Chapter 24: Demon Arena (22)
The farce of a night finally came to an end.
Tang Mobai and the others placed the bearded man’s corpse beside Qiong’s body. By then, the arena’s iron gates reopened. They wanted to leave, but four of the surviving players blocked their way.
“Spider,” one of them said, “hand over the intel. So many people have died already—we can’t leave empty-handed.”
“You know I never planned to hog it all,” Yan Wuzhen crossed his arms. “The real question is—can you afford the price?”
The man laughed, blood still splattered across his face. “I said, hand over the intel.”
“Looks like you’re not planning to pay,” Yan Wuzhen’s expression darkened. “Too bad—I don’t do credit.” He tightened his black leather gloves and released Seth, whom he’d been restraining. Tang Mobai tensed up as well. They had equal numbers, and the opponents were injured—by logic, their side had the upper hand. But with Seth and Deville’s unstable condition, that advantage was questionable.
A new battle was about to break out—
“Enough. It’s late. You’ve made enough noise.” 009’s cold voice cut through the tension. “Go back to your rooms. I don’t want to see any of you outside again tonight.”
That sentence was like the signal of the system’s rule enforcement. The four remaining players looked resentful but, just as 009 said, they could no longer make a move against anyone. They had no choice but to leave.
Tang Mobai’s gaze drifted past 009’s shoulder toward the arena. Most of the corpses had already dissolved, including Qiong’s. In the spot where she had fallen, a red crystal remained. Tang Mobai felt a strange, familiar pull toward it—but compared to the one from Xiu Weiyi, this red crystal’s attraction was much stronger.
“What is it? You want it?” 009 asked.
Tang Mobai nodded. “Can I?”
“Technically, by the rules, no,” 009 said. “But…”
He stretched out the word and glanced at everyone present before adding slowly, “You were all obedient tonight—no trouble. So I’ll allow it. I hope you stay that way in the future.”
018 handed over the crimson crystal—the crystallized embodiment of Qiong’s wrath—to 009, who then passed it to Tang Mobai. He patted Tang Mobai’s shoulder. “You’ll behave, won’t you?”
Tang Mobai shrugged. “I’ve been a law-abiding citizen for twenty years, haven’t I?”
009 chuckled, turned, and began to leave with the other black-robed figures.
That was when Seth, who had been silent until now, suddenly spoke up. “Excuse me—what about my seed?”
018 turned his head and saw Seth take a small seed from his pocket. “Oh, it’s you. Unfortunately, we still can’t make it sprout. You can reattach your eye tomorrow—otherwise, it’ll interfere with your fights.”
That seed was the reason Seth had insisted on visiting the infirmary earlier. Yan Wuzhen hadn’t understood why at the time, but Tang Mobai could tell—it was something Seth valued deeply.
Seth said nothing more, quietly pocketed the seed, and watched the robed figures leave.
Tang Mobai carefully stored Qiong’s crystal. Just then, someone bumped his shoulder.
He turned to see Yan Wuzhen sneering. “Didn’t expect it before—you really have a knack for being a dog. One little crystal bought you off? Gave up on escaping just to be their loyal watchdog?”
“Depends on the person, the timing, and the payoff.” Tang Mobai reached into his other pocket and pulled out a small wooden token, holding it between two fingers before Yan Wuzhen.
It bore the emblem of the Watchtower Guild. On the back was a carved arrow symbol.
Yan Wuzhen froze, snatching it and turning it over several times. His expression changed. “It’s Qiong’s? When did—wait, that sword—no, when did you—?”
“Of course, when I grabbed Deville’s hand,” Tang Mobai replied. “I took it then. No one noticed. You said something wrong earlier—it wasn’t a ‘medical miracle.’ It was repayment.”
“That was Qiong’s final answer to us.”
When no words could be spoken, only that final strike could deliver a clue.
Tang Mobai had noticed—and quietly pocketed it. (Incidentally, pickpocketing happened to be one of his best skills, second only to lockpicking.)
