Chapter 27: Demon Arena (25)
Memories from before the apocalypse were still vivid.
009 hadn’t always been called that number — he once had a real name, a real family. Back then, he was a well-known alchemist in a small town, a graduate of a prestigious capital academy. Everyone believed he had a bright future ahead of him. Yet after graduation, he returned home and became the town’s chief alchemist, working tirelessly for three years to help build his hometown.
People sighed and said he was wasting his potential.
But 009 didn’t think so. His hometown was beautiful — the rivers were beautiful, the skies were beautiful, and of course, the person who had always waited for him was beautiful too. To him, using his skills to give back to his hometown wasn’t a waste at all.
He even had a dream he’d never told anyone. He wanted to fully uncover the beauty of his hometown, turn it into a tourist attraction — a place where young people wouldn’t have to leave home to make a living, where the elderly could grow old in peace, and where the world would come to see how beautiful his home was.
“Ugh, but they all gossip about you behind your back,” a boy with amber eyes muttered discontentedly. “When I grow up, I’ll study in the capital too, become an alchemist — no, someone great — and then we’ll see if they still dare to talk nonsense!”
“Haha, alright. I’ll be waiting for the day you become a great man,” 009 said fondly, ruffling his younger brother’s hair. The boy’s amber eyes curved as he smiled, glowing pale gold in the sunlight — like sunlight itself.
But that day never came.
A strange disease broke out. 009 was conscripted by the capital, and all the alchemists raced against time to research a cure. Just when they found a glimmer of hope, an invisible force obliterated the palace above their heads.
“Oh? So this is the famous Philosopher’s Stone, huh?”
“Not bad. Captain, keep it safe.”
“Lost Paradise’s mission is almost complete. We’d better raid the archives before the others arrive. Burn the place down afterward!”
009 was crushed under the rubble of the palace. Without food or water, he survived three days of hell, hearing the cruel laughter of the invaders and the dying roars of his colleagues. Then came the flames — engulfing the lab and everything else.
When he was finally pulled from the ruins, the capital was already ash, and his hometown had been reduced to devastation by the “Ghost Plague.”
From then on, that fire spread from the ruins into the hearts of all survivors. The flames that consumed the capital never burned out inside them.
*
[Wow, I knew these NPCs weren’t friendly, but I didn’t expect this level of crazy.]
[They turned themselves into puppets just to keep demons out of the revival games? I don’t get it.]
[Guess they’d already lost hope. Their world was doomed anyway.]
[Unlucky for the contestants — getting stuck in a revival match run by lunatics. What was Lost Paradise even thinking?]
[Because it’s fun, duh! The Demon Arena’s the hottest channel — it’s the only one that costs 1 point to subscribe. Lost Paradise’s raking it in! We get entertainment, the Demon Casino gets cash flow, and the locals get revenge. Win-win-win!]
[And the apocalypse? Courtesy of the demons themselves. Ultimate profit! Even capitalists would lick Lost Paradise’s boots — this is the true exploitation of every last drop of value!]
This was bad — really bad.
Tang Mobai had already expected the natives to be unhinged, but not this unhinged — willing to turn themselves from living humans into alchemical puppets, and even then, still flawlessly hiding the truth.
Was it really just revenge? No — that didn’t add up. The alchemical rituals they used could blur the line between life and death, and combined with “soul coins” and the vanished corpses of all gladiators… This couldn’t be just about revenge.
Who exactly was being “revived” in the Revival Tournament?
Tang Mobai licked his lips, deliberately provoking: “So that’s why you’re so desperate to stop us from winning the revival match?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” 009 said calmly. “We designed the tournament format, yes — but since Lost Paradise approved it, if you can’t win, isn’t that your fault? Did we forbid you from voting? Isn’t the reason you’re trapped here your own suspicion, betrayal, and greed?”
Seth frowned. “But weren’t you the ones who led us that way—?”
“Led you?” 009 sneered. “Did we force you to kill each other? Did we order you to fight to the death in the arena? Did we threaten you not to vote for one another?”
Tang Mobai and Seth fell silent. Thinking back, they had no real rebuttal.
The first night, the black-robed NPCs had only announced “two people per room” — the demand for a kill came from the live chat. The first match — it didn’t have to be a death match, but everyone knew: the bloodier the fight, the more the stream would blow up. And the voting — everyone knew that if every player voted “yes,” the revival rate would soar. But before Qiong, everyone’s answer had always been “no.”
