Whip Torture

As the Mighty Lion and Spartacus ate so earnestly, it was as if they were nobles sitting in a luxurious villa lobby filled with fragrant aromas, quietly enjoying fresh oysters and fish (Romans favored all aphrodisiacs), rather than eating moldy bread and stinking beef covered in excrement in this foul-smelling, shit-and-urine-filled pit.

Then, Spartacus began to rest with his eyes closed, while Verro simply sat in the dung pit and stretched comfortably, like two lazy Mighty Lions in the shade of a large tree in the African Otavango Delta on a summer afternoon, full of fresh meat and ready for a long nap.

"Damn, these two have quite the appetite and guts," Little Fatty thought, feeling inferior.

Kirk thought for a moment, took out a bottle of clean water from his Space Mark, and threw it to Verro. These two had strong tastes, but they couldn't drink urine. Fortunately, Little Fatty's talent of [Abnormal Metabolism] made him hungry quickly, and his Space Mark was full of delicious food and drinks, even taking up his own space.

Verro took the clean water, gave Kirk a surprised look, then opened the bottle, took a sip, and threw it to Spartacus. Spartacus, forgoing his usual stoicism, opened his eyes, took a sip, and set it aside.

After that, there was no further interaction between them. It wasn't until evening that someone came and threw down a rope, telling them all to come up.

"I want you to start training immediately and make up for the lessons you've delayed due to your stupidity!" the Black trainer Dochet snarled, cracking a shiny black whip.

As for Kirk and Little Fatty, they were completely ignored. In his eyes, the two gladiator training materials weren't even qualified to speak to him. Would you talk to a punching bag?

Fortunately, slaves soon took them away. Before leaving, Kirk looked back and saw Omos whipping Verro and Spartacus as they trained. The two were sparring with wooden training swords.

Kirk and Little Fatty were taken to a "pen." You heard that right, a place enclosed by logs like a cattle pen. And there were about 20 contractors inside!

This time, Spartacus was in [Arena Mode]. Many contractors were teleported by The Space. This was a kill mode with a reward bonus. As the two were pushed in, many contractors eyed the unfortunate pair with malicious intent. The two unfortunates were like drowned rats, covered in shit and urine, reeking terribly. Some female contractors wrinkled their noses and stayed far away.

There were also contractors looking at the two with envy, jealousy, and hatred. Contractors had been through all sorts of hardships. If they could have close contact with the plot protagonists for a day, let alone be thrown into a dung pit, some would even eat shit! As long as there were benefits.

Kirk and Little Fatty found a secluded spot and sat down. They knew it was a critical time and dared not be careless, taking turns on watch. Little Fatty slept first, and Kirk took the first half of the night. They would switch shifts in the latter half.

As night fell, the moon rose, and large bonfires fueled by fish oil were lit in the camp. From the camp's training grounds, the screams of Spartacus and Verro could be heard. Both were tough men like Mighty Lions, with firm wills. To hear them cry out like that, one could only imagine the immense suffering they endured.

Kirk was deep in thought. There were no contractors awake around him now, with snores rising and falling. But only he knew how many were truly asleep.

The situation was dire. The Space's intentions were as clear as those infamous masterpieces by Edison Chen for Cecilia Cheung, written on their faces for all to see.

Kill!

Not only was killing explicitly permitted without punishment, but a 20% reward bonus was offered on top of the original rewards. What made contractors even more tempted was the arrangement for guaranteed drops of [Valuable Item] and [Soul Crystal]!

A single [Soul Crystal] (fragment) on the Las Vegas Space Taobao website had never had a buyer's bid below 10,000 survival points, yet it was always unavailable. He had specifically asked the beautiful Yuqing at the Upgrade Hall, and this Soul Crystal was essential for contractors to upgrade their skills to level 6 or higher. Since most contractors were stuck at level 5, and Kirk himself had five skills at the level 5 bottleneck, the demand for this item was immense.

Finally, during the plot summary, the collection amount of [Soul Crystal] would be used to calculate additional plot rewards! This was truly pouring oil on the fire!

In this plot world, all contractors existed as slaves, confined to the training camp, with no opportunity to go out and farm, no time for side quests or hidden missions. All gains had to come from mutual slaughter. Adventuring in plot worlds allowed entry only once every seven days, and time was opportunity cost. If this opportunity was wasted without gaining anything, you would fall behind by one world. The next time you encountered an enemy, you might be just a little short, and you would die at their hands, becoming a cold, bloody key! A slight difference, a matter of life and death.

