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Drip...

Drip...

In a secret dungeon hidden somewhere in Slaughter City, a place no one could find, only intermittent droplets of water fell onto the stone slabs, ringing out like a bell that struck directly at the soul.

The dim surroundings were gloomy and bizarre. The dungeon's only source of light came from the scattered stones embedded in the walls, which emitted a faint blue glow and barely revealed the dungeon's full layout.

The floor was slick with moisture, while the gray stone walls were covered in green moss, giving off the distinctive musty smell of a damp environment.

Of the dozen or so cells, fewer than half held prisoners.

Some lay on stone beds, while others leaned against the corners of their cells. Without exception, all of them looked listless and weak. Having no idea how many years they had been imprisoned here, they seemed to have long since given up thinking. Their numb expressions and hollow eyes allowed them to blend perfectly into the hopeless surroundings.

The fallen ones of Slaughter City would never know that every Hell Slaughter Arena champion personally sent out by the Slaughter King beneath the gaze of countless onlookers would end up in this sunless place, living a life worse than death.

In Slaughter City, if one possessed sufficient strength, one could at least live quite comfortably. But here, there was nothing except heavy chains that ran from the prison walls to their wrists and ankles, ending in black shackles veined with blood-colored demonic patterns.

Oh, and there was also what seemed to be a food bowl. But judging from the traces left on it, the intervals between meals were far from short—just enough to barely keep alive this group of beings whose weakest members were still Soul Douluo-level.

And in the deepest