After passing through a dark corridor, accompanied by a teeth-grating creak and the clatter of chains, the iron doors of the gloomy dungeon slowly rose.
Amid a tsunami of cheers, blinding sunlight flooded over them, making the Draenei girls, who had spent so long in darkness, instinctively close their eyes.
Yet what arrived with the sunlight was not the warmth they had imagined, but a bone-chilling cold.
It was the shadow of death from the arena, accompanied by the stench of excrement and urine, as well as the thick smell of blood.
"Damn blue-skinned freaks, your opponents have arrived! Prepare to be baptized in blood!" a rough Orc voice roared behind the Draenei girls.
"Choose weapons that suit you, then entertain us with your lives," another Orc said smugly.
Yrel stamped her hooves in fury and took a one-handed warhammer and a round shield from a nearby weapon rack. Beside her, several bedraggled and frail Draenei also picked up their weapons—mostly warhammers and the like.
"Silence—"
Suddenly, a shout rang out from the arena outside, and the entire coliseum fell silent.
Apparently, the owner of that voice held considerable prestige among the "audience."
"Next, let us welcome our new gladiators—our prisoners and slaves! Let these cowardly blue-skinned freaks show us their strength!"
As the voice rang out, bursts of coarse laughter erupted from the stands.
The audience's laughter even drowned out the announcer's voice, yet the announcer did not mind in the slightest.
Because the war against the Draenei had gone far too smoothly, the peace-loving Draenei had gone from being a "civilized race" once admired by the warlike Orcs to a byword for weakness and cowardice.
Praising their "strength" now was nothing more than mockery.
Seeming to catch the sarcasm, Yrel ground her teeth.
Never before had she hated