Chapter 72: The Piercing Duke

At the Bloodfang Arena, the crowd roared like a swarm of black ants in an anthill, dizzying in its density.

For this would be the greatest spectacle ever staged: the Man-Eating Lion Eury against the strongest slave executioner—a battle of man versus beast, packed with maximum spectacle.

As a result, the entire Slave Capital stood empty, as people came either to watch the fights or to gamble for sudden wealth; many nobles, disregarding the long journey, traveled thousands of miles to arrive here.

“Hahaha, dear spectators, welcome to the Bloodfang Arena—and welcome to my Slave Capital!”

A booming laugh echoed throughout the arena; people turned to see a man in a black tailcoat standing motionless in midair, defying gravity.

His tailcoat was impeccably tailored, with a blood-red gem brooch pinned at the collar, shimmering with an eerie glow under the sun.

His skin was as pale as paper, his eyes like two rubies flashing with dangerous, alluring light; his face was handsome yet cold, his high cheekbones and deep-set eye sockets lending him an aura of unapproachable authority.

A crimson stream of magic swirled around him like ribbons—perhaps the reason he could hover.

“The Piercing Duke!”

“The Piercing Duke!”

At the sight of the man, the audience could not help but shout his title.

Simon Kelai , the hero who shone in the Dragon-Lion War, once summoned countless bloodspears to pierce an entire rebel army from bottom to top, soldiers nailed to the air like scarecrows in a rice field, screaming in agony.

The scene of that day was like hell descending upon earth, and from it he earned the terrifying title “The Piercing Duke.”

After the war, for his extraordinary battlefield merits, King Sosia VII granted him the title of Honorary Earl and bestowed upon him the core territories of the former Mason Duchy as his domain.

And Simon, within just ten years on this land, built the most economically prosperous city in the Sosia Kingdom—the Slave Capital.

(Honorary titles are not hereditary and rarely come with land grants—for example, if Simon dies, the Slave Capital will revert to the crown.)

“The named beast, the Man-Eating Lion, against the strongest slave—Emerging from a hundred Shengsi battles—the Executioner!”

“I guarantee on my honor that this will be the most thrilling fight since the arena’s construction. Before the main event begins, let us enjoy a warm-up performance!”

“The Executioner versus a group of common fighters and one transcendent warrior. Heh—he’s even discarded his weapon. Clearly, such opponents cannot satisfy his bloodlust. Let’s see what happens.”

Simon’s voice was deep and magnetic; under the influence of magic, every word reached each ear with perfect clarity.

Then he flew back to the highest VIP box, where several nobles were raising their cups in conversation.

“Executioner, good! No need for weapons against trash—crush their skulls with your fists!”

“I want to see you smash them flat with one punch!”

Misinterpreting Thirteen’s actions, some bloodthirsty spectators, eyes red, began shouting.

On the arena’s sandy ground.

Among the thin slaves, the transcendent warrior at their head—unable to bear the insult of Thirteen discarding his weapon—charged forward, axe raised, straight at the giant.

Clang!

The axe struck Thirteen’s shoulder; despite his copper-and-iron-hard skin, the blade tore open a wound, and blood streamed down.

The transcendent warrior, having braced himself for a retaliatory punch that would shatter his skull, was stunned—

The monstrous, muscle-bound giant made no counterattack. He simply stared silently at him.

Then, under the astonished gazes of all, the giant slowly closed his eyes and sat cross-legged on the sand.

“So you’re mocking me?” The transcendent warrior grew even angrier.

Though he knew his resistance was like a mantis trying to stop a cart, only making the bloodthirsty nobles more excited, he could not tolerate such contempt.

His name was Hall. Though a slave, he was also a warrior who had earned transcendence through countless Shengsi battles.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are warriors. Resist and die. Surrender and die. Why not die fighting?” Hall shouted.

Then he charged again, leading the way toward the giant.

Thud-thud-thud.

Inspired by him, the other eleven slave fighters—trainees in combat—grabbed their weapons and rushed forward in unison.

Clang-clang-clang!

Crash-crash-crash!

The slaves roared as they surged forward—axes, hammers, fists—strikes rained down on Thirteen like a storm.

His skin tore open; his already scarred, horrific body now bore fresh wounds, blood gushing from each, staining the sand and his body until he was nearly a man of blood.

Yet even so, Thirteen made no counterattack. He kept his eyes closed, silently enduring every blow; though wounds multiplied, his body did not so much as tremble.

“Hey, what’s wrong with the Executioner?”

“Is he under too much pressure for the Man-Eating Lion fight? Has he developed a masochistic fetish?”

“Could he have awakened a blessing where the more he’s injured, the stronger he becomes? Is he stacking power before facing the lion?”

As time passed, the audience buzzed with speculation; many began yelling for refunds.

They came to watch slaughter and the man-lion duel—not to see a giant stand like a post and take punishment.

It’d be more fun to go home and beat a pretty female slave!

On the arena’s sandy ground.

The frantic slaves also noticed something was wrong; their attacks gradually slowed.

For they realized the giant before them truly offered no resistance—he was begging to die.

“Hey, you’re a Berserker, aren’t you? I’ve seen your killing frenzy. Why won’t you fight? Do you look down on us?”

Hall lowered his blood-slicked iron axe, panting as he demanded.

Meanwhile, in the highest seats of the audience.

“Sir Simon, is your strongest slave mad? I traveled thousands of miles to the Slave Capital not to watch him be beaten to death by a pack of trash.”

A middle-aged noble frowned as he spoke.

He was Mo Wen Dain, a kingdom marquis—though people respectfully called him “Lord of the North.”

The North was the largest territory in the Sosia Kingdom outside the royal heartland, stretching four times the size of the Southern Region; thus, the Lord of the North’s authority was unimaginable.

“Heh… Lord Marquis, please remain calm. He’s merely trying to please the audience in this manner.”

Facing the Lord of the North’s accusation, even as master of the Slave Capital, Simon’s face wore an awkward smile.

Then he gripped the railing and shouted down at the blood-soaked Thirteen below:

“Executioner! I, Simon Kelai , your master, command you—kill these slaves, now!”

(End of Chapter)