There were too many words in this passage that the boy could not understand.
"Interests, factions, conflicts."
A puzzled expression appeared on Ye Zi's face.
"It means everyone wants to become an Ace Gladiator, but in this life-and-death game, there can only be one winner, while there are many, many losers. If the losers join forces against the winner, then no matter how strong the winner is, he will have a very hard time dealing with them. Perhaps he will need some 'small' help."
The black-haired Ratfolk explained.
That was true enough.
In Turanze, Gladiators were not slaves forced into service. On the contrary, they represented supreme glory and countless benefits.
As long as one could win battle after battle and become an Ace Gladiator,
even a dishonored prisoner of war could enjoy the cheers of countless people.
Even if no Minotaur, Centaur, Boar People, or Mammoth Man blood flowed through his veins, even if he had wings and a shell, he could still become an honored guest and general of the Bloodhoof Clan.
There was also the freshest Totem Beast Flesh, weapons forged from bones naturally grown with totem patterns, and even the most powerful totems.
Everything Turan Heroes desired could be obtained in the arena through victory after victory.
Therefore, no one rejected the prospect of becoming an Ace Gladiator. They would even pay any price for it.
The competition among the "aces" was naturally as fierce as the black-haired Ratfolk had described, intense beyond measure.
Although Ye Zi had never personally witnessed a true Arena Tournament in Black Horn City,
he knew that the arena matches here were a hundred times crueler than the games in the village.
The mortality rate among Gladiators was extremely high.
Even publicly acknowledged aces often did not survive more than a