章節 13: Chapter 13: Arena Fight
Bloodsoil is one of the major families in the Nameless Kingdom.
Their wealth originates from controlling the most fertile lands for agriculture.
To be more precise, their income comes from anything extracted from the earth—natural minerals, energy resources derived from the ground.
However, the most powerful and important thing they produce is food.
The agricultural products they provide cover half of the kingdom's total nutritional needs. Imagine if the family were angered—they could literally starve the kingdom into submission.
But the real fear everyone has toward them isn't just because of their resources; it's because of this:
The King's Black Hand, The King's Dirty Hand.
These are titles that have been associated with the family for decades since their founding.
Everyone assumed they would denounce or even be offended by these names, but on the contrary, they wear them as a badge of honor.
In the Nameless Kingdom, unfortunate incidents occur, just as in any other nation.
Just For example:
The sudden suicide of a politician who opposed the King's policies but later regretted doubting the King's wisdom.
Or a car accident involving a politician who was drunk and should have been taking better care of his health.
Yes, as you might have guessed, the "Bloodsoil" family is allegedly behind such events.
But we live in a democratic state, and without evidence, such claims are meaningless.
I hear voices asking: "Where is the Spirit of the People when it comes to them?" Well, let me explain something first:
The Spirit of the People, the police, the army, Bloodsoil, the media, the Kingdom's forces, and specifically, the King's power.
The matter is about when to use one instead of the other.
The police exist to maintain order and prosecute what can be prosecuted with laws that project a good image of the Kingdom externally.
The army exists for external defense and attacks; they are not permitted to intervene in internal affairs.
The Spirit of the People is represented by grassroots movements, supposedly spontaneous—but that's what they'd like to think.
In most cases where the Spirit of the People has been "moved," it was instigated by the Kingdom, spreading both overt and covert messages that these villains are against the Kingdom.
But because we are a democracy, we cannot act against them without evidence.
As for Bloodsoil, their role is to carry out what others cannot.
There are even rumors that they use a terrorist organization for certain operations outside the Kingdom.
If that doesn't explain why I'm terrified of them, I don't know what to tell you.
I mean, you're going against the Kingdom—why would you marry one of its biggest supporters and bring her into your home? Is she a spy? Is the body's original owner using her as a cover?
Damn you, author.
Why couldn't you make my reincarnation into someone married to ten wives, all of whom adore me, and let me be the grandson or son of the most powerful entity in the galaxy, with a golden finger to boot? Why must life be so complicated?
(Author: I'm confused now. Does he know I exist or not?)
The car finally reached its destination.
Looking out the window, there was nothing remarkable—just a parking lot.
I waited for a bit before stepping out, noticing that the driver wasn't going to open the door for me. Was he not allowed to leave the car?
As soon as I got out, a man in a gray suit appeared from a long corridor, running toward me.
"Sir! Sir!"
Upon reaching me, he bent over, resting his hands on his knees as he caught his breath.
"Sir, I'm sorry for the delay. I don't know how, but the alarm system was disabled."
"It's fine…"
Before I could finish, he grabbed my wrist with both hands, still half-bent.
"You arrived just in time, sir. The general match is about to start. This way, sir, this way."
He gestured toward the corridor, giving me the space to walk ahead of him.
It seemed he knew the body's owner didn't like anyone walking in front of him.
From the way he addressed me, I could tell he was a refugee, not to mention his accent.
We soon reached an elevator, and to my surprise, instead of going up, we descended.
Without a floor counter, I had no idea how far underground we went.
When the elevator doors opened, they revealed a hallway lined with rooms. We entered one of them.
It was clear these rooms were designed for VIPs, given the decor.
A plush sofa sat in the center of the room, facing a wall-sized screen broadcasting a large arena surrounded by stands packed with cheering fans.
The sheer size was unbelievable—it felt like a football stadium, but underground.
Once I sat down, the man took a seat beside me.
"Sir, the mask."
He extended his hand, holding a silver demon-faced mask.
I took the mask and examined it, feeling an inexplicable unease. Was this a sign of something?
Ignoring my thoughts, I put on the mask.