Because the target of the vote might’ve been the opponent who humiliated them.
Because it might’ve been the arena’s star.
Because as long as they refused, they could pocket the bribes of the desperate.
Wrath. Envy. Greed. Their greatest strengths — and their greatest curse.
A cruelly brilliant design. A revival game built entirely on despair.
Even knowing the truth, they could do nothing — and the live chat proved it.
[Heh, they’re actually kinda impressive.]
[Guess revenge is the ultimate motivation lol.]
[Welp, Tang Mobai’s done for. I really thought he had a shot — good thing I didn’t bet.]
The audience laughed it off. For them, learning the truth about the NPCs changed nothing.
Cruelty and betrayal were virtues in the Demon Arena — it was precisely because of endless infighting that Lost Paradise had become the demons’ cradle.
Even the real-world experts watching fell silent. They’d seen enough of Lost Paradise’s “exploration missions” to know how these apocalypse worlds were exploited. But stopping wasn’t an option — history had already taught them what happens to those who fall behind.
And then—
BOOM!
A thunderous explosion shook the ceiling. 009 instinctively looked up — and in that instant, Tang Mobai and Seth regained partial control of their bodies.
At some point, Seth’s half-arm — the mechanical prosthetic — was gone.
No way. He didn’t seriously think Tang Mobai was just chatting with 009 to pass time, did he?
They’d been stalling — waiting for a signal. And that explosion was Yan Wuzhen’s signal.
Seth’s mind flicked — the self-destruct in his missing arm activated, detonating a burst of smoke that blinded 009’s vision.
In the next instant, Tang Mobai and Seth vanished into the haze, their movements traced only by the swirling dust.
They ducked behind separate crystal pillars, yanking smoke bombs from their packs (yes, sugar could be used to make those too). Each time the smoke began to clear, they threw another, keeping 009’s sight blocked at all costs.
The slavers had two ways to control their slaves:
Direct command — controlling an individual’s actions in real time.
Rule-level restriction — subconscious commands like “cannot harm outside the arena.”
At first glance, fighting such an enemy seemed hopeless. But after careful deduction, the analysts had found possible limits:
Direct control likely required visual contact or range limits.
Rule-based restrictions could only apply to groups or in context (like maintaining arena order), not to individuals.
Otherwise, when Qiong tried to massacre all the gladiators, the NPCs could’ve simply overridden her — but they hadn’t.
Based on that, Tang Mobai had crafted sugar-nitrate smoke bombs specifically to block sight — and this was the proof: the NPCs couldn’t issue instant commands if they couldn’t see.
Seizing the moment, Tang Mobai and Seth charged at 009 from opposite directions.
There was only one of him.
If they could subdue him, there was still hope.
It wasn’t over yet!
But—Another pair of crimson eyes cut through the smoke, locking onto Tang Mobai.
He froze mid-lunge, body locking up before he even touched 009, limbs snapping to the ground like a puppet cut from its strings.
“Whew~ close one,” 009 exhaled, glancing at the thinning smoke. “You took your sweet time getting here.”
“Can’t help it,” came a teasing voice — 018’s. “Those rookies are so annoying, buzzing around like flies. Took a while to calm them down.”
Without more smoke, the air cleared quickly. Tang Mobai and Seth lay pinned to the floor, faces twisted with frustration.
“You didn’t really think you were the only ones stalling for time, did you?” 009 smirked. “What a pity — my reinforcements got here first.”
“Did you catch their accomplice?”
“Nope. The kid’s slippery — disappeared into the crowd right after the first explosion. Probably ran off when things went south.” 018 shrugged. “Not that it matters. We’ll get him eventually.”
009 looked down at the two defeated men. “So, you’ve been abandoned. Not surprising, really — demons are like that.”
He tilted his head slightly.
“Well then,” he said softly, almost kindly. “Any last words?”
The perspective shifts to the other side. At the same time Tang Mobai and his group broke into the final level, Yan Wuzhen had already slipped into the crowd of newcomers, continuously using his ability to stir up their fear. Under this growing panic and impulse, the newcomers completely lost their ability to think. The moment the first person broke away from the group, the aura of intimidation the black-robed men had built up instantly vanished, and the crowd turned into a herd of mindless lambs.
