Chapter 26: Demon Arena (24)
Yan Wuzhen’s brow twitched slightly, and for the first time, genuine astonishment flashed in his eyes. Not because of the idea itself, but because the person who proposed it… was Tang Mobai.
Tang Mobai blinked. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
To him, this proposal was completely reasonable. Since the NPCs were using alchemical ritual circles to control the actions of “shadows” and “audience,” to manipulate votes at key moments and muddy the rules, then the solution was simple: destroy the ritual. Once it’s gone, the shadows would definitely spiral out of control — and when that happens, the fact that 009’s group cheated would be laid bare.
He didn’t realize how insane this decision sounded coming out of his mouth. Only then did Yan Wuzhen truly realize — when Tang Mobai had said he’d destroy everything that stood in his way to see “them,” he’d meant it.
Seth: “So… how exactly are we going to do that?”
Blowing it up was easy to say. But the biggest problem lay right before them.
Blowing up the ritual circle might cause the shadows to lose control — but they had no way to distinguish which circles actually controlled the shadows or Revival, and which were just decoys. Was the real control circle in the lower levels? Was that why the slave masters wouldn’t let them go down there?
“We do need to get to the lower levels,” Tang Mobai said. “The real problem is the guards.”
The slave masters held the highest authority over the slaves. Even someone as strong as Qiong couldn’t resist — if the NPCs gave the order, she’d have no choice but to walk to her death. Even if the lowest level only had one or two guards, those one or two were an unbridgeable chasm.
Yan Wuzhen rubbed his temples. “If that place is really that important to the NPCs, then they’ll definitely leave at least one guard no matter what. Unless…”
“They’re short on manpower!” Tang Mobai and Yan Wuzhen said at the same time.
Newcomers.
All of them had experienced it: upon entering the revival match, slave masters would pick out and take away some newcomers. A large portion of the black-robed people participated in this process.
And since Qiong’s disappearance had left the arena short-handed, the next batch of newcomers would definitely be huge.
Tang Mobai forced down his excitement. “Is the newcomer arrival date fixed?”
“Normally, once every ten days,” Yan Wuzhen narrowed his eyes. “But with so many people dead this time, it’ll definitely be moved up. Most likely tomorrow. But there’s still a problem — there’s no guarantee they won’t leave someone behind to guard it.”
“Then we use the rules to force them to leave,” Tang Mobai said.
The same rules that gave the NPCs their absolute power also shackled them. Slave masters had to protect their “property.”
Do newcomers count as property? Of course they do. Even though the rules were looser before the “night baptism,” numbers could make up for that.
The way to force the slave masters to leave to protect their property — Tang Mobai and Yan Wuzhen had already thought of it. It all came down to explosives.
Yan Wuzhen frowned. “We’ll need a huge amount. Are you sure you can get it?”
“Of course.” Tang Mobai grinned. “We can use sugar from the exchange list.”
Sugar was a crucial strategic resource during wartime — not just for nutrition, but because…
…it can be used to make explosives, with considerable destructive power.
When sugar and potassium nitrate are mixed in the right proportions, the resulting explosive can reach a detonation velocity of 3200 m/s — six times faster than black powder, twice as fast as smokeless powder. It wasn’t TNT, but it was more than enough to blow something apart.
And conveniently, sugar was already on the exchange list — marked as a priority item by the expert team. Potassium nitrate was trickier, but they could get it by exchanging for ammonium nitrate ice packs and sodium-free salt.
Even more conveniently, Tang Mobai had a bunch of chemistry experts behind him giving step-by-step instructions.
For the first time as a troublemaker, he felt truly supported by solid technical backup. (Dog-head emoji)
To gather enough materials, Tang Mobai, Yan Wuzhen, and Seth nearly emptied their soul coin balances. If the plan failed, they’d have to scam newcomers just to make the money back.
The experts didn’t hold anything back now either. It wasn’t exactly top-secret — a high schooler could theoretically do this experiment — but to be safe, they even brought in a senior lab researcher. Under the watchful eyes of the whole expert panel, the researcher typed carefully into the barrage:
[Pour the ammonium nitrate into the cup of water and stir gently every few minutes until fully dissolved. Yes, just like that.]