Seth leaned closer curiously, while Deville remained in the corner. Tang Mobai handed the token to Yan Wuzhen for inspection, then carefully picked out the glass shard embedded in Deville’s palm and wrapped it gently with a bandage, tying a neat little bow at the end.
He knew bringing bandage along had its uses.
The four returned to Tang Mobai’s room. Along the way, they passed several open doors—each one revealing only corpses inside. Tang Mobai deliberately lingered, staring at them.
Yan Wuzhen said dryly, “If you’ve got a necrophilia kink, I’d advise you to hold off for now.”
“No, I just noticed something,” Tang Mobai murmured. “Haven’t you ever wondered why the bodies vanish in the arena? I’m sure I saw faint patterns appear right before they dissolved.”
Also—maybe it was an illusion—but the corridor seemed brighter than before.
Maybe it was the oil lamps, but Tang Mobai didn’t think so. The fluorite embedded in the walls seemed to glow more intensely. That light—it felt familiar.
Yan Wuzhen frowned as well and, after some thought, decided to stay and observe with him.
The four waited in silence in the corridor lined with corpses. The air was thick with a chilling draft. Shadows flickered at the edge of the light—ghostly shapes lurking but never approaching, deterred by the lamp’s glow. The sense of being surrounded by wolves was nerve-racking, especially knowing their masters forbade wandering at night. If they were caught, they’d likely meet Qiong’s fate.
Their heartbeats grew louder in the silence. The faint scuttling of spirits. Footsteps above. Everything sounded too clear.
Seth and Deville stayed calm, but Yan Wuzhen and Tang Mobai grew visibly tense. If not for the token, Yan Wuzhen would’ve already left—he didn’t want to provoke those black-robed wardens again after what happened to Qiong.
Tang Mobai crouched, staring hard at the bodies. Time ticked by, and the footsteps from upstairs drew closer.
Yan Wuzhen’s heart pounded. With the oil lamp here, anyone turning the corner would instantly spot them.
Step.
As a pair of black-robed boots came into view, Yan Wuzhen grabbed Tang Mobai without hesitation and dragged him into the nearest empty room, slamming the door shut.
“I saw it!” Tang Mobai whispered. “It’s—”
Yan Wuzhen covered his mouth and signaled for silence. The four waited quietly until the footsteps faded away.
Only when the outside was silent again did Yan Wuzhen lower his hand—not to question Tang Mobai, but to turn to Seth. “Do you still have business here? If not, leave. The Quack Squad is officially disbanded.”
Seth replied calmly, “The moment we entered this room, the rule activated. I can’t leave now. Besides, I want to join you.”
“Wow, our robot speaks at last,” Yan Wuzhen sneered. “Join us for what? Don’t tell me you want to escape too. What’s the difference—inside or outside—for you?”
“There is now.” Seth lowered his gaze to the seed in his palm. “I want to leave—to find a way to make this bloom.”
“I’m not teaming up with a walking time bomb,” Yan Wuzhen said coldly. “Your weakness is too obvious. We can’t risk you dragging us down. You’re useless to this team.”
“I’m not,” Seth said evenly. “Tang Mobai can command me.”
Tang Mobai: “Huh? Me?”
Yan Wuzhen frowned. “Because of that fight?”
“Yes.” Seth turned to Tang Mobai. “You pressed my restart button, remember? From that moment, your data was entered into my system. Your commands temporarily override all others. If you order me to assist you in escaping, that becomes my top priority.”
“Also, I may have the intel you’ll need.”
Hearing that, Yan Wuzhen stopped objecting. He glanced at Tang Mobai, who understood—looked like the Quack Squad might be sticking together for a while.
“Fine, welcome aboard. No time to waste—let’s review what we’ve got.” Tang Mobai began, “What I saw earlier was just like in the arena—the corpses vanished, leaving faint glowing runes on the floor. That glow matched the light from the walls.”