This was also when Yan Wuzhen operated best — by using the “Left Eye of Satan,” he could easily manipulate the disorganized mob and turn them into “weapons” that disrupted the slave masters. Everything went according to plan — until he noticed the black-robed men regrouping quickly, using their collar authority on a large scale to suppress the chaotic newcomers. The stampede that could have happened was completely quelled.
“Tch.” Yan Wuzhen counted the number of black robes and realized one was missing. Sensing that something must have gone wrong on Tang Mobai’s side, he turned without hesitation and escaped under the cover of the lingering smoke.
Once the reinforcements arrived, the chaos was forcibly stopped — the newcomers stood motionless under the collars’ control. 011 scanned the headcount, then turned toward the few old survivors who had come to watch the commotion. The newcomers were too new to have the ability to start a riot. That left only one possibility — the handful of survivors from the previous batch.
The four quickly understood 011’s body language and raised their hands in panic.
“We’re innocent! We didn’t do anything!”
“That’s right, sir! It was Yan Wuzhen! I saw him sneaking around here before — it must’ve been him!”
“I saw him running that way!”
The four of them demonstrated the true meaning of unity and friendship — eagerly pointing 011 in the direction Yan Wuzhen had just escaped. 011 gave a cold laugh. He wasn’t surprised by how easily they sold out their teammate and quickly guessed Yan Wuzhen’s intent. Turning to the others, he said, “002 and I will pursue him. 018, return to the bottom floor. The rest of you, take the newcomers away — lock them up, then regroup with 018. We’ll catch them all at once.”
“Yes, sir.”
Then 011 looked at the four again. “If you lied to me, you know what happens.”
“Of course, of course,” the dagger-wielding man fawned with a grin. “I saw him run that way with my own eyes. How about I go with you to help catch him?”
“No need.”
Now that an incident had occurred, 011 wasn’t about to risk any more surprises. He and his partner dashed off in the direction the man pointed.
And sure enough, they hadn’t lied — after several minutes of full-speed pursuit, 011 heard hurried footsteps up ahead. But the prey was cunning. Every time 011 closed the distance, before he could even catch a glimpse of a coat hem, Yan Wuzhen would toss out another smoke bomb to block the view — making the collars’ control useless. Still, it was only delaying the inevitable.
Back below, 009 lowered his eyes, looking at Tang Mobai’s face — full of stubbornness and defiance — and found it almost amusing. What was there to be so unwilling about? Even though they’d rallied some allies, their entire approach was wrong from the start. Success was never possible.
He said calmly, “Any last words?”
Tang Mobai strained to raise his head, his gaze piercing through 009’s mask, “Does your world… still have life left in it?”
“Your last words are just that?” 009 seemed about to laugh, but seeing Tang Mobai’s utterly expressionless face, his smirk slowly faded. “No. There isn’t.”
“We’re the last remaining life on this planet — but as you can see, our flames have long gone out.”
“Was it worth it?” Seth asked in confusion.
“Worth it?” 009 murmured. “What does ‘worth it’ even mean?”
“Have you ever seen the gray-white land outside? It once bloomed with flowers of every color. Have you ever seen the sky? Ours used to be just as blue — cloudless every afternoon.
Have you ever heard laughter? The children used to play under the trees, sunlight filtering through the leaves onto their faces while the adults smiled and watched from the side.”
Tang Mobai and Seth fell silent — even the livestream chat went completely still.
“But all of it was destroyed by sudden catastrophe. The earth turned red with blood, then sank into black. You demons brought plague and war. Plants withered, animals died, and even our last hope — the Philosopher’s Stone and the Jade Society, the pinnacle of alchemy — were stolen by outsiders. All that remained was a world collapsing into ruin, friends and family dying one by one, and a future filled with nothing but despair.”
009’s voice grew hoarse, each word scraping like a blade against his throat. “And now you ask me — was it worth it?”
Seth suddenly said, “Apologies. I was not programmed with a concept of revenge. In my data, human life is paramount. To abandon life for the sake of revenge would register as an error — a bug in my code. But if this angers you, I can apologize.”
009 took a deep breath, regaining calm, “No need. You’re not even human. Why would I expect a tool to empathize with us?”
Seth said nothing. 009 turned back to Tang Mobai. “So, you think we’re ridiculous too?”
Tang Mobai lowered his gaze — it was too easy for an outsider to judge. This was their vengeance.
“No,” Tang Mobai finally lifted his head, voice steady but edged with something sharp.
