Chapter 9: Blood Slaughter Hell
After watching the last Slave finish eating, Vic led the guards to march everyone out of the dungeon.
Because of the Annual Grand Competition, Administrators were everywhere, rifles at the ready, watching the Slaves for any sign of riot.
Their shackles removed, the Slaves were herded to the armory to pick their weapons.
Dante Voss had just reached for a sword when Vic stepped forward again.
He leveled his gun at Dante Voss and barked,
"No weapon for you. Stay right there—don't move!"
Dante Voss turned; murder glinted in his eyes.
At that instant he truly wanted to kill the man.
The look made Vic flinch and retreat several steps, but he kept shouting,
"Stay put or I fire!"
Seeing every Administrator's rifle now trained on him, Dante Voss swallowed his rage and kept still.
Acting now would be foolish.
He would forfeit the coming attribute rewards and draw the attention of outside powerhouses—far too dangerous.
When Dante Voss stayed motionless, Vic finally exhaled in relief.
Yesterday's brutality was fresh in his mind; he was genuinely terrified of this Slave.
Yet the thought that the great masters would soon field far stronger Slaves settled his nerves.
No matter how powerful Dante Voss was, he stood no chance against the Slaves even the gods had to purchase.
Once every Slave had armed himself, Vic escorted them into the arena.
The Colosseum was unusually crowded today, far busier than for ordinary matches.
Vic bowed obsequiously toward the stands and intoned,
"Honored Celestial Dragons, welcome to the Divine Trial Ground. Today's grand annual contest begins; may it bring you joy and exhilaration."
In the stands one Celestial Dragon called toward Saint Mike,
"Hey, Mike—who told you to start the contest early? I haven't even prepared my Slaves!"
"Exactly, Mike—why jump the gun? None of us are ready."
A snot-dripping Celestial Dragon chimed in, equally disgruntled.
"Prepare what?"
Saint Mike regarded them with contempt.
"Whatever you readied, could it compare? Just watch my show."
The first speaker's face darkened, but he held his tongue.
"You bastard!" the mucus-dripping Saint Charloss cursed in fury.
Had Mike not been a fellow Celestial Dragon, he would have shot him on the spot.
"What of it?"
Mike taunted, "Unconvinced? Should I have my uncle pay you a visit?"
Mention of his uncle made Mike's smirk even cockier.
The other Celestial Dragons fell silent at once.
Choking on his rage, Saint Charloss shut his mouth.
Mike's uncle was a member of the God's Knights, the only force with authority to judge Celestial Dragons.
It was the one organization the Celestial Dragons truly feared.
"Hmph—trash."
Seeing no further objections, Saint Mike grinned in triumph.
He idolized his uncle; a single mention was enough to silence any opposition... A gunshot rang out, officially starting the contest.
The Slaves exchanged glances; all wanted to eliminate the two-time champion Dante Voss first—Vic had painted him as a monster.
Dante Voss wasted no time: the instant the shot sounded he charged.
Resolved to escape, he no longer hid his strength, nor bothered to butcher theatrically for the Celestial Dragons' amusement.
He would kill fast and grow stronger.
Power was everything—the only king.
Slaughter these thousand and his strength would skyrocket.
Before the Slaves could react, Dante Voss was among them.
A punch caved in one man's skull, killing him instantly, and Dante Voss snatched the fallen sword.
[Killed an ordinary person: gained 10 slaughter points]
With blade in hand his lethality soared; a single slash severed several Slaves' throats.
[Killed an ordinary person: gained 10 slaughter points]
[Killed an ordinary person: gained 10 slaughter points]
[Killed an ordinary person: gained 10 slaughter points]
Finally the rest snapped out of shock and, eyes blood-red, rushed Dante Voss en masse.
Seeing the dense wave bearing down, Dante Voss narrowed his eyes, tightened his grip, and met them head-on.
He moved like lightning; guided by Spirit, he sensed every incoming blow and danced between them.
"Schick! Schick! Schick!"
Speed and Spirit peaked: he dodged, found openings, and each strike claimed a life.
[Killed an ordinary person: gained 10 slaughter points]
[Killed an ordinary person: gained 10 slaughter points]
[Killed an ordinary person: gained 10 slaughter points]
Without hidden strength or showy cruelty, he killed even faster!
Such was the Swordsman's edge: swifter than Body-Temperers, every thrust fatal.
"Why is he still so strong?"
Watching Dante Voss reap lives, Vic trembled, dread mounting.
He'd denied Dante Voss food and weapons—how could the man still be a butcher?"
Gasps rippled through the Celestial Dragons above; wholesale slaughter thrilled even them.
Saint Mike frowned, stunned by Dante Voss's might.
He glanced at Number 9 at his feet and asked uncertainly,
"You can finish him, right?"
Number 9 studied the frenzied Dante Voss, eyes narrowing, and nodded.
"Yes."
He sensed Dante Voss had grown, yet remained confident of his own superiority.
"Good."
Saint Mike exhaled; he would not let his own scheme overshadow him... In the arena Dante Voss had already slain hundreds, but the Slaves were maddened with bloodlust.
Under such frenzy they forgot life and death, intent only on killing Dante Voss.
Fighting nearly a thousand had drained his stamina and Spirit; seeing enemies fiercer than before, Dante Voss opened his system panel.
[Physique: 341]
[Strength: 357]
[Speed: 362]
[Spirit: 344]
[slaughter points: 3,435]
He gave the stats a cursory glance and opened the Ability page.
He selected [Swordsmanship] and checked the next tier.
[Next tier: Advanced Swordsman]
[Info: Masterful control, rich techniques, able to chain complex moves.]
[Upgrade cost: 500 slaughter points.]
Without hesitation he confirmed the upgrade.
[Swordsmanship advanced to Advanced Swordsman; 300 slaughter points consumed.]
His attributes were already enough to handle common Slaves.
But he lacked area attacks; facing these frenzied numbers was draining.
He could still kill them all, yet wasting strength before the true powerhouses appeared was dangerous.
Hence he upgraded Swordsmanship.
A flood of memories poured in—he felt as though he'd trained for ten-odd years, his understanding of the sword deepening instantly.
Once the memories settled, he looked at the oncoming Slaves with new clarity.
He flicked blood from his blade, eyed the mob, and murmured as he charged,
"Blood Slaughter Hell!"
In a flash he plunged into the crowd; sword-light streaked everywhere, and moments later he emerged on the far side.
Over a hundred Slaves lay fallen, never to rise again.
The survivors froze, their blood-red eyes clearing in terror; facing Dante Voss now, they felt only fear, no will to fight.