Chapter 30: Demon Arena (28)
Tang Mobai could no longer hear the Lost Paradise’s verdict—nor the voices of the outside world.
The moment that strange energy burrowed into his body, images began flashing before his eyes.
First, a city unlike anything from modern times—more like a vast medieval metropolis. But it was far larger, more populated, and far more prosperous than anything from Earth’s Middle Ages. People smiled on the streets, well-dressed and content. Strange rail trams ran down cobbled avenues. Though it followed a completely different technological path from Earth, this world was clearly thriving.
Until one day, disaster struck.
“Aaaahhhh—!”
In the vision, a young boy was suddenly attacked at home by his pale-faced older brother. A peaceful, loving household turned into a nightmare in an instant.
So much pain—why?!
Terror, fury, and confusion—Tang Mobai could feel it all. For that moment, he was the boy, living inside his body, watching his world collapse, not understanding what had gone wrong.
Two black-robed figures burst through the door, dragging him to safety. Light from outside scattered the shadowy monsters in the dark.
“Quick! Put this on—it’ll hide you from their sight for a while!”
“Alert all citizens: if anyone begins showing symptoms of transformation, notify the guards immediately!”
“W-wait…” The boy’s mouth moved, Tang Mobai hearing his own voice from that body. “My father and mother… what happened to them—”
Silence. Long, suffocating silence. And in that silence, both the boy and Tang Mobai understood. His heart felt as though it had been torn apart. Rage and grief flooded through him until they became part of his very breath.
Why? Why did it have to become like this?
Tang Mobai experienced more visions—now as the city’s other people: a girl, an old man, a guard, a scholar—each one living through the same incomprehensible horror as loved ones turned into ghost shadows.
According to the city’s alchemists, the cause was a kind of radiation. Soon, great sealed towers were built, and all survivors were forced to live inside them.
But there was still hope. The capital gathered the world’s greatest alchemists, who devised a plan—barriers could block the radiation, and the “Ghost Sickness” could even be cured.
The only problem: to perform the ritual required an immense amount of energy—something only the Philosopher’s Stone could provide.
So the entire world united to create it.
Tang Mobai felt a chill. He already sensed this was where everything began to collapse.
Sure enough—once the Philosopher’s Stone was forged, tragedy followed.
The capital fell into rebellion. Those with supernatural powers slaughtered the alchemists and stole the Stone that had consumed the world’s last resources.
When Tang Mobai next opened his eyes, he was inside another body—hooded, standing among a silent crowd. Rage filled him again—raw, consuming, endless. Countless voices screamed within him:
Revenge! Revenge! Kill the sinners! It hurts! Why? Why destroy us?! I can’t die in peace!
Tang Mobai clutched his head, nearly torn apart by the torrent of negative emotion. His very self was being shredded—until—
[Safety channel opened.]
The cold electronic voice snapped through the chaos like ice dropped into boiling water. His mind cleared, and the illusions melted away—replaced by a figure he knew all too well.
Deville.
But not quite the same as before. His hair was still messy, but now combed roughly back, revealing clear red eyes—calm, lucid.
“Deville?” Tang Mobai hesitated.
“…Yeah,” Deville said softly. “It’s me, Mobai.”
—Wait.
Tang Mobai froze. He can talk?
“You can talk?!” he blurted. “I mean—you’re… awake now?”
Deville nodded. “For now. I’ve remembered a little of the past.”
Tang Mobai didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t stupid—after seeing Deville absorb the giant wraith, he already knew this man was different. Different from the demons, different from the failed ones of the Revival Game. Someone far more powerful… maybe one of the Archdemons.
But that only made him more uneasy.
He’d grown used to the mad Deville—hugging him at night, venting to him like a friend. But this Deville, calm and aware, might be something far beyond him.
A warm touch brushed his chin. Tang Mobai looked up sharply. Deville had appeared in front of him without a sound, frowning slightly, fingertips grazing the corner of his lips.
