Chapter 75: The Gift of Resurrection

In the dark, damp, overcrowded slave dungeon.

Thirteen slowly awoke from sleep, and at the sight before him, he felt as if he had crossed into another lifetime.

“You slept so deeply, you didn’t wake up for a full day and night.”

Hall, beside him, yawned and complained.

“Thank you,” Thirteen said in a low voice.

He knew that if Hall had not stayed beside him, the other slaves would have attacked him.

Though it wouldn’t have harmed him, it would have shattered his final beautiful dream—and kept him from seeing the Prince.

“It’s nothing. A life for a life,” Hall said coolly.

Tap-tap-tap.

At that moment, footsteps sounded.

Benson appeared outside the cell.

“Looks like you made the wrong choice,” Benson sighed deeply, gazing at the still-packed dungeon.

“Your opponent is the man-eating lion Eury. For years, it has roamed the wastelands unchecked—mainly because its hide is impervious to blades and immune to fire and water.”

“Even with your divine strength, without a sharp magical weapon, you stand no chance against it. Your fate will be to become rotting meat in its belly.”

“Kill! Slaughter every useless soul here, and you’ll receive a weapon—and a bright future!”

“You’re only twenty-one. You’ve spent your entire life in this dungeon, never seeing sunlight, never tasting food or a woman’s touch—will you really die like this without regret?”

Benson pleaded desperately—he truly didn’t want his hard-trained slave to die.

Hearing his words, the slaves in the dungeon shrank fearfully into the corners.

For if they were the executioner, they would have already slaughtered without hesitation.

“I will not kill another innocent soul.”

“Death does not frighten me. Losing my belief means losing everything.”

Yet Thirteen simply rose slowly, gazing calmly at the man outside the cell.

“Stubborn fool! Then go fight the lion with empty hands!” Benson roared.

And among the slaves, their dull eyes slowly began to gleam.

On the arena floor, the noon sun hung high, baking the sand into searing heat.

The circular spectator stands remained packed, every seat filled—even with several people crammed onto a single seat.

Under the gaze of all, Thirteen stood once more on the sand.

But this time, what greeted him was not cheers, but

“Butcher, you coward—go die!”

“Die die die!”

“Heh, thanks to you, how else would Master Simon have been forced to pay out so much?”

Unlike yesterday’s cheers, the crowd now mostly spat curses, many even shouting for him to die immediately.

The reason was simple: yesterday, most spectators had bet on the Butcher. But after yesterday’s farce, nearly everyone switched their bets to the man-eating lion.

“Hmph. Worthless trash.”

Watching Thirteen arrive empty-handed below, Simon on the highest platform growled darkly.

Now, the vast majority had bet on the lion—meaning he would lose a fortune.

But it was unavoidable. To compensate for yesterday’s chaos and to preserve the arena’s reputation, this cost was necessary.

As the ancient sage Frankenstein said—reputation has value.

So long as the arena’s reputation endures, it remains a golden egg-laying hen—even if he must lose a fortune, it is worth it.

Tap-tap-tap.

With a heavy tread, a monstrous beast emerged from the opposite corridor.

It was a lion, standing over three meters at the shoulder, its colossal frame suffocating in its scale.

Its fur was deep brown, its mane blazing like fire, its golden eyes glinting with bloodlust.

Above its head floated a line of deep blue text—Eury: the name the world had given it.

“Roar.” The beast let out a low growl—not loud, yet enough to make the scalp of any listener prick.

After stepping out of the narrow passage, the lion did not fix its gaze on Thirteen ahead, but scanned the sea of spectators, its mouth dripping thick saliva in excitement.

So much food!

Swish!

The next instant, the lion vanished from its spot, becoming a blur as it lunged toward the spectators above.

Clang-clang-clang!

At the last possible moment, five or six blood-red spears erupted from the sand, blocking its charge.

“Beast! Only those on the sand are yours to eat!”

Simon roared from the platform, a torrent of crimson magic exploding from his body like a tidal wave.

