell halfway, blood soaking the ground.
Tang Mobai was silent for a moment. Yan Wuzhen noticed and sneered, “What? Feeling soft-hearted?”
“No,” Tang Mobai frowned. “I just feel… is this really the correct route to clear the stage?”
“Weren’t you the one who proposed the two conditions — ‘living people’ and ‘present’?”
“I did,” Tang Mobai scratched his head, “but something about this still feels off. I just can’t figure out what exactly.”
Thank you for reading 🙂 I hope you all liked my translations. If you enjoyed my work, please consider buying me a Ko-Fi 😉