“…Why won’t you smile at me anymore?” Deville asked, voice low. “I don’t remember much. My first memory starts in the arena.”
The arena—endless fighting, madness, pain. For Deville, there had been nothing else. No light, no kindness—only the brutal rule of kill or be killed. He had stopped trying to stay sane long ago.
Until that night.
The night Tang Mobai hugged him.
He’d never seen the sun, but that embrace felt like sunlight—pure, warm, and distant. From then on, sometimes, just sometimes, he wanted to be lucid again.
Now, after absorbing nearly a million souls’ rage, his strength—and sanity—had returned.
But Tang Mobai didn’t smile. He stepped back.
Deville’s expression fell apart. Panic flashed across his face as he blurted, “Whatever my main body did—it wasn’t me! I don’t have those memories!”
He looked at Tang Mobai with pitiful eyes, like a dog abandoned by its owner. “I didn’t do it…”
Tang Mobai sighed. He truly didn’t know how to respond—but he did know one thing: when he’d nearly been devoured by the negative emotions earlier, it was Deville who’d pulled him out.
“…Thanks, Deville,” he said at last, scratching his head and glancing around. “So… what’s the situation now?”
They were still not back in reality—just floating in a vast, endless black space. All around, shadows stirred restlessly.
“Just a bunch of restless spirits,” Deville said lightly. “They’re looking for a substitute to take their place. Ignore them—they’ll fade soon.”
“Oh…”
But their voices only grew louder—skeletal limbs reaching for them from all sides, clawing against a white barrier of light.
[Don’t go…Revenge…It can’t end like this!]
Tang Mobai shut his eyes, trying to ignore them—but their emotions resonated with his own, drawing out his buried fury until he almost answered back.
Deville sensed it and reached for him—just as Tang Mobai opened his mouth and calmly asked, “…What’s in it for me?”
The spirits froze.
Tang Mobai’s words had caught them completely off guard.
“I get it,” he said evenly. “You’re angry. You want revenge. If my home were destroyed, I’d feel the same. But…” He paused. “This isn’t my home.”
Yes—they were pitiful, and he empathized with their rage. But he wasn’t just acting for himself anymore. He carried a nation’s hopes now. Avenging these ghosts might mean clashing with the so-called Jade Society… and he wasn’t about to add more risk without cause.
He represented more than just one man.
Thinking of that, the burning fury in his chest cooled. Tang Mobai looked down at the glowing energy swirling around him and followed Lost Paradise’s pull to leave.
[W-wait!]
The remnants of the spirits’ will trembled—then, finally, compromised.
[Help us take revenge… and we’ll give you our alchemical knowledge.]
Tang Mobai blinked.
[All of it.]
If they could obtain such a structured form of transcendent power, perhaps the national scientists really could research something from it.
Tang Mobai hesitated for a moment—but then, he suddenly sensed something, his expression turning a little strange. The resistance that had been holding firm in his heart quietly loosened.
In that instant, the souls of the dead eagerly used their final strength to brand the mark of the Ouroboros on the back of his hand.
[You have received the Gift of the Deceased in the World of Rao]
Sealed Item: Ouroboros Tattoo
Effect 1: Within this tattoo lies the treasure of an alchemical civilization, but it is locked behind seven seals. The departed hope that you will avenge them—blood for blood. Each time you complete a revenge, a part of the alchemical legacy will open to you. Currently, Stage 1 is unlocked. The final stage requires destroying the Jade Society and retrieving the alchemical inheritances Emerald Codex and Philosopher’s Stone.
Effect 2: When facing invaders, the tattoo will faintly burn. After wounding an invader, it will activate Blood Hunt Tracking—a relentless pursuit until death.
Effect 3: The wrath of the avenger is your wrath. When facing invaders, your rage is locked at its maximum value, granting an additional +20% to all attributes.
Effects 4–6: Locked.]
The moment the tattoo appeared on Tang Mobai’s hand, Deville—who had been silent—suddenly erupted in fury. Like a territorial beast, weapons of various forms extended from his back and arms, shredding the lingering ghostly shadows around them.
