Chapter 89: Bloody Arena

Chapter 89: Bloody Arena

After leaving the auction house, Luo Qingtong made her way directly to the northwest part of the Black Territory Branch City.

Back at the auction house, she could have easily exposed that her medicine had been tampered with. But was it really necessary?

After all, the auction house staff couldn't be expected to be impartial. For all she knew, the general manager might have been in cahoots with the culprits.

Luo Qingtong preferred solving problems her own way.

Relying on others? That was the height of foolishness.

If she had depended on others in the 24th century, she would have been betrayed and killed countless times.

The memory of her past brought a mocking smile to her lips, cold and unrestrained.

In this world, Luo Qingtong trusted no one but herself.

She didn't need the auction house to make a name for herself as the infamous Evil Doctor, Ghost Eyes. In fact, without their help, her reputation would spread even faster. The impact would be louder and more thrilling.

And as for Master Liu? Luo Qingtong's smile deepened, but she said nothing.

The Black Territory was a city divided by boundaries, and at its heart lay the Bloody Arena.

This place was a paradise for killing—a blood-drenched hell where violence reigned supreme.

Here, people found the thrill they craved, unleashing every dark and destructive urge.

"Kill! Kill! Kill!"

The instant Luo Qingtong stepped into the arena, wild chants of bloodlust engulfed her. A flood of people surged toward the vermilion gates, their screams echoing in the vast chamber. The dome above trembled as though the arena itself were alive with fury.

Each Black Territory branch city had its own Bloody Arena, a venue for venting anger and indulging in the pure ecstasy of carnage.

Here, participants entered willingly, or sent their slaves to fight to the death in exchange for winnings from the spectators' bets.

It wasn't just a battleground—it was the city's grandest casino.

In most casinos, players gambled with cards. But in the Bloody Arena, the stakes were life and death.

The moment Luo Qingtong entered, maids in revealing outfits swarmed toward her.

"Esteemed guest, which platform would you like to bet on?" One maid, her eyes brimming with charm, leaned closer to Luo Qingtong.

"From Channels 1 through 9, we have all sorts of matches to pique your interest, guest. Perhaps—ah!"

Her sentence ended in a shrill scream as Luo Qingtong grabbed her wandering hand, which had dared to touch her.

With an indifferent expression, Luo Qingtong flung the maid aside.

"I don't like being touched, understood?" Her voice was low and icy. "Get someone who knows the rules."

"Yes… of course…" The maid whimpered, clutching her broken wrist. Another maid hurried forward to replace her, visibly more cautious.

"This guest," the new maid began in a steady voice, "what type of betting experience would you prefer?"

"The most thrilling one," Luo Qingtong said, her gaze shifting toward Channel 9. "That one will do."

Channel 9 was notorious for its brutality.

Fighters who entered this stage rarely left unscathed. The more severe the injuries a contestant sustained, the greater their reward upon winning.

The stakes were immense, and so was the carnage.

When Luo Qingtong looked at the stage, the current match was nearing its end. Victory was imminent.

A towering, muscular man was pinned to the ground by a wiry opponent, the latter's hands locked firmly around his neck. Despite the giant's desperate struggles, he couldn't break free.

The wiry man was significantly weaker, but his opponent was already gravely injured.

The muscular man's body bore gruesome wounds: shredded meridians, a gaping hole in his abdomen, and arms nearly severed from his torso. Even his legs—his last means of resistance—were riddled with deep, bleeding gashes.

Under such conditions, anyone else would already be dead.

Yet he still fought to survive.