Chapter 21 The Rich Who Do Whatever They Want

The hidden door opened, and a strong, pungent odor wafted from the deep red corridor—a mixture of tobacco, alcohol, blood, and a chilling wind.

Suddenly a clarinet began to play a melodious tune, and Billy heard hundreds of people stand up from their seats, letting out excited screams and cheers for something.

At this moment, two medical orcs rushed over carrying a stretcher. The person on the stretcher was thin and yellow, barefoot, wearing only a pair of shorts, with outstretched, bloody and mangled arms and legs, eyes rolled upwards so that only the whites of their eyes were visible, and blood bubbles were coming out of their throat.

Before Billis could even get a good look at the guy, he was led through the tall, brightly lit gate by the green goblin.

Suddenly, light filled the entire space, nearby sounds descended from the sky, and a arena resembling an altar appeared.

Seven large candles were placed around the ring, and in front of each candle was a basin of blood. About five hundred people sat around the ring, including bankers, lawyers, judges, businessmen, and wealthy gentlemen and ladies, who called the bloody fight in the ring a performance.

The blonde danced shamelessly, holding up a sign, with a hundred cigars clinging to her body as if she were surrounded by a veil.

The wealthy gentlemen were mesmerized, some even stalking the woman like demons, their lips drooling loosely.

Whether bald or obese, clumsy or nimble, everyone wore a mask of excitement.

The two orcs on the arena were shirtless, their upper bodies pressed together, glistening with sweat.

"Kill him! Give him the final blow!"

"I've staked a full fifty gold coins on you! You have to cherish my money! Just like you cherish your own worthless life!"

"No, his performance wasn't even as good as that raccoon's!"

One person on the stage had already given up, just like the one who had been carried away earlier. His face was covered in blood, and his two hairy legs were twisted in a sinister manner.

He was probably still conscious, and he repeatedly grabbed his opponent's calf with his swollen hand, demanding that the match be stopped.

But what's the point? While the rich throw gold coins to the victors, they also spit on the losers.

A dancer dressed as a bunny girl came on stage holding up a sign that read "Long Tail Wins".

"I bet a hundred on him, no doubt about it! Long Tail made me a fortune!"

"Let's see how long your wallet can last, hurry up and move on to the next round, oh! Look! Isn't that the terrifying executioner?"

A bare-handed orc raider was brought onto the arena, not only without any weapons but also bound by iron chains.

The raiders' opponents are werewolves with sharp claws, cone-shaped pupils, and a body size about twice that of a normal person.

Before the referee could even say "start," the werewolf lunged at its prey with its sharp claws.

The raider's chest was lightly touched by a claw, leaving five bloody marks, but this also freed him from his chains.

So people rushed to bet money on them, and the plunderers generally won more, because they had performed exceptionally well in the previous gladiatorial matches, and it was said that they could crush gold coins into powder with one hand.

As for the werewolf, it seems to be the first time participating in a show for wealthy people like this. The patriarchs and matrons are often not very satisfied with the performance of first-time participants.

There were three screams on stage: the first was when the werewolf's left hand was broken, the second was when his right hand was broken, and the third was when his nose was bitten off.

Based on the experience of the previous matches, the werewolves have no chance of winning.

However, Blood Raven's game always exceeded the rich man's expectations. Whether the raider was intentionally letting him win or was simply exhausted, he was gradually forced out of the rope by a battered enemy.

The bell rang, signaling halftime.

It was clear that the raider was struggling to breathe, while the werewolf's breathing was steady and orderly. Moreover, the werewolf's wounds were miraculously beginning to heal, and his broken arm and nose were quickly restored.

A blond, half-reincarnated individual said, "Anyone with a little common sense knows that the werewolves will definitely win this game, because they are the race with the strongest regenerative abilities in this other world."

“That’s not necessarily true,” Billis quietly interjected.

The blond-haired man looked at Billy with disdain, believing himself to be more cultured than this idiot.

"Tell me then, what chance do the raiders have of winning?"

“If it were me, I’d whip him with the chains.” Billis pointed to the chains that the werewolf had broken.

What is the chain tube used for?

"Look closely, that's not an ordinary iron chain."

The blond man raised the stage binoculars and discovered that it really wasn't an iron chain, but a silver chain.

Silver items are the natural enemy of werewolves, so it seems that Blood Raven has secretly given the raider an opportunity. Let's see if he can seize it.

The second half begins.

