Chapter 23: Demon Arena (21)
In this desperate race against time, Qiong’s group was without doubt the closest to the arena. Even while carrying the heavily injured, nearly dying bearded man on her back, Qiong’s pace remained lightning-fast. With only an oil lamp to guide her through the ghosts’ interference, she clenched the lamp’s pull ring tightly between her teeth and spoke unclearly, “John, talk to me. Don’t fall asleep. We’ll be back in Lost Paradise soon.”
The bearded man didn’t respond for a long while. Just as Qiong thought he was gone, his weak voice came: “Third miss… you don’t need to worry about me anymore. The Bosses need you. You have to get out first.”
“No.”
“This is what I came here for. If you don’t promise me, I’ll bite my tongue off right now.”
“We’re both getting out of here, John.” Qiong’s tone slowed but was firm. “Both of us will leave.”
“Impossible…” John gave a bitter smile. “According to the rules, only one qualification test can be done per day. Only one of us can make it out. Listen to me — that person has to be you.”
The other, after drawing so much hatred, would definitely become a target for everyone. Even with the rules’ restrictions, surviving another twenty-four hours would be difficult — not to mention the slave masters, whose motives were still unclear and eyes still watching.
“No.”
Step by step, Qiong walked into the arena, set John down on the empty stage, crouched, and said, “I told you — we’re both getting out.”
“Whoever comes here, I’ll kill them. One, two, ten — I’ll kill them all until they’re all dead.” She patted John’s shoulder. “You still have people who care about you. Don’t do something stupid.”
“Third Miss…” John’s lips trembled.
“Enough talking. Start the qualification test,” Qiong said quietly. “If you delay any longer, something else might happen.”
John’s face was full of struggle, but seeing Qiong’s determined expression, he gritted his teeth and initiated the test.
Qiong stood and looked around.
It was her first time seeing the arena at night. The audience — the backdrop of every battle — still filled the seats, but unlike daytime, under the faint lights they looked like silent statues: blurred figures, dull faces, lifeless eyes.
Other than them, there was no one else.
The voting interface appeared. Qiong chose approve without hesitation and waited quietly for him to leave the revival arena.
There were only two living people present. As long as they both voted, they should be able to decide anyone’s fate.
At least… that was how it should have been.
[Voting Result: FAILED!]
Qiong stared blankly at the result on the sky screen, eyes wide with disbelief. “That’s impossible!”
There were only the two of them here — how could it fail?!
Then, she suddenly turned her head toward the arena’s entrance — three figures in black robes walked out.
“You?! You have voting rights too?!”
The robed figures gave no reply. Qiong frowned. “No… that can’t be. Otherwise, it’s too unfair.”
But if not them… then there was only one possibility left.
“Could it be—”
“Shh.” 018 raised a finger to his lips and smiled.
Qiong’s mouth shut instantly, against her will. She couldn’t utter another word. That terrifying feeling — of her body completely defying her will — made her clutch her sword tight. She was confident she could defeat anyone in the arena, but the absolute control the slave masters held over the slaves chilled her to the bone.
What happened to the last person who broke the rules and caused a disturbance? They’d charged into a toilet, if she remembered right. No one dared look closely — the lesson had been enough. The punishment had been humiliating and horrifying.
Qiong swore internally — if they really tried to make her eat shit, she’d rather slit her own throat first.
Seeing the guarded look on her face, 018 chuckled. “Relax. We won’t make you do something that humiliates your pride. Besides, it’s not broadcast time yet. Even if you did, there’d be no audience to see it — what a waste, right?”
So that’s the real point! You not only want me to eat shit — you want it broadcast live?!
Qiong ground her teeth, laughing coldly in rage, cursing inwardly. Truly a loyal dog of Lost Paradise. You want attention that badly? Why don’t you eat shit yourself?
Oh, sorry — I forgot. Watching humans eat shit is a spectacle. Watching you do it wouldn’t be.
018’s smile faded. “I feel like you’re cursing me in your head.”
Damn right I am, Qiong thought, her body frozen stiff with fear. She glared at him, but her gaze held no power. The voting had failed, the platform was sinking, and John coughed up another mouthful of blood — this time with chunks of organs mixed in. His face turned ashen; his time was running out.
Qiong’s expression changed instantly. She looked at John again and again, desperate, pleading. 009 finally loosened the control slightly.
“P-please… let him be treated,” Qiong forced the words out, voice trembling. “I apologize for what I said earlier. If you want… I’ll kneel to you.”
009 looked at her calmly. “We won’t treat him. When you violated the rules, he lost that right. Why step back now? From the moment you acted, there were only two outcomes — success or death.”
Qiong pressed her lips together and said nothing.
Then suddenly, she felt the shackles on her body vanish. Startled, she looked at 009, who said nothing — only stepped aside, revealing the arena’s entrance.