“Glowing symbols?”
“And I finally realized why the glow looked familiar. When 009 treated me in the infirmary, the symbols on his hand emitted the same kind of light. I think it’s alchemy—some sort of alchemical mechanism.”
“Alchemy…” Yan Wuzhen muttered. “I’ve barely seen that. Unless someone’s half-dead, those wardens usually just pour a potion down your throat and call it a day. I’ve only woken up in the infirmary once.”
“Wait, so when did you even get close enough to ‘gain favor’ with 009?” Yan Wuzhen gave him a weird look.
“Cough—what? Be serious! I’m analyzing!” Tang Mobai protested loudly. He really hadn’t talked to 009 much—if anything, 009 had screwed him over once.
“Anyway,” he continued, “I’ve seen alchemical symbols all over the tower. What if this entire place is one massive alchemy circle? The gladiators’ corpses—maybe they’re being used as part of it.”
Yan Wuzhen frowned. “I thought the energy went to repairing the tower’s structure. Isn’t its hardness supposed to be off the charts?”
“That’s possible too,” Tang Mobai sighed. “Yeah… maybe both.”
“Doesn’t matter. Let’s collect every clue we can—no matter how small,” Yan Wuzhen said, scribbling on the blood-stained floor. “But I’m also curious about this token Qiong left.”
The token bore the emblem of the Watchtower Guild—a great tower etched on one side, an arrow on the back.
“An arrow? What does it mean? A direction?”
Yan Wuzhen pressed his temple in thought. “Do you remember which direction the token was thrown from?”
Tang Mobai shook his head.
Yan Wuzhen fiddled with the token, rotating it while retracing the night’s events in his mind.
“That bearded man told us they made it to the arena—and that it was empty,” he said slowly. “By logic, they should’ve succeeded… but they didn’t.”
“Maybe the wardens voted against them?” Tang Mobai suggested.
Yan Wuzhen thought about it, then shook his head. “Impossible. If they could vote, it’d be way too unfair. They could just decide who leaves and who doesn’t. Lost Paradise wouldn’t give NPCs that kind of power—they’re not the gods of this place, just another group of losers like us.”
“Even if they’re called our masters and we’re called slaves, that’s just for show—for the audience watching the livestream. In truth, they don’t have full power over life and death here. Remember Rule Seven?”
“Masters must protect their property.”
Tang Mobai twitched the corner of his mouth. “But 009 tried to sabotage us newbies on the very first day.”
“That’s normal. After all, they’re probably the natives here—it’s easy to understand why they’d hate us,” Yan Wuzhen replied calmly. “If they ever get the chance, 009 and the others definitely won’t hesitate to torment us. The relationship between slave and master is irreconcilable. That’s exactly what Lost Paradise wants to see—a balance among the three sides. Otherwise, if we secretly conspired or the masters could freely slaughter failures, wouldn’t the Revival Tournament become a joke?”
“Right. A platform full of loopholes suddenly cares about balance and fairness,” Tang Mobai nodded.
“Superficial fairness,” Yan Wuzhen said. “The real loopholes in the rules aren’t from Lost Paradise itself—they come from the top devils.”
Tang Mobai paused. “What do you mean?”
“In a sense, in Lost Paradise, points can be used for anything—even altering the rules,” Yan Wuzhen explained. “Though the amount needed is unimaginably high, and the core rules are almost impossible to change.”
“Oh, we’re getting off topic. That’s way beyond us. Anyway, Lost Paradise maintains overall fairness. For instance, in places like the Revival Tournament, both the NPC operators and participants are restricted. Masters are bound by limits, and Lost Paradise restricts the masters. Its goal is to ensure the fair operation of the tournament—it won’t allow masters to exploit loopholes.”
At that moment, Seth suddenly spoke: “009 and the others… they’re a lot like me.”
Yan Wuzhen and Tang Mobai both turned to him. “What do you mean?”