[…Now heat the solution. Use low heat and stir slowly. Do not let it boil.]
Tang Mobai was drenched in sweat. The “lab” was just a shabby room with no proper equipment, and as a liberal arts student, he’d hardly ever set foot in a lab.
Both sides were on edge. This was explosives they were making. One wrong move and the whole room — and everyone in it — would be gone.
Yan Wuzhen and Seth had long since left the room. Yan Wuzhen didn’t hesitate at all. Seth had wanted to help, but since he hadn’t fixed his eyes yet, Tang Mobai kicked him out.
Doing surgery on someone without eyes was one thing — making bombs was another. Did he want to blow them all up?
The only one left in the room with Tang Mobai was — for some reason — Deville.
“…Shouldn’t you, uh, go to another room?” Tang Mobai and Deville stared at each other. “This is really dangerous. Seth said he could take you in.”
Deville stared blankly. Tang Mobai had no idea if the message got through the “wall of his heart.”
With no better option, and unwilling to have him blown up if something went wrong, Tang Mobai dragged him to the door. “Be good. I need you to stand here and make sure no one comes in.”
Human shield and door blocker — companionship in its purest form.
The work was precise and exhausting. Halfway through, Tang Mobai was soaked in sweat. The piles of sugar-nitrate explosives filled the corner, enough to make anyone’s hair stand on end.
He couldn’t mix at night — lighting lamps in a room full of explosives was suicide. So he had to finish everything before nightfall. If the newcomers really did arrive tomorrow and the explosives weren’t ready… it would be a disaster.
This was likely their only chance. He couldn’t bet on another massacre.
The livestream recorded every moment. Seeing how serious he was, even the viewers who doubted the “NPC cheating” theory began to waver.
[Wait… are they actually serious?]
[This is kind of exciting. I’m so tired of all the backstabbing and fake alliances. This is the first time I’ve seen someone go head-on against the NPCs.]
[+1. I want to see if they can actually pull it off.]
There were doubts, sneers, mockery… and under all that, a subtle expectation.
The devils didn’t want any rivals to crawl out of this trash heap.
But deep down — they craved to see a miracle.
*
The next day.
Yan Wuzhen returned, exhausted. While Tang Mobai had been making explosives, he’d spent the whole day trying to recruit help — running back and forth, even sneaking in and out of bathrooms to find the other four survivors. Fortunately, with almost everyone else dead, there were no rumors to leak.
He could only hope Tang Mobai had finished successfully. He didn’t have the strength for a second try.
When he got back, Seth and Deville were outside the room, but Tang Mobai wasn’t.
“What’s the situation?” Yan Wuzhen asked.
Seth shook his head. The three of them waited silently until finally, before the newcomers arrived, the door creaked open.
Tang Mobai stepped out. Behind him — piles of sugar-nitrate explosives like a small mountain.
“Operation starts now.”
The first target: the lower levels where the slave masters had clearly hidden their secrets.
They split into two groups: Tang Mobai and Seth would head down; Yan Wuzhen would stay above to buy time. As for Deville… his daytime programming was too rigid. Once Tang Mobai left the room, he’d silently walked back to the gladiator arena again. Who knew what was calling him there.
*
The tower, silent for a day, now saw new faces and fresh air.
The four remaining survivors stepped out just as the newcomers followed their slave masters toward the stairwell. From above, they looked down coldly at the repeating cycle below.
As Yan Wuzhen predicted, there were a lot of newcomers this time. Almost all the black-robed slave masters had come, herding them like teachers on a school trip.
Yan Wuzhen couldn’t help a brief laugh at the image, then straightened his expression.
It was time.
As the black robes led the newcomers to the stairwell — BOOM — the explosion hit fast and hard.
The four survivors who’d stayed behind immediately ducked into corners and shouted for help. But this time, the slave masters couldn’t respond.
Because the bombs Yan Wuzhen had planted had blown the staircase apart, rubble collapsing right onto one of the black-robed figures leading the group.
This was no accident.
Yan Wuzhen smirked, slipped into the crowd of newcomers, and shouted in a low voice, “What are you waiting for? Run!”