“So now there’s only one way to save him. You know what to do.”
Qiong turned toward the dark passageway. Someone was peeking from within — covered in scars, moving stealthily. She recognized him immediately: a veteran gladiator, likely gifted with stealth. It wasn’t surprising he’d managed to get this far.
The man recognized her too, stepping forward cautiously with a fake smile. “Qiong, you made it?”
Qiong lowered her gaze to the dagger in his hand.
“Oh, this? Don’t misunderstand. I’ve got nothing against you, really. Why don’t we talk things through? By the way, what happened earlier — did you pass the test or fail it?”
Qiong didn’t answer — or rather, she couldn’t speak. She already understood the slave masters wouldn’t allow anyone to reveal this secret. And the only way to save John… was to do as they wished.
To kill everyone here.
She raised her sword. The man’s expression twisted, unleashing his prepared attack without hesitation.
*
Tang Mobai’s group was on their way back from the medical ward, some distance from the arena. Fortunately, nothing blocked their path. But when they returned, they were met not with peace — but with chaos. A full-on brawl was happening in the arena.
And not just any brawl — Qiong was fighting alone against many. Her sword light flashed across the arena, blood splattering everywhere. Aside from Tang Mobai’s group, five others had arrived before them — and all five were being completely overpowered.
Yan Wuzhen was complaining, “It’s your fault! You were too slow — now all we get are leftovers! What if they succeed and leave before we even—” He stopped mid-sentence when he saw the scene and immediately went silent, shrinking back into the shadows. Everyone exchanged looks and quietly hid among the stands.
Tang Mobai tugged Deville down beside him, forcing the big man to crouch lower. Yan Wuzhen tied Seth up with piano wire to ensure he couldn’t escape, then joined in watching.
“What’s going on? Failed the test?”
“Looks like it,” Yan Wuzhen frowned, glancing between Qiong, the half-dead bearded man lying in the arena, and the black-robed figures watching. “But why? Was it the slave masters? Or something else? She’s still holding that valuable report.”
He paused. “Of course, her hatred level’s also through the roof. She’s basically doomed. Either she dies now, or we’ll be next.”
Even without his explanation, Tang Mobai understood. From the moment Qiong drew her sword against the five, her intent was clear — she wasn’t trying to defend herself.
Every strike was made to kill. Blow for blow, life for life. Her clothes were soaked in blood, but she seemed unaware of her wounds, her eyes burning red.
She wasn’t the strongest — but she was the one who no longer cared about living. And that made her terrifying.
Yan Wuzhen looked tempted — not to help, but to finish off the survivor later.
But he held back. A beast cornered to death could unleash unimaginable power.
And indeed, after Qiong killed one of them, the others broke completely, fleeing in panic — but didn’t get far before she caught up and cut them down.
“Ahhhh!”
Another fell under her blade. Tang Mobai was dumbfounded, pressing Deville’s head lower.
The remaining two exchanged glances. “Qiong, there’s no point fighting anymore! This isn’t even a proper match! Our battle means nothing! We won’t attack you again!”
Qiong didn’t reply.
Then — Tang Mobai suddenly sensed something behind him. He turned around.
The audience — once frozen — were moving again, expressions shifting as if reawakened.
They were back. Everything was back — except for the missing barrage of comments. The stands erupted into cheers once more, dragging everyone into the chaos of the arena.
Tang Mobai looked toward the entrance — and so did everyone else.
A group of people came rushing in, holding oil lamps high.
Qiong turned sharply toward the stage. John was barely breathing.
The spell effect faded — oil lamps reignited — ghosts vanished. The other gladiators who’d barely survived the ghost attack had all gathered here.
As soon as they entered, the gate behind them slammed shut, trapping everyone inside.
“What’s going on?”
“Hey, 018! Is this your doing?! You’re breaking the rules! What do you want?!”
“What do we want?” 018 picked his ear lazily. “Simple…”
“A sudden-death match. You all against her. Only one side can live.”
He pointed at Qiong, standing silently below with her sword in hand. “You were going to settle things with her anyway, right? There’s a lot of you. Don’t tell me you’re scared?”
Everyone turned to look at Qiong — the woman who’d nearly passed the test, who’d nearly killed them all.
They had grudges. They wanted answers. But right now… this wasn’t how they wanted it to happen.
This wasn’t about revenge — it was about being the blade.
The first to strike was Qiong. Her sword aura sliced across the entire arena, instantly provoking counterattacks from all directions.
“What do we do now?” Tang Mobai asked.
Yan Wuzhen narrowed his eyes. “We have no choice but to fight. Looks like this match won’t stop until either Qiong or we are all dead.”
Tang Mobai didn’t quite get it. “Didn’t you say the slave owners would care about their property?”
