Witch, Fireball and the Evil God of Steam-Chapter 825 - 153: Shameless Smurfing

The cheers in the Underground Gladiatorial Arena were getting louder and louder, as the audience had already been fully immersed in the upcoming showdown.

The veteran champion in the arena was set to face a newcomer who had recently been in the spotlight, a combination that was always eye-catching. Perhaps because the recent arrival of the Autumn Harvest Festival had diverted many of the arena's customers, the arena had arranged a series of exciting battles to draw people back.

Ethan understood the thoughts of the audience; aside from wanting to see scenes of brutal combat, they were more eager for the aftermath. According to the arena's rules, the losing side would become the spoils of the victor, who would have the right to dispose of them as they saw fit in front of everyone.

Clearly, among these cheering spectators, many were hoping to witness the post-defeat scene.

But unfortunately, such an event was impossible.

Before the match began, it was customary for both sides to engage in trash talk. As the king of the underground arena, the big guy felt right at home here and knew exactly how to please the crowd.

Unlike those brought here due to debt issues, this was paradise for someone like him. Once a bandit leader active in the Imperial Capital, he was supposed to face execution after being captured, but unexpectedly got the chance to "serve" in the underground arena.

He quickly adapted to this environment.

This was a place where killing was legal and the more you killed, the more reputation and benefits you gained. Life here was much more comfortable than being a bandit.

"Ninety-four."

The big guy's voice was amplified to every audience member's ear, "That's how many I've killed!"

He licked his lips, greedily eyeing the delicate-skinned red-haired woman across from him. Such opponents were rare in the underground arena, and he was starting to look forward to the events following this match. "Don't be nervous, if you cooperate, I'll avoid that pretty little face of yours."

"Oh—! How will our newcomer respond to the provocation?"

The passionate host approached Other Shore.

He was met with Other Shore's confused gaze. Her reason for being here was simple—because all the black market intelligence dealers in the Imperial Capital said this was the quickest way to make money. Winning a gladiatorial match often offered more reward than hunting monsters. The nobles of the Imperial Capital lacked nothing if not money. Winning a few matches here could cover her spendings in the capital indefinitely, and most importantly, if she made a name for herself here, she could even gain access to high-end restaurants catering to the nobility.

"Say what?"

There was an awkward silence.

Even the host's smile froze on his face.

This newcomer really didn't understand! This was one of the most favored trash-talking segments among the noble lords, an excellent opportunity to showcase oneself and improve notoriety. In this place, apart from genuinely having skills, one had to know how to market oneself.

This big guy was one of the best at it.

Higher notoriety meant they could obtain an easier match schedule compared to other gladiators. Only during certain periods would the arena arrange gimmicks like "king vs. king." Most other daily gladiatorial matches were for those recently sent to the arena, not yet proficient with various weapons.

Most of those who died at the big guy's hands were opponents of this caliber.

The host kept a smile on her face, but internally she was giving Other Shore a middle finger. Even if this newcomer wasn't eloquent, she at least had a good figure, especially that chest which made her envious. If she was smart, she'd jiggle it a bit for the noble lords' benefit!

Despite her inner turmoil, she still reminded her, "For example, talk about your battle record, how many have you killed? Including before you came to the arena!"

Ninety-four was the big guy's proud boast, and as long as Other Shore could state a corresponding number, no matter how many, it could warm up the scene again. After all, the noble lords were relatively lenient with newcomers.

Yet that simple question caused Other Shore to fall into another long period of contemplation.

She stood there with her left hand supporting her chin, looking somewhat dazedly cute.

Another awkward silence ensued.

"...What's wrong with you again?"

The host's eyelids twitched rapidly.

What was with this newcomer? She had practically spoon-fed her the opportunity, yet the newcomer just spit it back out.

She was even prepared to give Other Shore a vigorous pat on the chest at the start of the match to use as her trademark.

"Never kept count."

Finally, Other Shore decided to give up thinking.

For someone who had been a commander on the battlefield, how could one remember such things clearly?

The ambiguous response made the host gasp. Based on her years of experience, this definitely came across as a one-person-never-killed kind of cop-out.

She looked at the eager big guy and then at Other Shore; the outcome of this gladiatorial match was already sealed. Maybe within a few rounds, the noble lords would be able to enjoy their long-awaited post-defeat scene. However, for a gladiator like Other Shore, old foxes like the big guy probably wouldn't execute her directly in the arena.

She would sign a contract with the arena as the loser, getting bound to the place for good.

This meant she still had the chance to take to the field again. The host changed her strategy. Since the fame route wasn't working, she'd go for an empathy route, trying to earn the noble lords' pity through her story. Perhaps some noble lord might be moved to buy her freedom.