It was uncomfortable and hard to breathe in.
It felt as though I was drowning in the blood of my loved ones. What was I even saying?
I turned to the man, expecting him to wear a mask as well.
Without any warning, he snapped his fingers, the door opened, and servants entered, serving drinks.
It seemed the mask was to hide my identity from them, and the man was the owner of this place.
The man pressed a button beside him.
"Begin now."
He gave the order, and within a second, the announcer entered the arena.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are honored by the presence of the patron of this event. Let us all thank the Master in unison!"
"Thank you, Master!"
"Thank you, Master!"
What childish behavior.
Where were we, exactly? A school?
"I remind you that this competition is unlike any before it. This match will continue non-stop until the Master is satisfied with the competitors' performance. As for the prize, all I'm allowed to say is that the Master will grant you a new life."
I'll give them a new life? What is he talking about? Are they fighting for me to give them fake identities?
Upon reflection, it didn't take a genius to figure out that underground fighting was illegal, and the participants were likely criminals or fugitives.
But granting them fake identities? That could only be done by someone of high rank.
It was clear the body's owner didn't have that authority.
Which meant the "boss" The young old man mentioned was one of the elite. But why recruit people in this manner?
"And now, enough talking. Let the main feast begin!
The first competitor is the man who has only been defeated by the Faceless One.
A man who came from the jungle, whom I personally brought to you so he could satisfy your desires and drink the blood of his enemies before your very eyes.
Even The jungle people couldn't defeat him. Do you know who he is?"
"Yes!"
The crowd responded as if under a spell.
"I can't hear you. Do you know who he is?"
"Yes!"
"Then what are you waiting for? You know what to do."
The announcer placed one hand under the elbow of the other, holding the microphone to mimic the shape of a snake, and began hissing.
"SSSsss..."
The audience followed suit, filling the arena with hissing sounds, turning the atmosphere into that of a snake's nest.
Once the announcer saw that the crowd was ready, he yelled with all his might while turning toward the entryway where the competitors would appear.
"The Steel Cobra!"
A giant masked man with bulging muscles, covered in tattoos wherever skin was visible, emerged from the smoke, running and leaping into the ring while saluting the crowd.
"Cobra! Cobra! Cobra! Cobra! Cobra!"
The crowd erupted in excitement, fully engrossed in the spectacle.
Once they calmed down, the announcer continued:
"And now, his fierce rival, the man who came from the same jungle.
For your information, these two have been fighting day and night, but I captured them and brought them here just for your entertainment.
Welcome... the Monkey Man!"
In the same manner, a man of average height with a lean but slightly muscular build entered, wearing a mask shaped like a monkey's face.
Unlike his opponent, he wore suspenders. The moment he entered, the audience began taunting him.
"Ooo! Ooo! Ooo!"
"Just give up already, Monkey!"
"Hey, Monkey! Look here! I've got a banana in my pants, but you'll have to kneel to taste it!"
"Haha!"
Unlike the awe inspired by the Cobra, the Monkey Man was met with nothing but ridicule.
I noticed the announcer's bias too.
He had created an elaborate backstory for the Cobra's entrance, while the Monkey Man was merely shoehorned into the same story without any buildup.
The sound of the bell echoed throughout the arena, accompanied by the enthusiastic cries of the announcer, signaling the start of the much-anticipated match.
The Monkey Man shot toward his opponent like an arrow, his eyes gleaming with determination.
He unleashed a flurry of rapid punches, left and right, like a storm of fists.
But the Cobra, with a calmness that defied expectations, stood like a rock.
With graceful and precise movements, he deflected every punch with his hands, turning the Monkey Man's energy against him.
All of the Monkey's efforts were wasted, as though he were trying to hit a ghost.
Realizing the futility of his assault, the Monkey changed tactics. He stepped back, and with a sudden twist, spun half a turn and launched a powerful roundhouse kick aimed at the Cobra's head.
The air whistled with the speed of the kick, which was far more precise and forceful than his previous punches.
The Cobra now had two choices: retreat or block.
With the pride of a warrior, he chose to confront it. In one fluid motion, he raised his arm to block the powerful kick.