“Yeah, but when their property gets disobedient, punishment is inevitable,” Yan Wuzhen replied coldly. “Right now, we’ve all broken the rule about staying inside at night. And Qiong went even further — she destroyed their property. Of course the slave owners have the ‘right’ to punish slaves. Using slaves to punish slaves—it’s perfectly ‘reasonable.’”
“It’s already over,” he added. “The moment Qiong failed, this became a farce. But not without gain. With so many people dying and needing revival fees, they’ll have to replenish the ranks next time.”
Tang Mobai froze, suddenly remembering the influx of newcomers.
“That’s right,” Yan Wuzhen sneered. “What a shame — looks like our cooperation’s over. Once the newcomers arrive, I can start earning soul coins again.”
“And go back to being their dog?”
“Being a dog is better than dying here.” Yan Wuzhen’s tone turned impatient. “Didn’t you see Qiong’s end? Or do you actually think she’ll survive this fight?”
“No,” Tang Mobai exhaled slowly. “But don’t you want to know what intel she got?”
“Of course I do. Everyone does. The problem is — how do you take it from her? And Qiong looks… wrong. Since we got here, she hasn’t said a single word. Even if she knows something, she might not be able to speak.”
Tang Mobai said, “Did you forget there’s still one other person on the scene?”
Yan Wuzhen paused, glancing at the bearded man lying on the ground, barely alive.
“You mean… him? In that state, who knows if he can even talk?”
Tang Mobai immediately pulled out a roll of bandages. “Guess what? I came prepared! And I’ve had first aid training!”
Obviously, he meant real-world emergency training.
But reality was harsh. Yan Wuzhen glanced at the bandages in Tang Mobai’s hand, then at the bearded man’s collapsed chest, and gave a mocking smirk. “You just want to save him — trying to curry favor with Qiong? Forget it. He’s as good as dead.”
Then, Seth — who had been silent all along — said, “My chip contains medical knowledge. My arm also has the appropriate tools.”
“Oh great,” Yan Wuzhen said dryly, “a blind doctor and a rookie nurse performing surgery. How reassuring.”
“You’re part of this too,” Tang Mobai replied, patting his shoulder encouragingly. “Your emotion-transfer tool can keep him awake during surgery. Think of yourself as the… consciousness anesthetist.”
“‘Consciousness anesthetist,’ not ‘anesthesiologist’? Damn it,” Yan Wuzhen muttered. “Why didn’t the devs tattoo you on my back instead of Satan? Thanks for finding new and terrible uses for my skill — the patient’s going to hate me for this… Wait—”
He hesitated. Given the bearded man’s condition, torture wouldn’t keep him alive — but treatment, even crude treatment, might just barely.
“Add Deville in too,” Tang Mobai said. “He’ll make sure no one disturbs us.”
From experience, Tang Mobai knew Deville never attacked first — only went berserk once injured. When that happened, he’d annihilate every threat nearby. Everyone in the arena knew it, which was why nobody except reckless newbies dared provoke him.
In short — he was the perfect “medical bodyguard.”
The plan wasn’t impossible. Yan Wuzhen finally nodded, gathering everyone together. “Be careful, you background NPCs,” he muttered.
Tang Mobai blinked as Yan Wuzhen led the group forward — and then realized it was his innate talent at work. He followed close behind, and sure enough, nobody seemed to notice them in the chaos.
[Fate 7: The Liar — Small, casual lies bring minor conveniences to a demon’s life. As long as the target doesn’t question you, your success rate rises proportionally.]
Most people were focused on attacking Qiong, so with Yan Wuzhen’s buff, they slipped through easily and reached the bearded man’s side. Tang Mobai was still stunned as Seth crouched and felt the man’s frame. His prosthetic hand transformed — fingers turning into scalpels, laser cutters, and tools Tang Mobai couldn’t even name.
“Wait—you’re blind! Are you sure this is safe?!” Tang Mobai exclaimed.
“It’s fine,” Seth replied calmly. “I’ve performed many operations. Human bodies are mostly the same.”
“Who cares, just do it!” Yan Wuzhen snapped. “We don’t have time. Dead horse, live horse, whatever — better a risky doctor than no doctor. I’ll keep him awake.”
He gripped the man’s head firmly, ensuring the first thing he’d see on waking was Yan Wuzhen’s face. “Go!”
Seth began “treatment” with terrifying efficiency — scalpels and laser cutters working together. The brutal process made Tang Mobai’s pupils contract. His real-world medical training was utterly useless here.
The bearded man woke from the agony. The first person he saw was Yan Wuzhen, and naturally, rage surged through him. But Tang Mobai, already prepared, held him down.
Yan Wuzhen’s left eye flared gold. He manipulated the man’s emotions, keeping him conscious. “Tell me—what happened when you arrived at the arena?”
The man couldn’t speak at first. Yan Wuzhen narrowed his eyes. “If you don’t talk, I’ll amplify your pain. Think carefully.”
