Zeng Mu pondered for a moment, then murmured, "I'm still not quite sure."
"I know you must have something in mind, right?" He scratched his head and smiled.
When the betting tray reached them, Zeng Mu put all thirteen thousand Livre he had into the black basket, which belonged to Wind Boy, rather than Leg King.
After a brief hesitation, he put in all two thousand he had borrowed as well.
A minute after the betting attendants finished their round and returned beneath the cage, the bell rang, announcing the start of the third fight.
Neither fighter was a pushover. They were similar in size, with explosively developed muscles in their arms and legs, so fiercely sculpted they hardly looked real, as though someone had painted them on. Even some of the middle-aged society ladies who still retained their charms could not suppress their desire at the sight of those bodies. They kept covering their mouths and secretly swallowing, thinking of finding the winner afterward and spending hundreds, or even thousands, to enjoy an entire night with a beast.
More than one person had that idea. Of the thirty-odd women among the hundred spectators, over ten had actually come for that sort of satisfaction, with watching the fights merely a bonus.
In fact, besides those ravenous, thrill-seeking women whose husbands had died young, several young men had come for the same reason.
For the fighters here, that income far exceeded what they earned from fighting-several times as much, or even more than ten times.
But they had their principles, too, so they would not let those male admirers have their way.
Perhaps the prices the men offered simply could not compare with those society ladies' bids. If they offered several times as much, one or two of the fighters might