The newcomers, still stunned by the explosion, were caught by surprise. Under the thunderous noise and clouds of dust, Yan Wuzhen activated his innate ability — and the panicked newcomers scattered like frightened lambs.
As they ran, the small secondary charges placed around the area began to go off. These weren’t strong enough to kill — but they were loud. Smoke and echoes filled the space.
“Ahhhhhh!”
The first newcomer screamed, and then panic consumed them all. Yan Wuzhen didn’t even need to push them further — they were already in chaos.
And none of this violated the rules. Yan Wuzhen couldn’t harm newcomers outside the arena. So he didn’t. The explosion only hurt the slave masters. He simply told the newcomers to run, then lit small-scale explosives — more like fireworks than bombs — enough to cause panic, not harm.
The herd scattered.
The plan was in motion.
Before the second day arrived, Tang Mobai and Yan Wuzhen confirmed that the newcomers had the fewest restrictions — at least they weren’t bound by the rule of “no harming others outside the arena.” Otherwise, they wouldn’t have been able to turn on each other.
This might be the real reason the slave masters had to personally guide newcomers. According to the expert team backing Tang Mobai, imprinting subconscious-binding rules into the slave collars was probably not an easy task — otherwise, one or two hooded figures would’ve been enough to lead the newcomers. There’d be no need for so many people.
There was only one explanation for the large number of handlers — with too few people, they couldn’t control that many slaves. The slave masters’ “absolute authority” over the slaves must have some sort of flaw.
At that moment, the four old men snapped out of their daze. Remembering their deal with Yan Wuzhen the day before, they began shouting through the smoke:
“Help! Help! Save me!”
“So many explosions! I’m scared, master!”
“Help! Somebody help!”
Yan Wuzhen had managed to avoid being bound by the rule, but as staff members of the Revival tournament, the NPCs were still obligated to follow the rule of “protecting one’s property.”
The remaining hooded figures, who were about to restore order, gritted their teeth and had no choice but to give up saving their companions and rush toward the direction of the shouting elders. Yan Wuzhen seized the opportunity to stir up chaos among the newcomers, using Satan’s Left Eye to amplify their panic and confusion until the crowd completely lost control.
The first stampede broke out.
Even though the slave masters didn’t protect the newcomers as strongly as the elders during the “Baptism,” losing that many new slaves at once was still unacceptable. Seeing the chaos spreading out of control, they had no choice but to call for reinforcements.
And that was exactly the opportunity Tang Mobai and Seth had been waiting for.
Hiding on the second-to-last floor, they spotted the guards at the bottom entrance leaving their posts. Taking advantage of the gap, they slung on small backpacks and quickly slipped down the stairs into the lowest level.
The moment Tang Mobai entered, he froze.
“What’s wrong?” Seth asked. His prosthetic eyes had just been reinstalled, and his vision hadn’t fully adjusted yet.
“…Nothing,” Tang Mobai muttered.
But the scene before him was not what he expected.
The ground floor of the tower was vast — about the size of a football field. Each level had been used differently: some floors were fully occupied, others only half, and a few were hollowed into the walls like strange earthen dwellings. But this floor… it looked like a cavern.
There were no shops, yet it wasn’t completely dark. Dozens of stalagmites and stone pillars stretched from the floor to the ceiling. The pillars were translucent, like crystal glass, glowing faintly and etched with runic symbols.
At the very center stood numerous coffins, each bound with chains and surrounded by intricate runic circles carved into the ground. Even if Tang Mobai and Seth didn’t understand the design, they could tell this was some kind of ritual site.
They exchanged glances, both startled — the plan had gone too smoothly.
No, too smoothly — enough to make one uneasy.
The livestream chat finally resumed after a stunned silence.
[Damn, did they actually guess it right?]
[Are we witnessing history??]
[Not necessarily. Sure, the theory that NPCs are cheating using ritual circles makes sense, but the players don’t have any alchemy knowledge — how can they be sure what these circles do? The NPCs could easily lie about their purpose. But what’s with those coffins?]
Twenty coffins stood in a near-circle formation, covered in complex patterns and runes. The coffins were pitch-black, each bound with multiple chains that disappeared into the void.
They looked oddly familiar — like the chains extending from the collars around their necks.