Tang Mobai winced. Is this an interrogation or surgery? Good thing this wasn’t being live-streamed — he’d never be able to face his first-aid instructors again.
The bearded man coughed blood. “Qiong… where’s Qiong…?”
“That’s not the question I asked.”
“She’s still fighting,” Tang Mobai interjected. “But it’s not looking good.” He immediately ducked under Yan Wuzhen’s glare.
The man barely turned his head toward the battle. “Our… plan failed,” he muttered with a weak smile, before agony forced him silent. Yan Wuzhen hastily boosted his pleasure receptors.
“Strange… feeling…”
“Shut up and keep talking.”
“W-we came… no one there… the vote… failed… cough…”
“No one there, but the vote failed?!”
Yan Wuzhen’s pupils shrank. He instinctively looked at the black-robed figures nearby. Like Qiong, his first thought was that maybe the NPCs had voting rights — or something else was interfering.
“Why did it fail?” he demanded.
But the man’s eyes were already dimming. Seth said, “We stabilized him, but there’s magical interference in his heart — residual traces.”
“Not our fault! The bleeding was stopped!” Tang Mobai protested.
“I knew it. You amateurs killed him!” Yan Wuzhen snapped, slapping the man’s face to keep him awake. “Hey! Focus! When did the slave owners arrive?!”
The man stared blankly upward — at the crowd cheering for death and the eternal blood-red moon.
“Tell the guild… sorry… we failed…”
“We’re not… going back…”
“Tell them yourself!” Yan Wuzhen growled, still shaking him — now basically abusing the dying patient. Tang Mobai glanced anxiously at Qiong’s battle.
Some combatants noticed their “surgery” and moved to interfere — until they saw Deville standing guard. No one dared take a step closer.
But Qiong noticed them too. She caught sight of Yan Wuzhen slapping the dying man and almost laughed. Then, bleeding heavily, she looked at her opponent and mouthed silently:
“It’s yours.”
Everything you wanted — take it.
Then she released all her defenses and swung her final strike.
[Name: Qiong
Ego: Swordswoman (Fate 6)
Original Sin: Wrath (Each kill increases sword aura sharpness by +1. Current stacks: 6)]
A single flash of sword light — cold as ten thousand miles of winter.
Qiong’s dominance in both the arena and the Hell of Hunger came largely from this buff. Once she gained momentum early, she became an unstoppable force of slaughter.
Everyone in the sword’s path felt their scalp prickle. Tang Mobai instinctively grabbed Yan Wuzhen and Seth; Yan Wuzhen lifted the bearded man’s corpse as a shield. Every instinct screamed to move, but the killing intent froze their limbs.
The blade ripped through the air, bisecting the dagger-wielding man in front of her, and continued straight toward them—
CLANG!
Deville caught the sword in his bare hand. Blood poured from his palm as the blade screeched, then shattered into pieces.
Yan Wuzhen and Tang Mobai gasped for breath, barely alive. Seth, still blind, stared blankly into the void. “Were we… just attacked?” he asked.
Tang Mobai didn’t answer. He stepped forward and clasped Deville’s trembling hand.
His state seemed a little off—his eyes bloodshot, locked on the direction of the attack like a provoked beast, panting heavily. Tang Mobai recognized that expression. Every time Deville was attacked in the gladiator arena, he looked exactly like this.
Like a stray dog cornered in an alley, kicked for no reason—other than baring its teeth and fighting back with desperate ferocity, there was no other choice.
Emotion.
Because aside from his life and dignity, he had nothing left.
Tang Mobai sometimes wondered if Deville’s “original sin” was also wrath, because besides that emotion, he seemed incapable of feeling anything else. Yet, just after that stunning strike he unleashed, Qiong was stabbed through the heart from behind by someone’s sneak attack and collapsed to the ground—her life or death unknown.
And the stray dog lost even the object of its revenge.
At that moment, a gentle touch brushed against his injured palm. Deville’s whole body tensed instantly; a sharp blade flickered along his arm by instinct. But when he saw that the one touching him was Tang Mobai, he hesitated. The blade half-formed and half-faded, as if he’d fallen into confusion.
“It’s okay. Doesn’t look too bad. Clean it up, apply some medicine, and bandage it—it’ll heal soon.” After checking the wound and judging it with his admittedly amateur first-aid knowledge, Tang Mobai looked up and smiled at him. “Thanks for protecting us, Deville.”
Deville stared at that smile, and the taut tension in his body slowly eased.
From the stands came waves of cheers, like congratulations for the end of a play. Tang Mobai looked up and saw a familiar scene—under the dim lights, countless blurred faces cheered and roared for the slaves’ spectacular performance.
So formulaic. So profound. So… vividly alive.
Thank you for reading 🙂 I hope you all liked my translations. If you enjoyed my work, please consider buying me a Ko-Fi 😉