Just as Billis was about to find a suitable spot to sit down and watch the match, he was stopped by the green-skinned goblin.

"Captain Marcel, Miss Montit is still waiting for you on the observation deck."

Following the direction the goblin was pointing, you could see a Rococo-style room on the second floor that protruded outwards, with transparent floor-to-ceiling windows on the outside.

That was a viewing platform reserved for the conglomerate.

Billis suggested that he could wait until after watching the match to go find her, but Goblin disagreed. He said that Blood Raven allowed the rich to move around freely, but those who lost money had to obey the winners.

He also said that Captain Marcel had racked up a lot of debt here, and if it weren't for Miss Montitt's kindness, the captain would probably have been thrown into a trash can and dumped on the street.

With no other choice, Billis had to follow the goblin up the two-person-wide steps.

A frenzied brawl erupted behind them; the fiercer the fight, the more imposing the crowd below became.

The goblin claimed that he was not allowed to enter the noble lady's room, which was also at Blood Raven's command.

Billis had no choice but to go in alone.

The room was filled with the scent of roses; apart from the sofa and the pillars, the entire background was empty.

Two women sat on the sofa, one an orc shaman and the other a fighter. Both women had their teeth showing, and from the side, the female shaman looked even more ferocious.

Billis didn't dare ask which one was Miss Montit, so he just watched the game with them.

On the arena, the raider was trampled underfoot by the werewolf, whose eyes were wide open, as if gazing into the distance even when looking at things nearby.

When the referee called out "two," the raider's belly suddenly caved in. After struggling a few times, it let out a roar, rammed its head against the werewolf's head, then grabbed the werewolf's legs, knocked it down, and stomped its feet on the werewolf's legs.

The werewolf showed no sign of losing courage. He even deliberately let the raider break his own leg, then nimbly broke free of his restraints, turned around and strangled the raider's neck, biting his throat fiercely.

Blood spurted out, and the raider's hand fell limply, looking like a wild boar caught in a hunting net. But when he saw that all resistance was futile, he closed his eyes and stopped moving.

In the blink of an eye, the criticism from the audience intensified.

"He's a liar! He swindled all my money!"

Why do I always bet on someone and they always lose?

"That doesn't make sense! How can someone with such a large size difference win?"

"You guys should stop now. If you can tell who will win or lose at a glance before the game even starts, what's the point?"

After arguing about the competition on stage, the gentlemen returned to their seats as if nothing had ever happened.

As for the raider who was favored before the match, he was probably about to die. Several orc bodyguards saved the stretcher and dragged him off the stage. The carpet was almost as red as if it had just been taken out of a dye vat.

The raider lowered his head to his chest when suddenly something shouted and threw a huge chair at him.

The looters soon died amidst laughter and boos.

"Why didn't he use silver chains? Was it because he didn't know that silver items could actually be used as weapons against werewolves?" Billy muttered to himself.

The two orc women beside him remained silent, seemingly unable to understand what Biris was saying.

Biris then realized that neither of the two orc women were wearing butterfly eye patches.

Moreover, they all tried to avoid looking at Beris, and when the fighter in the ring was defeated, they moved their eyes elsewhere.

This pitying attitude towards her opponent is clearly very different from that of a wealthy woman.

At this moment, the orc warrior left the room first. Biris dared not look directly at the shaman's big mouth and exposed fangs, and also wanted to find an opportunity to leave the room.

Being alone with a female orc whose age is completely impossible to guess is truly agonizing.

In terms of manners when receiving guests, orc shamans are almost entirely devoid of manners. As for their appearance, their faces look like they've been hit by a mortar shell, covered in pockmarks and cratered marks.

Such a wealthy woman certainly needs the company of a good-looking man so that she can be respected when she goes out.

Billy pulled his top hat off his head, pinned it to his chest, and bowed to his wife.

Unexpectedly, his wife quickly turned her head away, as if she couldn't bear to see others bowing to him.

"You wait here, I'll go and fetch my wife," the shaman said in broken Earth language.

She wasn't Miss Montite after all!

She was very likely a non-reincarnated servant that Miss Montit bought, because she had a strong Faan accent.

After the shaman left the room, Biris breathed a sigh of relief and became bolder, casually lying down on someone else's leather-cushioned sofa.

As soon as I lay down, I smelled a familiar fragrance on the sofa.

Then the shaman returned, accompanied by a light spirit wearing a butterfly eye patch.

Billie nearly tumbled off the sofa because of her graceful figure.

"Are you really Miss Montit?"