In the Inner City District,
Blood Tiger sat upon his seat.
By his side, many Aristocrats resembling half-human, half-Deceit God, half-animal figures gathered.
Some had bull heads, others pig faces, hundreds and thousands, congregating like a gathering in a garden of myriad monsters and spirits.
These bizarre Aristocrats watched eagerly as, down in the Imprisonment Arena,
Scantily-clad men and women wielded swords in hand, engrossed in mutual slaughter.
The Aristocrats' eyes reddened, their breaths heavy.
"Worthless scum, twist his neck off!"
"Bite, damn it, do you not have a mouth!"
"If the old man loses money, you will suffer the consequences!"
"Fucking hell!"
"Dammit!"
All sorts of foul language filled the air.
Blood Tiger shook his massive tiger head, eating garlic minced meat, his mouth reeking as he opened it.
He looked at the Communication Artifact with a relaxed expression.
"A cultivator resurrected from the dead?"