And the number — twenty — matched exactly the total number of NPCs.
“Could these be the controllers?” Seth muttered, touching his collar. “The symbols on these are over 80% identical to ours.”
Although his prosthetic eyes were newly installed, they were far more accurate than human vision. He wouldn’t be wrong.
Tang Mobai’s expression brightened with realization — if this was true, then destroying the coffins could temporarily sever the masters’ control over the slaves. That would be a huge advantage for their plan.
But before they could act, Seth warned suddenly, “Look over there.”
Tang Mobai jerked his head up — one of the twenty coffins was slowly opening.
Seth instinctively grabbed Tang Mobai’s hand, ready to run. They had already agreed that if anything went wrong, they’d abandon the plan and retreat to the second floor.
But the moment Seth took a step — his body froze.
He couldn’t move.
Even his nerves refused to obey. Something else had seized control of their bodies, forcing them to turn around bit by bit.
From the coffin emerged a black-robed figure, its mask engraved with the familiar number 009.
“Surprised to see me?” 009 asked. “You thought you were the only ones who could exchange large amounts of sugar for it? If the formula exists on Earth, do you think the native alchemists here wouldn’t also know something similar?”
The two worlds were different, yes — on Earth, white sugar required potassium nitrate, while in the alchemy world, another unlisted material served the same purpose.
Cautious as ever, 009 hadn’t acted rashly. Those who tried to probe native secrets or escape the Revival tournament always came to this place eventually. All he had to do was wait.
At that moment, Tang Mobai and Seth found they could move their heads again. Tang Mobai glanced at the barrage of frantic chat messages, then asked, “Aren’t you supposed to follow the arena’s rules? ‘Protecting property’ is your core directive — with all that chaos upstairs, why are you still here?”
009 sneered. “You think you’re the only ones who know how to use the rules? We’ve been here far longer than you — what makes you think we understand them any less?”
Indeed, the slave masters had to maintain order and protect property — but only within their perception range. If 009 lost consciousness, even if slaves died right before him, the rules couldn’t force him to act.
Tang Mobai didn’t understand the technical details — but Seth, as another cyborg bound by base-level restrictions, did.
He stared hard at 009, especially the body under the robe. Slowly, he realized, “No wonder you felt familiar… you’re like me, aren’t you?”
The chains on 009’s back extended directly into the coffin. For the first time, his robe no longer concealed his form — revealing the truth.
Underneath, his sleeveless shirt and black pants clung to a body that wasn’t quite human. The exposed “skin” was pale and hard, like plaster — the joints moving with an unnatural stiffness, more like a puppet than flesh and blood.
Just as Seth had guessed — 009 and the others weren’t alive either. They were likely alchemical constructs. And the markings on his “skin” overlapped with the symbols on their collars — meaning the real controller wasn’t the coffins, but the constructs themselves.
Tang Mobai’s mind raced with speculation — none of it good.
Seth’s voice trembled slightly. “You were… transformed too? No — I can’t detect any biological signatures from you.”
“Only like this,” 009 said calmly, “can Lost Paradise recognize our qualification.”
“Qualification?” Tang Mobai’s eyes narrowed.
“The rule says only the living can vote,” he said slowly. “But Lost Paradise doesn’t allow NPCs to interfere in the Revival tournament… so that means—”
—The NPCs weren’t alive.
The logic fit — but 009’s earlier words about “earning qualification” made Tang Mobai’s heart sink.
Seth frowned. “The Revival tournaments aren’t random. From what I’ve heard inside Hunger Hell, every venue was once a world explored and abandoned by Lost Paradise — worlds already in their final stages, devoid of value. So why? Why would you go to such lengths to host these tournaments? There’s no benefit to you. Is it really worth it?”
“Benefit?” 009’s voice turned rough, a deep rasp creeping in. Beneath his mask, his pupils glowed red. “Who said there’s no benefit?”
“It sent you to us, didn’t it?”
“If not for the chance it gave us, how else could we witness your kind clawing and begging for life in the arena? How else could we appease the hatred of the dead from our world?”
Thank you for reading 🙂 I hope you all liked my translations. If you enjoyed my work, please consider buying me a Ko-Fi 😉
