Chapter 241

"Now, we can discuss other matters." Shieler turned the desk lamp back on and dimmed the light.

As Loki looked at him, Shieler's gaze settled on Loki, and he said: "For instance, your hospital bill."

"Actually, I think I can pay for this myself."

Shieler shifted his gaze to Loki's still-forming body, then back to his head. Loki understood his meaning and said: "I think, beyond money, you want something else."

"Like what?"

"Like entertainment."

Loki, whose head was the only part he could move, smirked slyly and said: "Before I sent Thor through the spatial portal to Sakaar, I left something on him."

As he spoke, a flash of light appeared in Loki's eyes, and a magical vortex materialized in the room, gradually expanding into a circular magical screen.

"The Lone Path to Immortality."

On the screen, a man with golden hair leaned against a rusted sheet of iron, sweat dripping from his locks, his soaked clothes clinging to his body, his face caked with grime, looking utterly broken.

Beside him, a bizarre-looking large bird conversed with another Sakaarian whose skin was crimson and face grotesque. The bird emitted a shrill voice: "That's right—he's trash I picked up near Vorka, just like those two unlucky fools last week."

"Listen, my bottom price is 200 Saka-bis—no lower. Look at him—he's incredibly strong, even stronger than many Sakaarians…"

"You have to understand, these days, trash of this quality is rare. Whether you send him to the mines or the arena, it's a good deal."

The crimson-skinned Sakaarian shook his head, clicked his tongue, spat to the side, and said: "200 Saka-bis? No way! Lately, the trash dumped here has surged—no way it's worth that much…"

"The arena's full. I can only send him to the mines, and those poor miners won't pay much. Even if he's strong, his brain's clearly fried—those greedy mine bosses will crush the price."

"No, no, no." The bird hobbled back into the iron shed and said to Thor: "Hey! What's your name? Tell him your name, where you're from—prove you're not an idiot."

Thor just stared blankly against the wall, silent. The bird pecked him with its beak. He cried out in pain, then lifted his eyelids slightly to glance at the bird.

Seeing he wouldn't speak, the bird grew angry and whispered to Thor: "Don't give me trouble. Everyone here knows 'Redwing.' I'm the most lenient trash dealer here. If you ruin my chance at a high price, I'll make you regret it…"

The crimson-skinned Sakaarian leaned in and said: "Don't bother. You've seen enough of these. Look at his face and clothes—he's a noble. They dumped him here like trash to scramble his mind, so he can't reveal anything important…"

The bird let out a rasping "cough," then opened its beak and drove it deep into Thor's shoulder, tearing off a chunk of flesh. Blood gushed. Thor screamed—but his eyes remained vacant.

Redwing's face twisted into a human-like expression of disappointment. "Alright, I guess I shouldn't have hoped too much. When I found him, he could still speak. What happened?"

"Listen, big guy—150 Saka-bis. Not a penny lower."

"Over 120, I won't take him. He's going to the mines, after all. Even if he's strong, he won't last a month." The crimson giant shook his head. "Mine bosses won't pay more than 150. You've got to leave me some profit…"

"Don't joke. I gave him water, even food, just to get him conscious. That alone costs more than 120…"

The crimson giant pulled from his coat something resembling a cigarette. Redwing's eyes lit up. "Grayroot? Where did you get this?"

"The last caravan that came through got wiped out. I scavenged some good stuff from their crates. I'll give you a pack, plus 120 Saka-bis. Take this golden giant. I'll come back for more."

Redwing flapped his wings, scratched the ground with his talons, hesitated, then grew eager. He glanced back at the dazed Thor and said: "Fine. Deal."

Then he cursed: "Damn it. Thought this time I'd get a high-value haul. Guess not. This damn place hasn't dropped anything good in ages…"

He flapped his wing, striking Thor on the ground, rolling him several times until he was caked in dirt. The crimson giant stepped forward to grab Thor's neck—but Thor instinctively thrashed, punching the man's arm.

The crimson giant hissed in pain, then kicked Thor in the head. Redwing said: "This guy was probably a warrior. A bit of wildness is normal. Where's your chain?"