“It’s hard to explain… just a feeling.” Seth pointed to his hollow eye sockets. “I was created by humans. They… give me a similar feeling—like kin—but not exactly.”
Yan Wuzhen frowned. “What nonsense. That’s your intel?”
“Seth, do you mean they might not be alive?” Tang Mobai asked tentatively.
Seth nodded slightly.
“Okay, I’ll believe Seth. Maybe we can rule out the masters’ interference as the cause of Qiong’s failure.” Tang Mobai toyed with the token in his hand. “Then maybe this arrow doesn’t point to the masters.”
He turned the token—left, right, down.
Then Tang Mobai suddenly said, “So, when you eliminate all the impossible options, whatever remains—no matter how improbable—must be the truth.”
He flipped the token over.
The arrow pointed upward—toward the sky.
“Think about it. Besides us, who else is always present in the arena, able to interrupt votes at any time, outnumber all the gladiators, and easily manipulate results—and who is also here tonight?”
“The audience.” Tang Mobai’s tone grew heavier. “It can only be them.”
Yan Wuzhen neither agreed nor denied it. “But how would that even work? You saw it yourself—the audience are just phantoms. We’ve even tested it. They’re not real, not in the sense of being living beings.”
“No, they can become corporeal—and we experienced that on our first day here.”
Yan Wuzhen’s pupils narrowed. “You mean the audience are the ghost shadows?”
Wait—maybe it wasn’t impossible. Most of the time, the audience appeared illusory. The ghost shadows, too, could shift between real and unreal. And no one had ever seen a ghost shadow during the day—just as no one had ever seen the audience at night.
The ghost shadows were still here. They’d never left. In the dim corridors surrounding the oil-lamp-lit rooms, they whispered and rustled, waiting for a chance to rush in and tear everyone apart.
“The first night I came here, I was trapped by the ghost shadows’ illusions,” Tang Mobai said, hugging his knees, staring at the oil lamp beside him. “I almost opened the lamp. They know our fears—maybe even the lamp’s power.”
“And they’re affected by my items. That means they have reason and emotion,” Yan Wuzhen added in a low voice.
At this point, they were only one thin layer away from uncovering the real reason why the Revival Tournament’s success rate was nearly zero. But now, a bigger problem arose…
Tang Mobai hesitated. “Don’t tell me the real rule of the Revival Tournament is that we have to earn the natives’ forgiveness to leave?”
“Impossible,” Yan Wuzhen sneered. “Do the devils look like creatures that can be redeemed? Lost Paradise is about plunder, cruelty, inhumanity. It’s the aggregation of all evil—a hell and home for demons. Such a naïve rule would never exist here.”
“So there’s only one possibility left—an NPC cheated.”
Yan Wuzhen’s eyes gleamed with excitement.
Tang Mobai frowned. “Why are you so happy about that? Doesn’t that mean we can’t clear the tournament?”
“No. It means there’s an opening,” Yan Wuzhen said. “Like I said, Lost Paradise seeks balance. If the Revival Tournament exists, it must be winnable. But if someone cheats and blocks every path, that defies Lost Paradise’s purpose. It won’t tolerate cheaters—and it rewards whistleblowers generously. If we can prove they cheated, not only can we pass the tournament, but we might also get a huge amount of points as hush money.”
He licked his lips, eyes gleaming. “Of course, putting aside the profit, personally—I can’t wait to see them fall from their lofty pedestal.”
Then he noticed Tang Mobai’s horrified expression and remembered—right, Tang Mobai had also broken some rules. Yan Wuzhen sighed. “What are you afraid of? You’re a legitimate, registered devil. And your little rule-breaking? Every demon who’s ever studied the system has done worse.”
“But they’re different,” Tang Mobai murmured.
Yan Wuzhen’s expression turned odd—somewhere between pity and mockery.
“After all,” he said softly, “they have nothing left.”
Thank you for reading 🙂 I hope you all liked my translations. If you enjoyed my work, please consider buying me a Ko-Fi 😉