“It’s okay, Deville, I agreed to it,” Tang Mobai quickly said, patting Deville’s arm. He met the beast’s blood-red eyes, speaking softly to soothe him.
Deville paused, then slowly calmed down under Tang Mobai’s gaze. Just then, both of them felt a strange pulling force— it was time to leave.
Leaving also meant… separation.
At that thought, Deville’s expression dimmed.
“Oh, right—Deville! That’s your name, right?” Not knowing what the situation outside was, Tang Mobai hurriedly extended an invitation. “I didn’t get to ask when you weren’t conscious earlier—do you want to join my little team? We can go on adventures together!”
Deville froze, his eyes first lighting up with surprise, then dimming again.
“It’s fine. Just call me Deville…” he said quietly, lowering his eyes to meet Tang Mobai’s. “That name belongs only to me. I’m happy you invited me—but I’m sorry. I still have something important to finish. I can’t go with you.”
“I see…” Tang Mobai scratched his head, then finally grasped Deville’s hand. “Then I wish you all the best.”
He smiled—just a simple, ordinary smile. “See you again in Lost Paradise.”
Deville stared at him greedily, tracing every line of Tang Mobai’s face, committing it to the deepest part of his memory. “…Alright.”
They would definitely meet again. When all the Original Sins return, when his true self awakens from slumber, when every enemy has been purged— with blood and fire, a new throne will be forged.
In this hellish world where the weak are devoured, how powerful must one become to act freely? At least for now, Tang Mobai didn’t have that answer.
[What a show!]
[Streamer, you guys actually won! Incredible! Witnessing history!]
[Truly witnessing history—I’ve never seen such an epic revival match before!]
[Isn’t it time to call the sponsor MVP? Hahaha, this time the money man’s the real hero!]
[The sponsor’s amazing—but the streamer who snagged that sponsor’s even more amazing!]
Tang Mobai opened his eyes, his vision immediately filled with a flood of scrolling comments. Then he saw Yan Wuzhen’s face right in front of him—the black-haired, black-eyed intelligence broker frowned, holding up one finger.
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
Tang Mobai murmured, “Am I… in heaven?”
Yan Wuzhen’s mouth twitched as he stood up, nearly letting Tang Mobai’s head hit the ground before pulling him up. “You really did go stupid from that sleep. Heaven? If we die, our souls are heading straight to hell.”
Blinking, Tang Mobai listened to the familiar cold tone of Yan Wuzhen’s voice, finally feeling like he was back.
The others glanced oddly at Yan Wuzhen, thinking—You weren’t acting like that just now.
They had truly witnessed something new—Spider actually panicking. If not for fear of retaliation later, they would’ve recorded it; maybe Sister Xian would pay a fortune for the photo.
Only now did Tang Mobai finally notice his surroundings. They were surrounded by a faintly glowing white light. Within it, he could see the wounds on nearby injured players gradually closing.
“Is it over?”
“It’s over,” Yan Wuzhen replied. “You should’ve received the Lost Paradise system notice too, right?”
Tang Mobai quickly opened his interface.
[After public reports, cheating in Arena 09’s revival match has been confirmed. Arena 09 is now closed for reorganization. We apologize for the inconvenience. As compensation, all players who contributed to exposing the cheating will be unconditionally revived and receive rewards according to contribution: 50–500 points, a 30% off Mall Discount Card (bound use), and one Mission World Selection Ticket. Thank you for your participation and oversight! Revival countdown: 30 seconds.]
They’d done it.
Tang Mobai looked around. The tower was still on the verge of collapse—but the falling motion had inexplicably frozen, as if some external power was forcibly stabilizing it.
“Where’s Deville?”
“Him? No idea. When the undead giant vanished, he disappeared too.”
“Oh…” Tang Mobai felt a pang of confusion—and maybe a bit of regret—but he didn’t press further.
Yan Wuzhen kept watching him from the corner of his eye. Seeing Tang Mobai not pursue the topic, he grew more certain of his own suspicions.
