"So, you're Blood Rose?" Blood Hammer with red hair was stunned, then laughed, spraying spit everywhere.
The woman in front of him was dressed in rags, with strips of cloth wrapped around her.
The famous Blood Rose? How could she be so downtrodden?
The companions around her were also in dirty, shabby beast armor. Only the guy in the center wore a full suit of black armor, without a helmet, looking like a young man from some tribe—barely grown—out on a training expedition with a few adventurers.
He pulled over a scantily clad servant girl, pressing her face down onto his lap, saying, "Such a beauty, eh? More like a Wild Rose. I wonder if she'd prick my hands in bed?"
"Why don't you find out?" Water Stream replied with a cold smile.
"Ah, a thorny Wild Rose, I like it!" Blood Hammer grinned wickedly, raising two fingers to his mouth and licking them. "Someone, take her down for me!"
"Master Blood Hammer, isn't that a bit much?"
A voice drifted over from the other side—it was the guy in black armor.
"What's this, a little cub here to cause trouble?" Blood Hammer cursed loudly.
"Rules can't be broken; otherwise, where's your authority, Master?" Kent replied calmly, ignoring Blood Hammer's taunts.
"Authority? So you know I have authority here? The rules of Blood Hammer Camp are my rules!" Blood Hammer shouted.
"Then I take it there are no rules in the camp's arena anymore?" Kent laughed.
Blood Hammer paused, then let out a harsh laugh. "Wanna play by arena rules? One-on-one or team fight?"
"Death Wheel," Kent replied.
Gasps sounded through the crowd.
The Death Wheel is only chosen by two sides locked in a blood feud. The rules are simple: each side sends ten fighters, who duel in sequence with no breaks. The winner stays to face the next challenger, and a fighter must win three consecutive duels before being replaced.
Even the members of the guard squad were surprised. With their current strength, no one could confidently win three matches in a row.
"Adventurer, are you looking to die?" Blood Hammer glared at the guy across from him, trying to read any clues from Kent's face.
"No, I just want to bet," Kent replied, flipping a gold coin in the air and catching it with a crisp clang.
Blood Hammer's eye twitched.
The young lord's gesture was rather cool.
"Bet?" Blood Hammer was puzzled.
So, he was just a guy wanting to make some extra cash? Probably struggling in the Northlands and looking to strike it rich through the arena—how naive.
"How much do you want to bet, Adventurer?" Blood Hammer asked, unable to resist such a tempting offer.
"One gold coin," Kent said.
The crowd burst into laughter; Death Wheels typically start at ten gold coins, with stakes sometimes reaching hundreds. Betting only a single coin? He had to be either insane or trying to cause trouble.
"Are you messing with me?" Blood Hammer roared, as a dozen guards drew their swords and axes.
"Why so hasty? I wasn't finished." Unfazed, Kent took a bag handed to him by Splitting Blade, feeling its weight. "One gold coin, plus… a bag of gold dust from the Merman tribes, around ten pounds."
The crowd erupted in astonishment. Gold dust is usually used by foreigners for trade, as they lack refined minting abilities. In black markets, a pound of average gold dust can fetch around fifty coins, and Merman gold dust is close to pure gold, fetching a hundred coins per pound.
Ten pounds of gold dust equaled about a thousand coins.
Blood Hammer's eyes gleamed. A thousand coins, practically handed to him—if he won, they'd be his; if he lost, they'd still be his… after all, this was his turf.
"Alright, little cub, pick your ten. Do you even have enough people?" Blood Hammer laughed.
"We don't need ten—two will do. She'll go first." Kent gestured to Water Stream below. She looked back at him with a smile. Kent cleared his throat and pointed to himself. "I'll be the other one."
"Captain!"
"No way!"
Dry Leaf and Splitting Blade hurriedly tried to stop him, but Kent smiled, signaling them not to worry.
With enchanted armor and magic at his disposal, by standards from the Scarlet Continent, his power now likely surpassed level ten.
At this moment, Blood Hammer's gaze was beyond words. He'd assumed this young adventurer had something up his sleeve; instead, he was just an overconfident fool. No matter how strong he was, there was no way he could pass the Death Wheel with just two people.
Unless he was a level sixteen knight.
But that was absurd! Level sixteen knights were out hunting magical beasts in the deep Northlands, where a decent magic core could fetch hundreds of coins—no need to gamble here.
This cat-and-mouse game instantly became intriguing to Blood Hammer. He gestured for a guard to put a coin in the tray of a waiting servant girl. Kent placed a coin on another servant's tray in the same manner.
This was the traditional start of a bet.
"Take your time with them, and don't hurt the girl," Blood Hammer sneered.
"Master, I'll go first!" said an armored half-orc, swinging a spiked hammer.
Blood Hammer nodded.
The half-orc cracked his neck, emitting a series of crunches, and with an evil grin, he took a step forward, leaping into the arena.
"The duel begins!" bellowed the dwarven announcer from the sidelines.
Boom!
The half-orc's body slammed into the low wall at the edge of the arena.
"A…adventurer wins!"
"What?" Blood Hammer hadn't yet reacted.
It had been only two breaths since he'd nodded, and the half-orc—hadn't he just jumped in?
His view was blocked, so he couldn't see what had happened on the field.
"What's going on?" He pushed aside the girl on his lap and strode to the edge to look down.
Water Stream was calmly walking to the center of the arena. At the stone wall's edge, the half-orc was embedded, his body twitching—clearly not long for this world.
A level-five half-orc warrior, known for his resilience, had been taken down in one blow?
"Broken Hammer, it's your turn!" Blood Hammer shouted.
This woman was vicious.
But the more vicious, the more he liked it.
Hearing the command, another half-orc, red-eyed with rage, wielding a battle-axe, leapt into the arena.
As a level-seven half-orc warrior, watching his comrade be smashed into the wall without even touching the enemy wasn't just a fight—it was an insult!
With a roar, he charged at the figure standing in the arena.