“If my world suffered the same fate… if I had to watch everything I love fall into ruin… then I would stop at nothing — an eye for an eye, blood for blood. Even if it cost me everything, I’d drag the guilty through all eighteen layers of hell myself.”
Seth’s heart skipped. Tang Mobai’s tone held no rage, no madness — just calm, matter-of-fact certainty, like stating that the sun rises in the east. He turned to look at Tang Mobai’s eyes — as if seeing him for the first time. Even the chat froze, before a few messages trickled by:
[Wait… that’s the same main character I’ve been watching?]
[Okay yeah, I believe it now — his Original Sin really is Wrath.]
[Right?? He’s been too chill this whole time, I thought he was Sloth. Now it makes sense.]
Tang Mobai continued, “But that’s only if your revenge is aimed at the right target. And I don’t think I deserve to die. I’ve been framed! I’m useless, seriously! Forget your world — I haven’t even killed a chicken before! I even failed the newbie trial! You’ve got the wrong guy!”
Seth snapped back too. “Yeah! You should be going after the big bad demons, not us! What does this have to do with us?”
After all, the “Revival Games” were punishment for Lost Paradise’s losers — they really were the wrong people to blame!
“Think of it as displaced anger,” 009 said coldly, lowering himself to meet their eyes.
“Who told you to come to Lost Paradise? This is hell.”
Tang Mobai and Seth tried to resist again — but the collars around their necks suddenly constricted. Seth managed to hold on, but Tang Mobai’s face flushed red, veins bulging — 009 clearly wasn’t planning to let them speak again. Yet Tang Mobai refused to yield, forcing out hoarse words:
“…You didn’t… get it wrong…”
The last piece of the puzzle was right here!
Seth’s condition was slightly better. Before the collar crushed his voice module completely, he rasped out, “You didn’t get it wrong! The alchemy array you’re using — it’s right here, beneath the tower! Destroy the… node…”
They had noticed earlier that the tower walls glowed faintly during “alchemy activation.” At first they thought it was fluorite embedded in the walls, but further examination revealed the stones were merely camouflage. The glow changed intensity — weakest at night, brightest by day — because the battles (and deaths) happened under daylight. And on the night Qiong died, the hallways’ glow had been abnormal.
The expert team’s earlier scans confirmed the entire tower was covered in an alchemical circuit, with specific rune marks at key nodes — only the final piece was missing. They had never seen the symbols beneath the base level.
“You’re not just seeking revenge,” Tang coughed violently, “your true goal is Revival! If all your resources come from Lost Paradise, why bother creating ‘Soul Coins’? Where do they come from — and where are they used? Why can’t we leave our rooms at night? The answer is this giant alchemical array — you’re preparing to resurrect—”
He tried to shout the truth to the entire livestream, but the tightening collar choked his words to a garbled whisper. Only 009 and 018, standing close, caught the meaning.
“Absurd,” 018 sneered. “Nice story, but where’s your proof?”
“No proof, no truth,” 009 said softly, looking down at the two collapsing figures.
“If you want to prove we’re cheating, you’d first have to understand what this grand alchemy array even does.”
But that was impossible. The Jade Society never shared alchemy knowledge — quite the opposite, they guarded it as a forbidden secret. Their own arrogance had made it easier for 009’s group to hide the array in plain sight.
009’s eyes went cold. The collars tightened once more — Tang Mobai and Seth could no longer speak.
So what if they had found out? Slaves had no right to report their masters. Even if the viewers realized the truth, none of them would dare expose 009 and his kind.
Because the Demon Casino needed the gladiator fights. Because the demons outside didn’t want anyone escaping the Revival Games. Because maintaining the current system benefited everyone.
That was the real reason the Revival Games’ success rate was zero. It wasn’t that no one had suspected — it was that no one could break the illusion. This was the dark curtain woven together by both the knowing and the ignorant.
Even if someone saw through it, their own arrogance and apathy would help bury the truth again.
Using the blood and souls of the damned — to bring new life to their kin.
That was the true meaning of Arena 09’s Revival Game.
009 looked down coldly at Tang Mobai and Seth, their faces swollen and red from suffocation.
He pushed down the faint flicker of emotion in his chest, turned to 018, and said, “Next — what about the newcomers’ situation—”
[Dear Revival Game Staff, we have received a report concerning your activity. Current number of reports: 1]
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