The arena had dedicated ticket handlers for betting, but betting did not start until 2 p.m.
Outside the private viewing seats.
A pair of women with striking presence attracted the attention of the spectators, instantly making the excited viewers lose interest in predicting the popular fighters’ match-up. They were simply drooling, as if they were in a wild camp.
"I’m just watching, not betting."
A woman dressed in a light yellow chiffon dress, with a servant holding a parasol and wearing a sun hat and sunglasses, said to her companion.
"You’ll definitely like it."
Another woman, slightly playful and wildly dressed in a studded leather jacket and golden short hair, held her friend’s hand and admired her freshly done manicure.
Both women had bodyguards with them and exuded an air of luxury that could not be faked—either nobles’ daughters or rich heiresses.
The onlookers were deep in fantasy. If it had not been such a public place, they would have acted brazenly by now.
But after the two women and their guards entered the private viewing area, which was partitioned off, they quickly got back to business, discussing intensely which bets were more solid.
It was like middle-aged greasy men analyzing horse races, their discussions so knowledgeable that even Buffett would seem amateurish by comparison.
"I thought there was something special about the private seats... They are just the same."
Isis removed her sunglasses, revealing her deep brown eyes. The seats were stone steps, cold and uncomfortable, with plenty of dust.
However, her companion was well-prepared, having had the bodyguards bring excellently made cushions stuffed with precious feathers. Despite the quality materials, these were disposable, meant to be discarded after sitting on them this afternoon.
Finally, the two women sat down.
"Damn, such pretense."
One of Galen’s subordinates complained, exhibiting a typical envy of the wealthy.
"Give it here, yeah, give it a go."
Another subordinate spoke crudely.
"Hold back the crap. I’m choked with hate."
The subordinate said with a sly grin.
"Enough, both of you!"
Galen scolded sharply in a hushed voice, lucky that no one else heard, but some nearby spectators looked over in surprise. He didn’t want to be underestimated. He knew Liszt was up to something, that his mind was not really on the competition.
What he was thinking, Liszt couldn’t quite grasp, nervously cracking his knuckles. But soon after, he began again, his anxiety evident.
Isis surveyed the entire private viewing area. Many gentlemen in the section doffed their hats to her, all dressed in fine clothes, clearly wealthy merchants.
Only four individuals in a corner stood out. Their physiques and rag-like clothes made them look more like dockworkers.
Her gaze finally settled on Liszt.
Even with his face covered.
Strangely... it seemed familiar.
The build and the glimpse of a scar.
"Brother Li, that woman has been staring at you."
That finally snapped Liszt out of his daze, and he looked in the direction Galen indicated.
Isis turned her head back sharply, breathing slightly quickened.
Liszt no longer cared if someone was watching him, whether it was some agent like Celeste or not.
He was overwhelmed by matters that had been suppressed for nearly a decade.
Only Liszt understood.
The kind that lurked in lawless areas committing arson and murder, opposing the government, forming gangs, and daring train heists, spiraling down a pit with no return.
Courage wasn’t something he was born with.
Courage is hard to come by.
Liszt called it bouncing back from rock bottom.
Only by embracing that he was the lowest of the low could he possess... the strength to confront the world.
Liszt needed to verify the truth.
Whether it was the lingering nightmare from the fire eight years ago.
He didn’t know what to do when the time came, whether to directly participate in the competition? No...
If he would appear in the Imperial City finals.
Then he had four full months to catch him.
Isis brushed a strand of chestnut curly hair back behind her ear. She wasn’t sure; it just looked somewhat familiar.
Seven years ago, when she traveled to the Southern Continent, she met a rather resourceful man while going out to sea and, inexplicably enchanted, helped him and his friend buy boat tickets, only to later discover that the two were fugitives.
"I’ve already asked my dad to secure tickets for the finals in advance, which means we’ll be staying in Aran until the Stargazing Festival ends! No need to go back to Ji Weng."
The blonde woman was somewhat excited as she spoke; her father held significant influence in politics.
High officials of the Five Permanent on the Western Continent wouldn’t exchange their positions even for that of an Immortal.
"No way... four months."
Isis didn’t have the time to waste for so long, as she wasn’t getting any younger and her family was planning to marry her off by the end of the year; her fiancé had already been chosen.
"I bought your ticket too, come with me."
The blonde woman coaxed Isis.
Isis sighed, as she also wanted to escape from her family issues; she might as well mess around with her.
A peddler holding a tray of tobacco and alcohol shouted, and Galen called him over to buy two packs of cigarettes and four bottles of alcohol, all half more expensive than outside, but he had to bear it.
However, Liszt was exceptionally not indulging in smoking or drinking, his eyes fixed on the sandy athletic field.
The stands started to boil with excitement, as the greeter in the athletic field announced the competitors for the upcoming match, the odds, and the final bets.
Only then did the competitors enter the arena.
The preliminaries, especially the first round, were informal, not much chatter, fight began five seconds after the encounter.
Those with martial ethics might leave their opponent alive; those without, would kill with a single strike and leave if evenly matched.
Only those confident in their skills dare to enter the Continent Martial Arts Competition as sacrificial lambs.
Inside the thirty-person private viewing stand.
The greeter was describing the match situation; Chenxi Port, Third District, May 11, first match in the afternoon.
Kun Lan from East Sea versus a Beastman from the Northern Realm, a Beastman with an underworld background.
Those participating in the Continent Martial Arts Competition weren’t decent folks; even murderers could join during special periods, as the Emperor pardoned these people. If they lost but didn’t die, they’d be captured and executed; if they died, then they just died.
The odds were ridiculously low, having witnessed Kun Lan’s performance the day before, they were set at twenty-seven to one, hardly any suspense, accounting also for the cut taken by the bookmaker, there was little to gain.
Those betting on the Beastman were only those who specialized in betting on upsets.
But most people were just watching for fun, nobody forced them to bet.
Liszt, of course, wouldn’t be betting; he wasn’t in the mood, it looked like Rag Head would take a while longer to enter the stage.
He didn’t know the name Kun Lan.
When Kun Lan was under Doringger, he barely scraped by, a low-profile godly hermit.
He was participating in the Continent Martial Arts Competition not for ranking, but because with Doringger gone, seeking a new protector and evading the Life Weaving Society.
"Five Golden Dragons, I bet on my husband."
In the private viewing stand, a black-haired female mage with a leather collar around her neck said to the greeter.
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Five Golden Dragons was vastly generous.
Only the greeter looked bewildered.
"Your husband... who is he?"
The greeter was speechless.
The female mage casually replied, placing down five Golden Dragons.
Ten minutes passed quickly and the betting closed.
There wasn’t an announcer for the preliminaries, by 2:10, the audience got noisy.
The circular arena had eight iron gates; as the staff rotated the chain winches, two opposite, blood-stained iron gates slowly opened.
The metal screeching was extremely sharp.
After the gate opened, competitors entered, stood outside but had to wait until the iron gates closed again before moving to start the fight.
Until one side surrendered, lost the ability to fight, or died.
But the unspoken rule was,
surrender was meaningless.
No special reason, purely because the Emperor cherished martial valor.
Two figures walked out from the iron gates.
Followed by a loud bang.
The gate slammed shut directly.
Kun Lan had already grown weary of round after round of games; he had to make a big move to secure a spot in the finals.