Shaking his head, Tang Mobai set aside thoughts of Deville and surveyed the others. Seth was lying nearby, unconscious. Beyond the white glow, the black-robed men stood watching. A dagger-wielding man—barely alive—was flipping them off, joined by other survivors, both newcomers and veterans. All the demons cursed the black robes with remarkable unity; clearly, those insults had been festering for a long time.
Tang Mobai thought for a moment and asked, “What’ll happen to this place now?”
Yan Wuzhen replied impatiently, “No idea. It’ll probably just fall into ruin. They built this revival arena in exchange for Lost Paradise supplies. This tower? Mostly made from alchemical materials—not cheap stuff. My guess is Lost Paradise provided it.”
“Now that Arena 09’s scrapped, I doubt there’ll be any more Demon Arenas.” He smirked faintly, something dark flickering between his brows. “I was going to say 009 and the others are screwed—but then, they were already dead. Now they’re just really done for. Living in this world’s a punishment anyway.”
Tang Mobai hummed softly and stood up, walking toward the edge of the white light.
Yan Wuzhen frowned. Don’t tell me this idiot’s going to give a motivational speech again.
As Tang Mobai approached, the survivors automatically stepped aside, giving him the perfect spot to hurl an insult.
009 and his group were calm—no resistance, no anger. They seemed to have expected this ending, or maybe they were simply too drained to care anymore.
Standing at the edge, Tang Mobai raised his middle finger—palm turned inward so the livestream couldn’t see—and said evenly, “This is for your earlier hospitality. Hope you live long enough in this world… to watch your enemies die miserably.”
The black-robed men froze. On the back of Tang Mobai’s hand, the glowing Ouroboros mark pulsed faintly—and no one understood its meaning better than they did.
He lowered his hand, tucking it into his pocket. Just as he turned around, he saw Yan Wuzhen staring at him wide-eyed.
“You just said that?”
“Said what?”
“‘Hope they live long in this hopeless world’? That’s a curse if I ever heard one.”
Tang Mobai shrugged. “Then take it as a curse. After all, living hurts a lot more than dying, doesn’t it?”
Yan Wuzhen clicked his tongue but didn’t reply. Soon, the final extraction began. Everyone bathed in white light began to rise slowly, as though stepping into a transparent elevator.
Looking down, Tang Mobai saw the collapsing tower—and the shrinking arena below. It resembled the Roman Arena back on Earth, but the seating levels were uneven. Only now, from above, did he realize— they looked like rows of black gravestones.
And before those gravestones stood 009 and his black-robed comrades—so small they were almost invisible.
They had abandoned their names, their pasts, even their bodies.
Were they slave masters—or grave keepers?
Tang Mobai’s lips flattened as he gazed at this world one last time.
“Hey, add me as a friend,” Yan Wuzhen said. Seth, newly awake, looked over too.
Tang Mobai exchanged friend requests with them. A few others wanted to add him too, but he politely refused. One burly man hesitated for a long while before his companions finally shoved him forward.
“Uh… thanks.”
Tang Mobai blinked, a little surprised. “No need. You guys helped too.”
The man shrugged. “You saved me. Where I’m from, we have a rule—if someone saves your life, you owe them one favor. Anything within my ability, just say the word.”
“I—uh…” Tang Mobai started to decline, but then an idea crossed his mind. “Actually, there is something.”
“Name it. If it’s in my power, I’ll do it.”
“Then I hope,” Tang Mobai said seriously, “that in the future, when you carry out Lost Paradise missions, you’ll show some mercy. Try not to kill the innocent—of course, only if it doesn’t endanger your own safety.”
The man froze, looking at Tang Mobai with a complicated expression. “You… you won’t survive long in Lost Paradise, you know that?”
…Wow. I save you and you curse me?
Tang Mobai gave a wry smile. “It’s not really something I can change.”
“But if you do manage to survive,” the man murmured, starting to say something before swallowing the rest, “then… never mind.”