The crimson giant spat again, stepped out of the shed, and approached a strange cart pulled by insects. He rummaged inside, finally pulling out a heavy iron chain—one end a ring, the other a sharp spike.

"They're going to chain him?" Strange asked from outside the screen. "I don't understand their language, but Thor's in for it."

"They're speaking Sakaar's universal tongue. I understand a little." Loki said from bed. "That crimson bird's the trash dealer—specializes in collecting dropped aliens."

"Dropped aliens? Do aliens fall from the sky here often?" Strange asked, puzzled.

"Sakaar's called the Interstellar Junkyard. The entire Taejo system is like this. Its outer layer is surrounded by special cosmic passages—normal entry or exit is impossible. Many civilizations dump dangerous trash here to prevent it from spreading beyond the system."

"Of course, some of that trash includes hard-to-handle people." Loki grinned maliciously. "That's why I said—it's perfect for him. Trash belongs where it belongs."

Shieler looked at Loki, his tone intrigued. "It seems while I was doing your psychological counseling, you were also trying to learn about me. Well, your payment's quite satisfactory."

"But I must warn you…" Shieler tilted his head toward the window, then back to Loki's eyes. "When you treat others as entertainment, be ready to become entertainment yourself."

Loki sensed his implication but didn't grasp its meaning. Watching the screen's shifting images, he smiled again. "This is truly entertaining. Looks like they're putting a collar on Thor, chaining him like a dog."

Loki glanced at Shieler and noticed his expression was strange—as if he knew something. But Loki had no idea what Shieler was thinking, and kept staring at the screen.

The crimson giant carried the thick iron chain into the broken shed and lifted one end.

"Hey, wait!" Strange watched his motion. "Is he holding it wrong? How…?"

As he spoke, the spiked end of the chain pierced Thor's body, piercing through his shoulder blade. Thor screamed like a dying man, blood spurting.

The spike emerged from his back. The giant inserted a bolt, screwed it onto the spike's tip, then hammered it once—fixing the spike firmly to Thor's shoulder. Thor screamed and gasped, trembling on the ground.

The giant lifted the chain's ring. "That should keep him quiet. Let's go."

Strange pressed his index finger to his upper lip. "I thought…"

"Looks like you're not the only one who thought that…" Shieler turned to Loki. He saw Loki's smile fading. "What exactly are you surprised about? The chain only has blood on the spike end."

Thor's hands were bound behind his back. The crimson giant pulled him along by the spike embedded in his body, dragging him onto the insect-pulled cart.

The giant slammed the rear hatch. The oval iron cart opened its back door. The giant couldn't use magic—but he was strong. He leapt aboard and hauled Thor inside.

His movements were like handling a slab of meat, utterly indifferent to Thor's wounds. Thor didn't struggle—only moaned in instinctive pain, truly becoming a piece of meat to be butchered.

Thor was shoved into the darkest, smallest compartment at the cart's rear. The space was so tight he had to curl up to fit. Worse—the chain attached to the spike in his shoulder was bolted to his head.

The rear of the cart was the bumpiest part. Every jolt sent fresh blood seeping from Thor's shoulder.

Thor's screams weren't unusual—the entire cart was filled with trash pulled from the junkyard, most of them bleeding, eyes vacant, wailing endlessly in the dark, cramped cages.

The pale green sky of Sakaar was replaced by a hallucinatory red-purple hue. A massive planet with rings descended toward the horizon, its sunset light painting the red earth the color of blood. The enormous prison cart looked tiny against the horizon.

The insect-drawn cart and its cargo moved against the light, becoming tiny black dots racing through the sunset, kicking up thick dust. Bird-like beasts sliced through the sky, shrieking. Sensing the blood, they chased the cart, merging with the dust.

The insect-drawn beasts emitted low cries. Tires scraped the rough ground, leaving charred ruts. As the brakes slowed, the dust thickened—then came a metallic "clang." The entire convoy halted.

Before them stood a massive gate built of thick logs. The row of wooden spikes atop it looked even more menacing in the sunset. Below, a huge sign bore crude characters: "Red Ring Mine."