He knew that a named beast’s intelligence could understand his words.

“Roar!” The lion bellowed, then reluctantly retreated.

Its animal instinct told it: that human was too strong to fight.

“So terrifying…” Several spectators in the path of the lion’s lunge had soiled themselves, faces pale with terror.

On the sand, Thirteen clenched his fists, ready for battle.

Though he had resolved to die, he would die as a warrior—not surrendering like a coward.

Roar!

The lion unleashed a thunderous roar, its mighty body charging at Thirteen like a hurricane.

And Thirteen swung his hammer-like fists without fear.

Hall of Starfire.

“If you don’t nap, falling asleep is hard,” Xia Mingyu stretched, arriving here.

He was curious about the letter Thirteen had left him, so he came at noon without delay.

With a thought, the envelope resting at the corner between the obsidian prisms and the lampstand flew into his hand.

Crack—he tore it open, revealing a white sheet covered in crooked, uneven writing.

At first, Xia Mingyu smiled at the comical script—but as he read the content, his smile vanished, his expression turning grave.

The letter read:

“My Lord, when you read this, I am likely already dead.”

“Do not grieve for me. Meeting you and Tamerlan has been the greatest happiness of my life.”

“Before I met you, though I lived, I was already a walking corpse—no different from the dead.”

“I still remember, at age six, how I killed a companion to survive—the blood flowing over my fingers afterward became my worst nightmare.”

“I believe I died then—or rather, I was better off dead. Guilt tormented me daily; I could only suppress my pain through endless battles and self-harm.”

“Until I met you. I learned what justice and fairness meant—and I came alive again.”

“Now I must die again—but this time, I die refusing to kill. I am content. I have no regrets.”

“My only regret is that I have not yet repaid your grace. If I am reborn, let me serve you, and with you, pursue justice and purge all evil.”

The sinner, Thirteen.

“Damn it—why couldn’t he just say this to my face!”

Xia Mingyu crushed the letter in his fist, brows knotted, veins bulging on his forehead.

The whole world had sent only two people—now if one died, how could he ever realize his dream of making everyone live like human beings?

“A single spark can start a prairie fire!” Xia Mingyu clenched his fist, raising his arm with the back of his hand upward.

The next instant, twelve torches on the obsidian prisms flickered and converged before Xia Mingyu.

On the flames, scenes flashed:

The man charged the lion, fighting fiercely—the lion’s hide harder than steel. After a long battle, the man was pinned down, his belly ripped open, his organs devoured.

“Beast!” Xia Mingyu’s eyes turned red with rage.

“Starfire—bring his consciousness here!”

The next instant, the torches vanished. Thirteen’s body lay sprawled on the bronze floor of the hall, his form horrifically mangled.

“Is this… the netherworld?” he murmured unconsciously.

“Netherworld your ass! You’re my comrade—I need you to help me cleanse this world of monsters. I won’t let you die like this!” Xia Mingyu gritted his teeth.

At this point, only one method offered a chance to save him.

Xia Mingyu quickly stripped off his outer garment and draped it over Thirteen’s body, then declared aloud:

“Who says we lack robes? I share yours.”

“The king calls for war—mend my spears and lances.”

“We share the same foe!”

This was Xia Mingyu’s only hope: if Thirteen could awaken a gift capable of healing wounds and restoring life, there was still a chance!

As he finished speaking, the garment dissolved into light and merged into Thirteen’s body.

A surge of information flowed into both their minds.

Thirteen’s Rebirth: Your first thirteen deaths each bring renewal. Each reborn self grows stronger and gains a gift.

Instantly, the mangled remains of the man began to heal before their eyes.

"You really are a lucky fellow!" Xia Mingyu exclaimed, snapping back to awareness.

"The great hero Hercules endured twelve trials to cleanse his sins, and Spartacus rose from slavery to defy injustice—I combine their names and bestow them upon you; henceforth, you shall be called."

(End of Chapter)