Can you kill gladiators? Don't be brainless. First, these gladiators clearly made a living by killing, and contractors were merely human sandbags for them to practice on; they were not to be trifled with. Second, gladiators were slaves, paupers. If they had money, they would have bought their freedom long ago and wouldn't be squatting in shit pits all day. Robbing slaves, especially those who were expendable, fearless, and skilled fighters, would you be able to afford the injuries?

Kirk sneered coldly. Contractors were probably all focused on the one thing: how to turn others into bloody keys to put into their Space Marks, and how to hoard the Soul Crystals for themselves.

Until dawn, nothing happened all night. Everyone was wary of each other, no one spoke or tried to build rapport. As for whether there were secret plots or alliances, only the parties involved knew.

"Materials! Get up!" a big guy roared, whipping the huddled contractors. His name was Barka, a cruel and burly man, a highly skilled gladiator, and also Bartikos's bodyguard, sometimes acting as an assassin. He was in charge of managing these "materials."

"Don't even think about escaping. Someone already tested the consequences of escaping yesterday. I assure you, being thrown into the dung pit was a blessing from Jupiter! I talked to Bartitas last night, and he agreed with me: zero tolerance for escape. If anyone else tries to run, our rookie gladiators who need to kill will have work to do, and they might have been waiting impatiently." Barka shouted loudly.

"Barka is right!" a lazy voice sounded from behind. It was Bartitas. He said gloomily, word by word: "Wow, look at you all. I spent a full 100 gold coins to buy you from the slave market, causing a severe economic crisis in the training camp. This price even exceeded the price I paid for the [God of War] Cress! You all belong to me personally. According to the great Roman law, you must pay a price if you want to escape! Barka! Punish those two slaves from yesterday in public!"

Kirk and Little Fatty were quickly dragged out of the "cattle pen" by attendant slaves and tied to a fallen log. Barka grinned and raised his whip!

"Crack!" With the first strike, Little Fatty began to scream. His Stamina had reached 10 points, and his health had piled up to 140 points, yet he couldn't endure even one lash.

Kirk couldn't help but cry out as well. This whip was extremely vicious, made from dozens of strands of fine cowhide, soaked in olive oil for ten days, dried in the sun, soaked again for ten days, repeated ten times, so that the toughness of the cowhide and the moisture of the olive oil were perfectly integrated. Then, the tip of the whip was wrapped with lead-plated metal. As the whip came down, there was first a suction sensation, as if leeches were desperately drilling into the skin, followed by a searing, unbearable pain from the metal head biting down. With a flick of the wielder's wrist, a strip of skin was scraped off, leaving only bloody tissue and flesh. The lead-tipped whip had a mild toxin that prevented the wound from healing and left a deep mark.

After receiving 20 lashes each, both were on the verge of death. Kirk struggled to look up and saw pairs of contractor eyes, hidden beneath expressions of laughter, mockery, indifference, and cold disdain – there was a deep, bone-chilling greed in their gaze! Like a pack of arctic wolves drooling as they stared at two moose with injured hind legs!

You're injured from the whipping? Very good. We'll find an opportunity to send you to heaven, and we'll gladly take your bloody keys!

Kirk lowered his head, blood dripping from his forehead onto the ground. The ground was covered in golden sand, and the Mediterranean breeze blew from afar. The scorching sun beat down on the wound on his head. Everything was so hot, so hot it was suffocating...

Fresh blood dripped onto the sand, absorbed within a second, like the lives of gladiators lost in the arena...

So this was blood and sand...

Mori's face was roaring in front of him. He couldn't hear, but Kirk knew what he was saying!

Kirk's eyes turned red, blood seeping from the corners of his eyes. His entire gaze was like a cornered wolf, fierce and violent!

If you want my life, you'll have to pay with your own!

Kirk and Little Fatty were dragged and thrown to the ground. Bartitas said loudly, "You two are always so lucky. To protect my property, you can skip today's training! Normal training resumes tomorrow!" Then he said coldly to the Black trainer Dochet, "Get to work!"

Little Fatty was whipped until his skin and flesh were torn, losing the strength to even speak. He came from a good family and had been pampered, never experiencing such suffering. He whimpered and mumbled, his general meaning being that he wanted to kill Bartitas and Barka.

Kirk, however, was calmer than ever. Here, the greatest enemies were not the gladiators, nor even Bartitas, because they were his personal property, and Bartitas wouldn't let them die easily. But contractors were different; they had enough reasons to covet his and Little Fatty's lives!

Recalling the last sentence of the Space's prompt: "Beware of your back," Kirk clenched his fists tightly.

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