Han and Denver entered a vast room like a cafeteria. Inside, many people sat at tables, holding magical newspapers that showed slaves and their statistics. From origins, spells, and innate abilities to prior records, everything about the slaves participating in the Arena Pit could be read.
Using their experience and relying on luck, people filled out bet cards and took them to the won behind the desks.
The setup was simple, much like modern Earth’s betting shops. It lacked food, TVs on the walls, and other entertainnt, but it worked.
At the desk, Han picked up the newspapers and looked over the listings. He narrowed his eyes when he saw children of Demi-Humans in it, but there was nothing he could do. There had to be good viewership for those battles, as competent kids at an early age could be grood into dangerous, devoted weapons. Heat pricked his knuckles; he unclenched and flattened the page. Ink and copper hung in the air; he pictured his clinic, quiet.
He focused on adult slaves whose bloodlines might interest him. Han soon found a peculiar slave from the Demi-Human circle that piqued his interest, and he wondered how he could get his hands on that bloodline.
He bet on the slaves he was familiar with and the one with the bloodline he wanted, then had one of his maids hand the bets to a woman behind the desk.
"We are sure to rake in so good pocket money," Denver grinned.
Han returned the smile.
It was ti to head for the Arena Pit’s audience seats. Denver had booked good seats, so Han and Bellatrix had a clear view of the battles. Not that Bellatrix could watch, but Han kept her as a beautiful vase anyway. Decorations have uses, he told himself.
They moved with the flow of the other Underworld guests and erged into the middle of the colosseum, where a huge sand-covered circle and a few iron-barred gates would have stood out if not for the people sitting in the tiered seats. Even though everyone wore masks, so exuded such presence that even Han with his Dragon’s Pride didn’t want to bother them. At least not yet.
There were also honored seats at the top of the colosseum, an extravagant balcony overlooking everyone and everything. A woman leaned on the rail, her breasts pressed against it, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd with clear purpose. She wore a black dress set with crimson jewels the sa color as her eyes, and her black hair was tied in a bun.
Han t her eyes before Denver tugged his sleeve. Sothing cold slid along his spine, an instinctive warning. Dragon’s Pride stirred, wanting to rise and challenge, but discipline pinned it down. Another ti.
"That’s a Blood Mistress from Nevolnik. Don’t stare her way," Denver said.
"Fine," Han nodded.
At his current level, he’d rather not deal with them, though he needed a good connection with them. Otherwise, assassins would keep visiting his clinic. He had a plan, but he would need a lot of luck for it to work.
For now, it was ti to enjoy the night. Once Han and the others sat, and the maids went to the servants’ zone, Han tilted his head to the side and waited for the first battles. It wasn’t long before the iron gates opposite each other rose and ushered in the first participants. The crowd’s murmur thickened into a low hum against his ribs. Sand hissed in a draft; a distant bell rang once, then died.
At first, Han could easily predict the matches, since he knew their innate bloodline powers. The humans used spells that weren’t anything extraordinary. However, there were standout fights that surprised him. So slaves used their experience in clever ways, and so baited so well that even Han felt he had fallen into a trap. They were doing their utmost to win, survive, and prove themselves, and Han studied their movent, skills, and body language as much as he could, his combat experience growing. He shadowed their footwork with small shoulder shifts, mapping tells. Watch, then act.
Those fights were quick, but then a match that lasted longer than ten minutes unfolded before Han. Two Demi-Human ogres fought to the limit of their skills, their bulging muscles corded with thick veins. Their resilience surprised a few regular buyers, and murmurs spread across the audience.
Then one ogre’s muscles swelled even more.
I see. You took that drug, didn’t you?
The man turned into a blob of muscle on two legs. He toppled over his enemy and started suffocating him, all while letting out disgusting noises.
Normally it would be over, but this is the Underworld.
So people wanted to see if the other ogre could push the drugged one away. So wanted more death, and so just didn’t care. However, others raised their voices to stop the match, as the second ogre was clearly clean and hadn’t used any drug.
"We can’t waste his potential."
"Agreed!"
Han was surprised. So there are sensible people. Maybe so of them are from Awberg or the Order of Law, scouting good slaves and giving them new life. It’d fit their the, sowhat.
At last, Han’s slaves rolled onto the stage. Watching them fight was a joy, since they excelled and used their innate bloodline prowess far better than the rest. Murmurs spread around Han and Denver, noting how useful those slaves seed.
Denver’s eyes shone gold as he listened, and he was all smiles.
"That troll needs more enemies! Give him more!"
"Yeah!"
"More!"
In the battle between the troll and an ogre, the troll had won with his poison-like saliva and started devouring the ogre before everyone’s eyes. This prompted shouts to continue the fight with many targets. All the other gates opened in answer, and humans and other Demi-Humans ran at the troll.
But his skin had hardened so much as he gnawed on flesh that none of their attacks left even a dent.
"That’s impressive! He has an ability only seen in higher trolls, usually kings of each tribe!"
"He’s a rare breed! I’m offering fifty gold coins for this one!"
"Fifty? I will pay one hundred!"
"Two hundred!"
Han was bemused as he listened. He had borrowed his maids’ allowance to pay for his needs, yet a single troll could repay it all in one go. It made him feel like he wasn’t truly on the dark side yet. Was there even a need for the clinic and Maid Restaurant if he could produce so many competent Demi-Humans? Numbers rolled out like stones. Profit was simple. Consequences were not. He kept his face still and let the noise pass through.
"Quiet." The Blood Mistress’s cold voice swept through the audience and silenced them. "The Arena Pit is not an auction house. We will put this troll and many others in next week’s Auction House. You will be able to bid there. And there are many more Demi-Humans from this batch, so look forward to the battles."
People nodded in satisfaction, waiting for more Demi-Humans.
Denver broke into a cold sweat. "H-Han... the Blood Mistress is putting a lot of faith in our goods now. They can’t disappoint, or she’ll make us pay for it. Maybe you can enhance them more?" Han drew a slow breath. Denver had staked reputation and coin, and Han had staked thod and bloodlines. Trust the work, he told himself.
"That’s against the rules, and I need to be close to them to begin with. I can’t step into the arena, can I?" Han asked.
Denver nodded a few tis.
He cald down, choosing to trust their goods. Han had done great work on them, and they had firsthand experience in the forests against monsters. He had also put only the best in today, so there was nothing to worry about.
Then Denver’s eye twitched.
One of the enemies used the drug and his muscles bloated. Yet even that didn’t help him against the ogre from Denver’s batch. A wave of relief was quickly washed away when the enemy swelled so much that he started using his raw weight against the strengthened ogre.
The ogre was toppled backward and draped in the mass of flesh.
Five heavy seconds later, the mass flew upward as the ogre kicked the drugged man away. He rose to his feet, charged like a stampede toward the enemy, and started clawing at the bloated flesh with his bare hands. He tore through it rcilessly, making the mass scream and wobble.
The sounds of flesh plopping and tearing excited the crowd. They all rose from their seats and cheered the ogre as if they were true haters of drugs. Above them, the Blood Mistress’s eyes shone with curiosity as she fixed her gaze on the ogre.
The ogre froze for a few seconds. Weight pressed over the arena, damp and tallic, like weather before a storm. The ogre’s eyes fild, muscles quivering as though a wire tightened.
She closed her eyes, smiling.
Free from the clutches of the Blood Mistress’s mana presence, the ogre resud his fight and won it magnificently.
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