"A good show? What other good show is there to watch? It’s obviously over, isn’t it?" Deluo, gradually recovering from his excitement, asked puzzledly.
"These two are a pair of adventurers from the surface. Unfortunately, they weren’t smart enough to learn to respect the rules of the Underdark, so they became slaves in the Duel Arena," Mage Vizren explained to the three of them. "However, my student asked me today to spare one of them. Although I don’t understand his purpose, it’s just a matter of lifting a finger for me."
Lynch looked at the Dark Elf Mage and felt that he seemed different from other Drow. In the eyes of typical Dark Elves, you could see an expression that was a perfect blend of cruelty and cunning. But in Vizren’s eyes, in his facial expressions, it was hard to discern any emotion. His face only showed indifference.
Whether he was stating a fact or smiling while explaining something, no matter what expression he put on, Lynch always felt he could not reach his inner thoughts. The old mage only used his facial muscles just to put on an appearance.
"Wake up, you little sleepyhead, you should come and see this scene. As a Dwarf, you’ve probably never seen an execution."
Nimo suddenly awoke from his sleep, as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over his head. He floated to the crystal window and looked at the scene below.
"Don’t worry, I’m just letting him have a look, you don’t need to try to lift my magic." Vizren shook his finger, "It wouldn’t do much good anyway."
"These two seem to be quite good adventurers, able to defeat the Tauren Berserker of the arena, but they should be sentenced to death by the arena." Vizren moved to the crystal window, standing by the corner of the wall watching the boiling crowd below.
"Die! Die! Die! Die!" the frenzied crowd erupted with a deafening roar. And this chant for their death first emerged from the goblin "spectators" scattered around. When they infected those around them, the idea of wishing death on the victors spread like a plague throughout the arena, drowning out whatever your initial thoughts might have been.
"Therefore! At everyone’s request, today’s fate of the two victors is: beheading!"
The two victors stood in the center of the arena, saying nothing, too exhausted to say anything. Once you enter the arena and become its enslaved fighters, there are only two paths: one is to be killed by your opponent in combat, the other is to become the victor and then submit your fate to the audience, hoping for that faint chance of freedom.
But the audience often favored bloodshed—they came to watch duels for that—so the victor’s fate was usually death anyway.
A few Troll Executioners holding broad-headed beheading swords, accompanied by a small squad of Bear Goblins guards, slowly approached the two adventurers. They were there just in case, to prevent the condemned from lashing out before death. However, it seemed such precautions were unnecessary as both guys could barely stand upright.
"My person is about to appear." Vizman pointed to the arena beneath his feet, still indifferent, indifferent as a Transcender watching ants living aimlessly.
Parting the crowd, a Dark Elf Warrior quickly approached the Executioners, handing him a piece of paper. A few trolls gathered to look at it, nodding, then returned the paper to the messenger.
"We’ve just received, a redemption contract. The slave Kafus has now become the personal slave of Rathress resident Yarriel, and has acquired the arena’s consent." The latest_epɪ_sodes are on_the novel⦿fire.net
"Sorry, only one execution to watch today, but there will be something more fun than that..."
Before Lynch could raise a question, a change occurred in the arena center. The person sentenced to death, from unknown strength, suddenly strangled his nearby companion’s neck tightly, forcefully pressing him to the ground. Through the Eye of Insight, Lynch could easily see his expression. His eyes were bloodshot, the exertion causing the muscles around his eye sockets to bulge. He was breathing quickly and heavily through his mouth and nose, the veins in his arms clearly protruding under the stained blood. While using all his strength to assault the person beneath him, he shouted loudly: "Why! Why just you! How can you!"