Underground Arena

Fan Lang made his way to the entrance of the Underground Arena.

Naturally, a place like this had guards, who also happened to receive guests.

Fan Lang stated his purpose, claiming that he wanted to become a freelance gladiator. The gatekeepers could not make that decision, so they led him into the Underground Arena to speak with the person in charge.

The Underground Arena's manager was named Dou Bin. In game terms, he was an NPC.

Dou Bin's name sounded far too much like "idiot." In the game Magic Martial Era, players simply called this NPC "Idiot" whenever they mentioned him. Ending up with a nickname like that was quite unfortunate for him.

Dou Bin was a short middle-aged man with shifty little eyes. He always held a smoking pipe in his hand, and it was forever lit, sending wisps of bluish smoke into the air.

Fan Lang got straight to the point. The moment he met Dou Bin, he declared that he wanted to become a freelance gladiator.

The advantage of a freelance gladiator was freedom. They could come and go as they pleased, fight if they wanted to, and refuse if they did not. No one would force them.

The opposite was a slave gladiator. Such people had lost their freedom entirely and were completely controlled by the Underground Arena. They had to fight endlessly every day until they died. Their lives were miserable.

"What's your name? Tell me about yourself so I can make a record," Dou Bin said as he smoked.

"My surname is Fan, given name Lang. Zero Level Mystic General, from the City Lord's Mansion. I'm here to make quick money. That's about it," Fan Lang gave a brief introduction.

"So you're from the City Lord's Mansion. Since you've come here, the City Lord's Mansion's rules no longer apply. There are only the Underground Arena's rules here."

"Don't worry. I know all the rules here."

"Good. Here's a test card. It can determine a Mystic Warrior's level. Test yourself and prove your exact strength."

Dou Bin took out a card and placed it before Fan Lang.

Some people who came to the Underground Arena concealed their true strength, deliberately fighting opponents far weaker than themselves to secure steady victories. To put it bluntly, they were pretending to be weak in order to bully the strong.

That was why this kind of test was necessary. Every gladiator had to be tested.

Fan Lang took the test card and held it in his hand. He did not need to do anything; the card determined his strength on its own, and several words appeared on it.

Mystic General, Zero Level.

It matched Fan Lang's claim exactly.

Dou Bin nodded and puffed out smoke. "Fine. I'll arrange a match for you today. I guarantee your opponents will all be Mystic Generals. Win a match, and you'll get eight hundred taels of silver. You'll get paid even if you lose, though it'll be much less—only one hundred taels, as medicine money."

"My time is valuable. Arrange it quickly," Fan Lang urged.

"How about letting you take the stage in the next match? The next gladiator is called Kuang Meng. He happens to be a Mystic General, though he's several levels higher than you."

"Kuang Meng? That big guy?"

"Yes. Looks like you know him."

"Fine. Him, then!"

"A Zero Level Mystic General daring to fight Kuang Meng? You've got guts, kid. Leave behind a nickname. Most gladiators go by nicknames. The audience likes that sort of thing."

"As for a nickname... call me Wanderer."

Fan Lang casually came up with a nickname.

This nickname was destined to make a name for itself in the Underground Arena!

After a series of arrangements, the next duel finally began.

The Duel Arena lay deep underground and covered a vast area. The center was the battlefield, surrounded by a barrier. Beyond it were stands with an unobstructed view, where several hundred spectators sat all around. Most of them participated in bets on the gladiators' victories and defeats; they were not merely there for the spectacle.

To these spectators, both bloody slaughter and high-stakes gambling were thrilling forms of entertainment.

A host held an amplification card and delivered his opening speech at triple volume.

"In the next duel, the participants will be the battle-hardened Kuang Meng and a newcomer named Wanderer! Both are Mystic Generals, so this duel is sure to be spectacular! Anyone who hasn't placed a bet, go ahead and do so—there's still time!"

"On one side is an experienced veteran gladiator, and on the other is a newcomer entering the arena for the first time. Who will prove superior? Will this duel cost someone his life? Let us wait and see!"

"Open the Iron Gates and let the two gladiators enter!"

The host stirred up the audience with his silver tongue, fulfilled his duty, and withdrew through an Iron Gate.

Two other Iron Gates opened. A burly man over two meters tall emerged from the left, while a spirited young man stepped out from the right.

Their identities were obvious.

Kuang Meng's face was covered in scars. He looked Fan Lang up and down, then sneered. "A brat who hasn't even grown all his hair yet wants to be my opponent? Looks like this fight will be an easy win for me. If you kneel and beg me now, I might go easy on you later and consider sparing your worthless life."

Fan Lang said nothing. He merely fixed his eyes on Kuang Meng without blinking, his gaze sharp as an arrow. He was waiting for the gong. Only when it sounded could they begin fighting.

Kuang Meng continued prattling on.

"You little bastard, why aren't you talking? Are you mute? Why would a cripple come participate in a duel? This is a place where people die. Gladiators die here almost every day. See the red on the ground? Those are bloodstains. They can't even be washed away. You might very well leave your life here, dying without being worth a single coin, just like all those gladiators who died before you."

Kuang Meng alternated between provoking, mocking, and threatening him.

He had an ulterior motive for saying these things: he wanted to disrupt his opponent's state of mind.

In a life-and-death battle between equals, a single thought could have an enormous impact.

Anger and fear could both lead a person to death.

Kuang Meng dearly hoped to stir some emotional turbulence in this unfamiliar opponent and increase his own chances of winning, but he found that Fan Lang remained calm all along, without the slightest change.

Very few people could maintain such composure. Usually, only veteran gladiators who had fought countless battles could manage it.

"Damn it, is this kid really a newcomer?"

Kuang Meng's scheme had failed, and he cursed inwardly.

Up in the stands, some spectators actually recognized Fan Lang.

The original Fan Lang had grown up in Wind Cloud City, so it was hardly strange for locals to know him.

"I know that newcomer called Wanderer. His name is Fan Lang. He's just a street thug with no real strength."

"That does seem to be Fan Lang. I know him too. He's just a little punk who gets beaten up all the time on the streets."

"Looks like Kuang Meng has this duel in the bag. Hurry and bet on Kuang Meng—put down more money!"

Those who recognized Fan Lang thought he was still the same street thug he had once been and were certain that he would lose. Spurred on by them, many people placed their money on Kuang Meng.

Hundreds of taels, thousands of taels, tens of thousands of taels... the stakes grew larger and larger.

CLANG!

The gong signaling the start of the battle finally rang out.

The instant it sounded, Fan Lang shot forward with a whoosh!