Chapter 373

Chapter 373: Slave Warrior

The Wolfspider tribe was located within a massive cavern in the Shaded Realm.

Most of its buildings stood upon solid rock, constructed from sturdy stone yet bearing the delicate craftsmanship characteristic of Elves.

Residences belonging to elders and priestesses hung suspended between colossal stone pillars near the cavern’s ceiling, resembling mirage-like castles in the sky when viewed from below.

The reason these structures could be "seen" stemmed from light sources Midi hadn’t encountered in ages – four massive glowing fixtures finally illuminating the tribe.

Though dark elves possessed excellent infrared vision, this heat-based sight proved inadequate for certain tasks.

Mages and priests required actual light to read texts, as temperature-based vision couldn’t distinguish ink from paper.

In dark elf culture, a tribe’s number of light sources subtly reflected its power.

The Wolfspider tribe’s four luminous fixtures had been permanently affixed to stone pillars through constant spells and lighting magic.

Their strategic placement bathed most cavern areas in faint radiance – though much dimmer than sunlight or moonlight and barely comparable to starlight, it vastly surpassed the Shaded Realm’s natural darkness.

This illumination finally allowed Midi to abandon psychic vision and navigate normally.

Though technically a slave, the priestess showed little concern about restricting the frail human’s movements, permitting him limited freedom within the cavern.

His human features inevitably drew dark elf attention, met with mocking laughter and contemptuous stares.

Humans here were universally considered weaklings, often dismissed as worthless.

Midi remained unfazed – True Experts required no validation through posturing.

His immediate concern wasn’t gaining respect, but shedding slave status.

As Galantis had stated, escape from slavery wasn’t secret in Wolfspider or any dark elf tribe. The method was straightforward: become a slave warrior, fight continuously, and claim ultimate Victory.

Exceptional performers might even join the tribe as warriors, gaining equal standing with dark elves.

The impending Black Dragon Conference occurring every five years made combat competitions ubiquitous throughout the Shaded Realm.

Unlike surface arenas built for nobles’ bloody amusement, these trials served practical purposes – selecting true champions worthy of Conference qualification.

According to rumor Midi obtained, only half a year remained until the next Black Dragon Conference.

This timeline intensified the tribe’s focus on competition selections, both for slaves and dark elves.

Though no Wolfspider fighter had qualified for centuries, participants gained increasing rewards with each advancement stage. Any method extending the tribe’s progress found approval.

"Fortunate timing," Midi murmured.

Entering the Shaded Realm six months before the quinquennial event proved serendipitous. Better still, activating Death’s Pursuit Order would become impossible once he reached Dark Dragon City.

"Is it luck or fate?" Rot muttered nearby.

Midi didn’t answer. Fate wasn’t a topic someone at his level could discuss. His immediate goal was clear: become a slave warrior.

This would free him from slavery while opening a path to the Black Dragon Conference—two goals achieved at once.

Yet before his plan could begin, opposition arose. Galantis, his young "master" and dark elf priestess, stared at Midi in disbelief after hearing his request. After a long silence, she refused outright.

Her reason was blunt.

"You’ll die out there, Midi," Galantis stated flatly. "What can a frail human accomplish in the Shaded Realm? As my life slave, you’ll have shelter in the Wolfspider tribe. No survival struggles. Isn’t this better?"

Midi smiled faintly.

Her concern felt genuine, though likely born of curiosity rather than compassion. Still, kindness was kindness.

But Midi—the "Sword of Victory and Guardian"—had no interest in being coddled like a pet. Direct defiance might backfire, though. He chose provocation instead.

"Dark elves pride themselves on honor," he drawled with aristocratic mockery, "yet you break your promise to free me? Seems your people survive through lies, not strength."

Galantis’s face darkened. The insult stung, but worse was seeing her goodwill spat upon.

Air hissed as her snake-headed whip lashed out. The six serpent heads struck from different angles, too fast for ordinary eyes to follow.

Even a level 60 practitioner would scream under such blows. With venom added, they’d be lethal—but Galantis held back, aiming only to humble him.

Yet her strike found empty air.

The whip’s heads snapped shut on nothing. Midi stood untouched, not even his clothes disturbed.

"You!" Fear flickered across the priestess’s face.

"Humans aren’t all weak," Midi said mildly.

Internally, he reassessed. That casual dodge had required sixty percent of his strength. At equal levels, her casual strike hinted the Shaded Realm’s warriors surpassed his expectations.

Galantis saw none of this calculation. Only humiliation burned—her best attack dodged by a "frail" human.

"Fool!" She stormed off, throwing words over her shoulder. "Die in the Wolfspider arena then! I discard arrogant slaves!"

With his "mistress" thwarted, Midi went straight to the arena.

The dark elf overseers gaped. Without Galantis’s countermand, they processed his request.

"Idiot," sneered their mage leader. "Trading safety for death? So be it. Take him below."

Life slaves like Midi—storytellers, craftsmen—enjoyed mild freedoms. Weak and dependent, they posed no escape risk.

Slave warriors merited harsher measures.

Guarded by armored elves, Midi descended to a cavern’s mouth.

The slave warriors’ prison awaited.