Chapter 8: Demon Arena (6)
4:58 a.m.
The ghostly shadows that had tormented everyone through the night finally began to fade near five o’clock. Xiu Weiyi licked the wound at the corner of his mouth, dazedly staring at another body in the room—torn, blood-streaked, and already dead under the ghosts’ torture. A twisted expression, half-laugh and half-cry, appeared on his face.
“Heh… hehehe… hahahahaha! In the end… I’m the one who lived!”
He tossed aside half a broken table leg. His body was covered in fine cuts, his clothes nearly soaked red. He had snatched the oil lamp, but lit it too early; by the second half of the night the oil had nearly burned out several times—he’d almost been devoured by the ghosts.
Yet no matter how battered he looked, he had survived.
Xiu Weiyi sat on the ground to rest for a while. When he finally heard movement outside, he stood and used his only uninjured arm to push the door open.
People were already emerging one after another. Each wore a blank expression, eyes trembling with the thrill of survival. The number was less than one-third of what it had been at the start. Most bore bloodstains—some their own, some others’. Xiu Weiyi swept his gaze across them and felt somewhat relieved; many looked just as wretched as he did, if not worse.
The black-robed figures had been waiting for some time. A few minutes later, everyone still alive had come out. Those who hadn’t… probably never would.
Then, from the last house, a tall figure pushed open the door. He ignored everyone present, including 009 in the ghost mask, and walked off alone in one direction.
Deville.
For this special slave, 009 narrowed his eyes slightly and stepped aside, showing no intention of stopping him.
Only one person had come out of that room—and the last to emerge was Deville. 009 wasn’t surprised. He turned back to the gathered survivors. “Almost everyone’s here…”
Outside the simulation, in reality, Wang Yuanzhi and the other staff—who hadn’t slept all night—waited in silence, as though awaiting a verdict.
At exactly five o’clock, the live broadcast reopened on schedule.
[Morning everyone, I’m back!]
[Oh, so these are the ones who survived last night? Tch, not very impressive.]
[Pretty mediocre batch again. Nothing worth betting on.]
[Ugh, another boring round.]
[Wait—hold on! That other stream isn’t closed!]
Just then, the last door opened again.
009 had his back to it, facing the surviving slaves. But from their shifting expressions, he sensed something was off.
What the…?
“Ah, sorry. Overslept.”
A clear young voice came from behind. 009 froze for several seconds, then turned his head.
It should be daytime now, but the blood-red crescent moon hanging over the tower hadn’t changed at all, so there was no real difference between night and day. The only light came from glowing fluorite embedded in the walls, its brightness varying with the hour.
And yet, despite the dim light, 009 couldn’t help narrowing his eyes when he saw Tang Mobai.
Wang Yuanzhi’s tense expression finally softened into a faint smile. In the control room, every technician and instructor exhaled in unison and clapped, even though they knew Tang Mobai couldn’t hear them through the screen.
Meanwhile, viewers who’d assumed Tang Mobai was dead and switched to other streams widened their eyes in disbelief.
[Wha—he’s alive?!]
[How’s that possible? Wasn’t it always one survivor per room?]
[That was never a strict rule—it wasn’t written anywhere.]
[But in all the revival matches so far, has anyone ever come out unscathed?!]
[…Can’t recall, but I’m pretty sure no.]
Indeed—both Tang Mobai and Deville had survived. And compared to the others, most of whom were maimed or bleeding, the two of them looked almost untouched, as if they’d never faced the ghost attack at all.
More astonishing, Tang Mobai’s mental state seemed perfectly calm. While everyone else looked half-mad from terror and exhaustion, he looked like he’d just had a full night’s sleep and could easily run a few kilometers right now. No wonder the survivors were shocked—and wary.
“Mobai? You’re okay?”
“Weiyi.” Tang Mobai spotted Xiu Weiyi’s astonished face in the crowd and let out a breath of relief. Ignoring everyone else, he walked over. “That’s great—you survived too.”
Xiu Weiyi stiffened, instinctively hiding his blood-stained hands behind his back. “Y-yeah…”
Tang Mobai glanced at his uneasy expression but asked nothing. He turned instead to 009 and smiled. “Apologies, Lord 009—I’m late.”
“You’re here now. Let’s go.” 009 had recovered from his brief shock and returned to his usual cold tone. His words jolted the others into motion—they glanced secretly at Tang Mobai, eyes filled with complex, wary curiosity, and followed 009’s lead.
Tang Mobai and Xiu Weiyi trailed behind. Xiu Weiyi whispered, “How… how did you do it?”
The same question filled the chat. But Tang Mobai merely smiled, giving no answer. Xiu Weiyi didn’t press further, lowering his head, lost in thought.
With no official explanation, the audience started theorizing:
[Didn’t they fight?]
[Maybe they didn’t use the lamp at all and just tanked the ghosts head-on?]
[Not impossible—the ghosts are strong but not invincible. You can repel them. But if he’s really that strong, how did he end up here?]
[I’m kinda intrigued by this newbie. Anyone know who he is? Maybe he’s a hidden pro?]
[No way! I’ve been watching him since he joined—he didn’t even clear his last trial! No one improves that fast!]
[The crazier it sounds, the stronger the backing behind him must be! Maybe it’s one of those “powerful villain falls for me” plots!]
[Eh, who cares—having an outside backer’s still strength! Evil awakening via lust isn’t new. I’m betting on the rookie!]
[Same here! Tang Mobai, I’m rooting for you!]
The number of viewers spiked rapidly. Most came after seeing the fiery chat discussions. Hearing rumors that Tang Mobai might have a powerful patron behind him, they stayed, curious.
That word appeared again—betting.
