I Haven't Lost Yet

A frantic voice rang out from the arena: "Hahaha, I'm rich!"

"Miming, you're going too far!" Saint Charlos popped up from somewhere, staring in dismay at the scene.

Shalria raged, "Where on earth did you run off to?"

"I went and bet on the Gorgon Sisters to win, so I sat on the other side!"

Even Miming couldn't help but wear an expression of helpless exasperation identical to Shalria's. Was this guy a beast, or a genius?

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Charlos sniffed his snot and said shamelessly, "The moment I saw Miming was so sure, I knew he'd probably lose. I bet on his side to win, so even if we lose, we still make a profit. Hey hey, aren't I smart?"

"Very smart." Miming nodded speechlessly. This guy with snot permanently hanging from his nose looked like an idiot, but every now and then he pulled off astonishing stunts.

Just when everyone felt the matter was already over, a roar suddenly came from the arena: "It's not over yet—! I haven't lost yet—!"

Everyone was taken aback. Tesoro was clearly the weakest one in this match. At first he could still use some tricks, but what could he do now? Be beaten to death by the Gorgon Sisters?

Right then, what Tesoro saw before his eyes wasn't the Gorgon Sisters, but his beloved Stella, the woman he would rather become a slave just to see again.

"Tesoro, because of your existence, I feel happy from the bottom of my heart." Stella, crying tears just like that, smiled at him before being dragged away by the Celestial Dragons like a dog. This was the last time he ever saw Stella.

Tesoro thrust out two fingers and suddenly jammed them fiercely into his own eyes.

Everyone gasped in unison. Blood streamed from Tesoro's eyes as he panted, "Like this, I can't be petrified anymore, right? I can still fight!"

Hancock was stunned. What an extraordinary man! With not a shred of possibility of winning, he was actually willing to blind himself just to avoid petrification.

A cheer went up among the surrounding Celestial Dragons, and immediately after, Sandersonia's tail was seen whipping crisply through the air with a smack. Tesoro spun around as he flew through the air and crashed to the ground.

A speechless silence fell all around.

The most speechless of all were Miming and the Boa Sisters, because only the four of them knew best that as long as one used excruciating pain to divert their attention, they wouldn't be petrified. Given Tesoro's injuries, he wouldn't have been petrified even without gouging out his own eyes.

Yet Tesoro doing this was probably a bid for death on his own terms, to spare his beloved from being implicated. Poor fellow, he didn't know about the bet, nor that once he lost, he would actually be saved together with his love.

Suddenly someone shouted: "Kill, kill, kill—!"

Someone else also shouted: "Don't kill—! Don't kill—!"

Miming raised his hand high to quiet the voices, and then, with his thumb pointing upward, he uttered a line that everyone would find unforgettable: "I, Saint Sanming, do not kill those who lack the will to live—!"

Not kill!

People all around cheered, others cursed, and even many Celestial Dragon children began imitating Miming's speech. Meanwhile, Shalria's heart hammered wildly, plunging her into boundless agony. What should she do? Prince Miming was indeed still so handsome!

Blood and tears flowed from Tesoro's eyes as he collapsed resentfully to the ground, passing out completely.

Soon the arena manager was freed from petrification and hastily brought the Seastone helmet back to Hancock. Only after Hancock put the helmet on did the panic in the arena gradually subside. Looking at the arena full of petrified people, some felt lingering fear while others gloated. Yet because there was already a precedent, they weren't all that worried either.

Sure enough, the Trumpet Snail blasted Miming's cheerful voice into every corner of the arena: "Lift the petrification, one hundred million per person."

Everyone who heard it was deeply displeased.

The arena manager was drenched in sweat: "Saint Sanming! Saint Sanming, sir! A lot of our own people have been petrified!"

A group of rioting Celestial Dragons widened their eyes. Damn, since when did the arena manager and Saint Sanming start calling themselves "our own people"? But come to think of it, the arena operated under the supervision of the Gorosei, and Saint Sanming was the default successor to the next generation of Gorosei.

Soon, Saint Sanming showed mercy, lifting the petrification from everyone except the Celestial Dragons, and also freeing the few Celestial Dragons who had placed bets on the Gorgon Sisters.

The petrified Celestial Dragon families once again raised a ruckus before the Gorosei.

Before long, the Gorosei arrived at the arena, looked at this stretch of petrified statue forest, and chuckled.

"This is really quite interesting."

"Making a disgrace of yourselves."

"We should install some Seastone nets here next time, and equip CP0 with a few special pairs of glasses."

The Gorosei strolled around admiring the sight for a while, summoned Miming, and proposed lifting the petrification for everyone. After all, this incident had already blown up once, and if they kept playing this trick, the resentment would simply be too great. Besides, those three slaves who dared to defy the Celestial Dragons were far too audacious and had to die; they couldn't be left alive.

"Huh? I thought... Sure, okay." Miming put on an extremely sensible look and agreed instantly, without even calling them "you old immortals," indicating it could be done for free.

"Wait," Saint Ichi stopped Miming, "what did you think?"

"I originally planned this," Miming grinned. "So many petrified people, a hundred million each—that's at least tens of billions of Berries. I've been causing a bit too much trouble lately and feel I've gone a bit overboard, so I originally intended this money as a filial offering to you old immortals."

"One hundred million per person!" The Gorosei instantly changed their stance. Hahaha, petrified brilliantly! What were they called again—the Gorgon Sisters? Not bad, not bad, a very interesting ability.

They could run a tab anyway, and the Gorosei could deduct it directly from the Heavenly Tribute brought in as tribute from various regions; even if a bunch of Celestial Dragons threw a fit, it was useless. The accounts were tallied in no time. Miming alone earned thirty billion from the bets he placed, while the Gorosei piggybacked on the scheme and pocketed over fifty billion out of thin air, putting them in extremely high spirits.

Saint Rosward in particular looked utterly furious: "Next time everyone back me, I'm going to run for the Gorosei—!"

"Alright." The Gorosei wore expressions of full support.

This effect was even better than anticipated. Now this bunch of bastards finally knew what the majesty of the Gorosei meant. Over the past century, not a single Celestial Dragon had been willing to run for the Gorosei. By now, choosing a new Gorosei had become a headache-inducing problem, but Miming's appearance had changed that status quo.

The Gorosei were willing to indulge Miming's mischief and were happy to see the jackasses driven frantic. After all, without that kind of strength, how could anyone be qualified for the job of a Gorosei in the future?

"Damn it, I'm running for the Gorosei too!" Cries of crazed Celestial Dragons rang out everywhere.

The Gorosei didn't mind in the least; instead, they chuckled together. With so many people wanting to run for the Gorosei, this was a tremendous blessing. Miming, job well done.