Either the world changes the man—or the man changes the world. But for now, it was far too soon to tell which it would be.
Before Tang Mobai could even react, the figure before him vanished into the white light.
He barely had time to wonder before his own vision went black—and he too was pulled out of the revival arena.
*
In the main hall of Hunger Hell.
A system notification flashed across the giant broadcast screen:
[Congratulations to Tang Mobai, Yan Wuzhen, and Seth for successfully winning the revival Match. Explorer status restored, normal permissions unsealed.]
[Arena 09 (Demon Arena) has been permanently closed.]
Normally, something as minor as a revival match wouldn’t attract much attention—such things, while rare, weren’t unheard of.
But one of the demons casually glanced at the match number… and froze.
“Wait—Arena 09? Wasn’t that the one no one has ever cleared since it was built?”
“Hah! Well, not anymore!” someone beside him laughed. “You missed it? Just now, something insane happened in a newbie’s stream—some guy named Tang Mobai got directly involved with unknown forces! They even released alchemy research data publicly to demand Lost Paradise investigate the revival NPCs for cheating!”
“What—WHAT?! I went to take a piss for five minutes! Who the hell does that?! Damn it, how did I miss such a show! Bro, you got the footage?”
“Of course! Heh, us small fries finally got to see real alchemy up close. Tell you what—I can share the file with you…”
“This round’s on me! Just tell me everything that happened!”
“Alright, alright—man, you should’ve seen it. Everyone’s still talking about which mysterious guild stepped in—and whether that high-level demon, Deville, is connected to them.”
The listener slapped his thigh, eyes shining. “And the best part? Lost Paradise actually admitted the report was valid! Hah, a revival match scandal—this is the biggest headline in years! Those locals are finished!”
“No wonder Arena 09 never had a winner!”
“Honestly, I say they shouldn’t have exposed it. Now the Demon Casino’s lost all their bets!”
Whatever the opinions of the onlookers, the news spread like wildfire— A mysterious high-tier guild intervening. Alchemy. Lost Paradise corruption.
Any one of those keywords would’ve set the gossip networks ablaze— but this story had all of them.
In no time, the names Tang Mobai, Yan Wuzhen, and Seth were on every demon’s lips in Hunger Hell, completely eclipsing the fame of all the promising newcomers from the trial season.
After all, dark horses appeared every year— but a live-broadcasted whistleblowing scandal? That was rare gold.
*
When several newcomers emerged from the Trial Grounds, this was the sight that greeted them.
Each had already made a name for themselves in their own live channels— the audience hailed them as “rising stars” and “potential black horses,” and even major guilds had extended offers.
They expected to step into the Hunger Hell main hall basking in attention. Instead—though the place buzzed with excitement— no one was looking at them.
The top-ranked newcomer froze, eavesdropping on nearby chatter before cautiously asking,
“Uh… who are you guys talking about? Some new big-shot demon?”
“What big-shot demon? No, no—it’s about the revival match,” the other replied with a dismissive wave. “Something wild went down in there. Bet even the high-ups are scrambling right now. Haha, that Tang Mobai guy’s a troublemarker! I can’t wait to see what trouble he stirs up next—I might just become his fan!”
He rambled on excitedly about “alchemy,” “whistleblowing,” and “making history,” while ordering more drinks.
The newcomers exchanged bewildered looks.
They’d heard of the revival matches before—those were for demons who failed the trials or had their points reset to zero.
The rejects.
They’d seen plenty of those types in the trials—the ones too weak, too soft, too impulsive to survive. Failures. Nobodies.
So why was everyone talking about them now?
Glancing around the hall, they saw it: the entire place buzzing about those “failures,” guild officers whispering into their earpieces with grave expressions— and even their lips forming the same name: Tang Mobai.
No one spared the newcomers a second look.
The so-called “promising rookies” had been forgotten. This season’s spotlight belonged wholly to Tang Mobai, Yan Wuzhen, and Seth—and all the others could do was quietly memorize those names, uncomprehending of how the world had just changed.
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