It had come up before. Betting—as in gambling? That would make sense. Gladiatorial combat… sounded a lot like underground fighting, so maybe they also gambled on winners and losers.
Tang Mobai couldn’t help speculating inwardly.
In fact, outside the simulation, the expert team had already analyzed last night’s footage frame by frame. The gambling hypothesis was also in their notes. There wasn’t enough intel yet—but perhaps, today, the truth would start to surface.
009 ignored the subtle chatter among the slaves and, as before, led them elsewhere.
They soon reached a hall about three or four stories tall—two levels inside, plain in design, with several neatly arranged metallic tables. Many others with the same metal collars and chains around their necks were queuing for food.
At the far end, separated by transparent glass, was a steaming, foul-smelling slop—food? It should be food.
It wasn’t Tang Mobai’s fault he hesitated. The stuff looked strange, lacking any aroma of real food. It resembled the slimy “slime” creatures from fantasy games, exuding a rank stench like the dregs from a swill bucket.
Yet the people inside seemed numb, mechanically scooping it into their mouths. It made Tang Mobai start to doubt himself. Was this really meant for eating? Or… were they making medicine?
While the newcomers cautiously observed the canteen and its “old hands,” those very veterans were eyeing the newcomers with an unsettling gaze—like butchers assessing a pen of fresh, fattened livestock.
This reminded Tang Mobai of the “accident scam” the old man pulled when they first arrived, though even now he still couldn’t understand why.
“This is your cafeteria. Meal times are from 7 to 8 a.m., 12 to 1 p.m., and 7 to 8 p.m. No food will be served outside these times. Remember—every place here that provides goods or services requires Soul Coins for payment. Please line up in an orderly manner.”
009’s cold words shattered Tang Mobai’s last bit of hope, making it clear that this was their only source of food from now on.
“Of course, if you want to eat something else, there’s a small exchange shop on the second floor. But that also requires Soul Coins.”
There were far fewer people on the second floor. Without even needing to look, Tang Mobai could guess the prices there must be much higher.
“How do we get Soul Coins?” someone couldn’t help but ask impatiently.
“Don’t worry, I’ll explain that soon,” 009 said, giving the speaker a long, cold glance before continuing to lead them through the other areas.
The tower-like building contained all the basic living facilities—restrooms, showers, and even better lodging areas.
To be honest, it was much better equipped than Tang Mobai had expected. He had thought that as slaves, they’d be treated far more brutally—locked up with nothing but food and fights for entertainment. Surprisingly, it was almost humane… more like a prison, really. The “masters” were just their wardens.
However, there was one unbreakable rule: every single facility required Soul Coins to use. Without them, living here was impossible. Even the worst food they’d seen in the cafeteria cost 1 Soul Coin per serving. A shower cost 3, and the better rooms ranged from 1 to 5 per night.
009 also took them to see the simplified “market exchange.” As the rules stated, it was a downgraded version of the original Demon Shop—more like a convenience store. There were no magical items, no weapons, not even firearms—just basic supplies, all ridiculously overpriced.
“Five coins for a loaf of bread? Why don’t you just rob us?!” Xiu Weiyi exclaimed after checking the list.
Tang Mobai quickly looked too—and sure enough, the prices were more than double those in the Demon Shop.
According to the rules, the exchange rate between Soul Coins and points was 1:1. But Tang Mobai had seen the Demon Shop before—cold weapons there were practically worthless, often sold in bundles for just a few points. So in comparison, a loaf of bread for 5 points was absurd.
“Heh, you’ve never been inside the Lost Paradise, have you?” one person sneered.
“No, I haven’t. So what?” Xiu Weiyi shot back, confused.
Like Tang Mobai, Xiu Weiyi had survived by luck. Neither of them had passed the novice trial, and their points had been reset to zero. Since they had no idea what awaited them, both had chosen to return to reality. Tang Mobai hadn’t entered the Lost Paradise mainly because he hadn’t been sure whether the nation’s authorities might discover him.
The man didn’t bother explaining further. Instead, he kept flipping through the list until something at the bottom caught his eye. “An oil lamp… 5 coins each?!”
At that word, everyone rushed to look. Sure enough, the last item on the list was exactly what they’d used the night before.
“That’s right,” 009 said leisurely, as everyone’s faces turned pale. “The Revival Match has no time limit. As long as you have coins, you can survive here. Everything you need must be exchanged with Soul Coins—including… your life.”
“The oil lamps last night were a one-time favor from me. Don’t expect that kind of generosity again.”
He didn’t need to explain further. Everyone understood now: last night’s “battle” hadn’t just been to make them get used to killing each other—it was to give them motivation.
A reason to fight desperately in the arena.
Only the oil lamps could keep the ghost shadows away—and the lamps, like everything else, required Soul Coins. But right now, everyone’s Soul Coin balance was zero.
In other words, if they didn’t earn at least five Soul Coins soon, they would die tonight.
“Well,” 009 said finally, “since you all understand your situation now, come with me.”
“I’ll show you your one and only, final stage—the Arena of Sin.”
Mini-Theater:
Background: The livestream is closed, the teams at the base are operating normally, and the instructors’ work has long since concluded; it’s time to go to sleep.
The instructors in the dormitory are collectively experiencing insomnia.
Combat Instructor: Anxiety. Little Bai’s shabby physical skills. What should we do? Misremember the properties of the medicine, will he? Will he get confused? What if he gets and dies? (Fearful)
Communication Instructor: Damn it, that lousy mouth of his will definitely make someone an enemy. Damn it! Why can’t I teach him?
Fear Instructor: Worried, too worried to sleep.
Tang Mobai: Sleeping soundly with big breasts as a pillow.jpg.
Thank you for reading 🙂 I hope you all liked my translations. If you enjoyed my work, please consider buying me a Ko-Fi 😉
