Chapter 375

Chapter 375: Private Duel

In their imprisoned state, the slave warriors had no weapons.

Naturally, Midi’s razor-sharp dual swords "Eliminate" and "Kill" — the tools of a Demon Swordman — had been confiscated.

This meant everyone in the Black Rock Cave fought bare-handed.

Such conditions crippled weapon-reliant professions like Demon Swordmen and roaming gunslingers.

Yet races like the Lizardman thrived here. Their Fighter profession focused on raw physical power, allowing them to reign supreme in the stone cave. Combined with armor-like scales, ordinary practitioners couldn’t hope to harm them.

The Lizardman’s fist shot out without warning. Its punch winds churned the Dark Magic in the air, making even Midi’s Golden-Red Sword Lights waver.

Fighter skill: Short Punch!

A direct hit could pierce steel gates. Its blinding speed left no time for defense.

But Midi, ever watchful, wouldn’t be constrained.

A flicker of Demon Shadow Step carried him clear.

“Amusing! But you’ll still lose!” The Lizardman roared.

His thick hide and Fighter resilience made victory seem certain against an unarmed human. Weaklings from the surface world couldn’t grasp the Shaded Realm’s brutal ways.

Then agony exploded at his waist.

Midi held no blade, nor had he drawn the dagger-turned-bracelet "Golden Forgiveness." Instead, a glowing red longsword of pure sword light materialized in his grip — a crude imitation Lightsaber.

Though weaker than true weapons forged from heavenly materials, it sufficed against unprepared flesh.

The crimson blade danced.

Demon Swordman skill: Triple Slash.

Three strikes flashed — high, middle, low. Scales split. Blood sprayed.

Black energy erupted around the Lizardman as realization struck.

Fighter skill: Steel Muscles.

“Wretched human! You’ll die for this!” The Lizardman shrieked, madness overtaking pride.

“Try,” Midi answered lightly. His sword light expanded, becoming twin blades.

The battle ended as swiftly as it began.

Crushing pressure engulfed the cave. Every slave warrior froze.

“NO FIGHTING!” A magic-amplified voice thundered. “Save your deaths for the arena!”

The Wolfspider tribe’s magical surveillance wasn’t just for show.

From the Lizardman’s punch to Midi’s counterattack and the opponent’s defensive move, everything happened within mere seconds – yet the warning came instantly.

"Stop this instant!" roared the voice again.

The oppressive pressure within the stone cave intensified simultaneously.

This clearly wasn’t ordinary magic, but rather the formidable pressure from a magic array connected to the magic veins.

Trapped in this inescapable magic formation and completely vulnerable, Midi and the Lizardman reluctantly ceased fighting.

The confrontation didn’t end there. As they halted, two lightning bolts materialized from thin air.

One struck the Lizardman with pinpoint accuracy, making him hiss through clenched teeth.

The other crackled toward Midi.

Though he could evade using Demon Shadow Step again, that would count as resistance and invite worse trouble.

Left with no choice, Midi stood firm and endured the electric strike.

Currents of agony raced through his body, paralyzing him from soles to scalp with burning numbness that choked his breath and staggered his heartbeat.

The torment faded quickly, but Midi’s face remained stormy even after recovery.

"Lucky human," the Lizardman spat venomously. "When tomorrow’s selection begins, I’ll shred you into bite-sized pieces!"

Having lost face during the skirmish, the gang leader needed to save face with threats.

Midi ignored the taunt completely, turning away to claim an empty room for recovery without wasting words.

To him, only battle outcomes mattered – empty boasts meant nothing.

The room’s original owner, a gray dwarf, pretended not to notice while squeezing into his kinsmen’s quarters.

After prolonged meditation aided by Dragon’s Blood’s recovery properties, Midi finally shook off the lightning arrow’s effects.

"Pathetic defense," Rot commented bluntly. "You can’t dodge forever. King Bacal’s Dragon’s Blood might suffice in the Sea of Clouds, but here in the Shaded Realm? You’re too fragile."

"How to improve?" Midi flexed stiff limbs irritably.

"Dragon’s Blood evolves through adversity. Take more beatings – even diluted bloodlines thicken under pressure." Rot sounded almost cheerful.

Midi’s scowl deepened. Easy for the observer to say.

"Alternatives?"

"Search for Black Dragon ruins. The Shaded Realm’s Dark Dragon City isn’t the only draconic site." Rot’s vague suggestion hovered like mist.

Useless advice for someone confined. Exploration required freedom – currently, survival meant focusing on tomorrow’s competition.

"Win the selection tomorrow. That’s all." Cold determination flashed in Midi’s eyes.

Though some might have challenged the human initially, the Lizardman’s public humiliation backfired – none dared approach now.

These slave warriors might consider humans weak, but none could ignore the skill displayed in that brief clash.

This seemingly delicate and tender human lad was quite the tough character!

The gray dwarves, black dwarves, goblins, and even the dark elves all agreed on this.

That night, all the slave warriors stayed unharmed.

The Shaded Realm had no sunlight, but that didn’t mean it lacked day and night. The underground magnetic field, the thickness of magic, and the shifting brightness of Wolfspider tribe’s light sources still let people sense the passing of twenty-four hours.

The next "morning"—eight hours later—the heavy iron door of Black Rock Cave creaked open.

Perhaps because a human like Midi joined, the Wolfspider tribe’s small arena was nearly packed for this slave warrior selection.

Familiar faces from merchant caravans filled the stands, and even Galantis appeared.

Spotting the priestess’s delicate yet furious face through the entrance bars, Midi felt surprised.

On one side of the stands stood a special viewing area occupied by diverse races, guarded by Wolfspider tribe’s guards and mages.

"Those are White Rock Cave’s slave warriors," the steady dark elf guard explained, noticing Midi’s puzzlement. "Win this selection, and you’ll join them. But only one victor emerges."

Midi instantly grasped the clear hierarchy among slave warriors without further explanation.

He wondered if an elite tier existed above Black Rock’s lowest level and White Rock’s victors.

But first, he had to survive today’s battle.

Unlike showy competitions, all Shaded Realm fighters aimed for the Black Dragon Conference, making battles brutally intense.

The initial clashes ended within moments.

Combatants unleashed full power immediately, trading vicious blows without dodging, drenched in blood and weapon strikes.

Within minutes, one would collapse bleeding while the standing fighter claimed victory.

Most losers died instantly. Those still twitching got finished off by Wolfspiders’ curved blades before being dragged away.

This was the Shaded Realm—harsh lands teeming with magical creatures yet scarce resources.

Useless cripples deserved no survival rights here.

Even the limping gnoll forced his broken body into battle.

His opponent—a nimble dark elf prisoner—slit the slow gnoll’s throat with a longsword within rounds.

"Terrified yet, human?" Lizardman’s sneer hissed in Midi’s ear. "I told the arena chief—your death’s mine. We’ll clash soon."

"Can’t wait," Midi replied flatly.

As if answering, the arena’s iron grate rattled open. The dark elf host’s voice boomed:

"Next match—Lizardman versus human! Weapons ready! Enter now!"