"BOOM!"
The sound of the impact echoed through the arena.
But the Cobra didn't budge, as if the strike was nothing more than a gentle breeze. In a split second, he grabbed the Monkey's ankle with an iron grip.
The Monkey tried to pull his leg free, but it was no use.
Desperately, he jumped on his other leg, attempting to deliver another kick to the Cobra's head.
The Cobra, as if reading the Monkey's mind, bent slightly in an elegant motion. The Monkey's kick barely missed his head, cutting through empty air.
In one smooth motion, the Cobra yanked his opponent by the ankle, throwing him off balance.
The Monkey desperately tried to grab onto the ring's floor, but the Cobra was faster.
Pulling him closer, he delivered a powerful punch that landed squarely on the Monkey's face with pinpoint accuracy.
"BOOM!"
The sound of the punch reverberated throughout the venue.
The Monkey fell to the ground with the Cobra towering over him. Despite his dire position, the Monkey summoned his remaining strength. Taking advantage of his opponent's proximity, he lifted his head like lightning.
"CRACK!"
The sound of his forehead colliding with the Cobra's nose shocked the audience.
The Cobra staggered back, clutching his nose, now a fountain of blood.
Seizing the moment, the Monkey got back to his feet and charged toward his opponent.
But the Cobra, despite his injury, was still dangerous. With a sudden move, he launched a powerful kick that struck the Monkey's face, forcing him back to the ground.
"BOOM!"
The Monkey tried to get up again, but the Cobra didn't give him the chance. A final, powerful punch landed squarely, knocking the Monkey unconscious.
The bell rang, signaling the end of the first round. The Cobra stood victorious, blood streaming from his nose, while the Monkey lay on the ground, engulfed in the darkness of defeat.
"How many rounds does someone need to win?"
Although I already knew the answer, I asked to pass the time during the break and extract any information.
"It seems SIR doesn't enjoy these types of sports, so you've forgotten the rules quickly."
"I don't remember trivial matters, I have a lot to think about."
"Of course, of course, Sir. To refresh your memory, there are three rounds. To win, a competitor must claim victory in two."
I nodded, pretending to understand.
While I tried to think of a question that wouldn't seem too direct, the man surprised me by speaking first.
"My apologies, sir. The Faceless has yet to participate in any matches. I've tried to find information about him but to no avail. I apologize for my failure."
"Faceless… refresh my memory. Who is he?"
Who was this Faceless now? They just kept coming.
"Haha! It seems sir doesn't hold anyone in high regard if you've forgotten the Faceless, the uncrowned king of the underworld."
The uncrowned king of the underworld? Since when was there a king of the underworld, let alone an uncrowned one? What had happened to this kingdom to reach this level? I needed to find time to research this matter.
Ever since I woke up, I've been jumping from one problem to the next.
"I sent several men to inquire about him, but none returned. It wasn't unexpected."
Was he really that strong?
If you ask about someone from the big families, your men will simply return.
But if you ask about someone like this, expect them to visit you on a dark night to personally answer your question.
I remembered reading that line on the internet.
It had been the epitome of badassery.
The sudden blurring of an alarm jolted me from my thoughts.
The man quickly pressed one of the buttons beside him.
A small screen descended from the ceiling, displaying the location where the car had been parked earlier.
A man stood among the parked vehicles, glancing around as if searching for something.
What made me frown was his outfit and the way he approached my car.
The man next to me shot to his feet, yelling
"Damn it! Police!"
***********Communicate with the audience**************
Emiric: In your opinion, who will win, the monkey or the cobra? Let me hear your opinion.
Author: You can't hear them.
Emiric: Let me read your opinion, are you happy now?
Author: Almost, by the way, why are you suddenly talking to them?
Emiric: Interaction is just interaction with the audience.
Author: Are you trying to take my place?
Emiric: of course not, haha
Author: I'm watching you
創作者的想法 
InBetweenRealms
InBetweenRealms Monkey vs Cobra, which team will you choose?
Comment it and let me know.
每周推薦票狀態
-- 推薦票
榜單 
-- 推薦票