Chapter 56: Hanging by a Thread

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Facing the charging giant ape, the young man dodged swiftly. This time, he truly had no weapon in his hands, so he dared not act rashly, hoping instead that the ape would bleed to death. If that happened, he would win this round and finally escape this cursed place.

The giant ape, of course, would not let the young man slip away so easily. Relentless in its pursuit, it chased him around the arena, determined to tear him to pieces.

It’s inevitable—if you walk by the river long enough, your shoes will get wet. The duel had dragged on for nearly an hour. The young man's stamina was waning; eventually, the ape caught him, and his life hung by a thread.

The host continued his exuberant commentary, stars of color flying everywhere. Everyone's attention was fixed on the young man in the arena, waiting to see if he would create a miracle or become the ape's next meal.

No one noticed a well-made iron ball flying from the cage below, knocking the short blade off the ape's back. They assumed the ape had shaken it off itself, but the young man knew someone had helped him—most likely the four people from earlier. He didn't know their intentions, but he was moved by the assistance.

Not wasting his chance to survive, he summoned all his strength and punched the ape in the stomach—a last desperate strike.

The giant ape instinctively clutched its belly, giving the young man an opening to snatch up the blade. With a swift motion, he severed the ape’s jugular.

Now drained of strength, the giant ape thrashed a few times before succumbing to blood loss, leaving only a cold corpse and pools of blood.

He wiped his blood-soaked face with his hand and shouted toward the main podium, "Five times! I've won five times! According to the rules, can I leave now?"

The distance to the podium was too great for his voice to be heard. After half a minute of stunned silence, cheers finally erupted.

Unable to make out what the host was saying, the crowd saw a rarely opened door swing open in the arena. The young man strode through it, at last able to live like a human being—even if only as an enslaved person.

The cheers in the stands had not yet faded, especially among those who had won money. The odds this time were one to a hundred—what a windfall!

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Inside the arena, the second match had already begun. The host called for silence several times before the crowd quieted. He then announced the rules for this round. Unlike the previous bout, this time the duel was not between human and beast, but human against human.

Yes, this was a battle between two people—a fight to the death. Only by killing the opponent could one hope to survive.

As before, the two sides seemed vastly mismatched. The red side featured a burly, muscular man with scars just starting to scab, while the blue side was frail and timid, cowering and begging for mercy from the start.

Begging was futile. The burly man lifted the weakling single-handedly and slapped him mercilessly, following up with a barrage of punches and kicks. The weakling tried to resist, but his blows were feeble, causing not the slightest harm. Instead, the sound of his own bones breaking echoed, and pain drove him to lose control of his bladder and bowels.

This match lacked the spectacle of the previous one; the crowd barely reacted, only applauding once the blue side stopped breathing. The burly man from the red side had broken another record—this time for speed. The entire duel lasted just seven minutes and twenty-three seconds.

The Falcon Squad watched from their cage, showing no sympathy for the weakling. Someone who wouldn't even attempt to fight back was unworthy of pity. Often, that’s how the world works—weakness is a crime. If they had any feelings left, it was growing contempt for those who made the rules. Too cruel, leaving no path for the weak to survive.

Unbeknownst to them, the burly man on the red side was an accomplice. He could have left long ago, but chose to stay, reveling in the thrill of killing—especially without weapons. The sensation was exhilarating.

The duels continued: humans battling each other to the death, beasts tearing at beasts, and in another human-versus-beast match, two men were devoured on the spot. The crowd kept cheering, utterly devoid of humanity.

Finally, it was the Falcon Squad's turn. This round of the beast tournament was entering its final phase—the group battle, also known as the Hunt for the King.

Indeed, the Falcon Squad faced not a single opponent, nor just one beast, but a multitude; the exact number was unknown, but about a third of the arena was filled.

The host had not yet announced the start, but some isolated contestants began forming temporary teams, hoping to increase their chances.

This round was different from the rest. Every beast or contestant could choose to withdraw, and points would be calculated based on endurance. With one hour as the baseline, zero points were awarded at exactly one hour; every ten minutes less earned minus one point, rounding up if less than ten minutes. Anyone with more than minus five points would be eliminated, dealt with by the City of the Future.

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If the contestant lasted more than an hour, every additional half hour earned one point. Defeating another team brought bonus points, based on the opponent’s rank—between one and five. Accumulating more than fifteen points granted the right to leave, becoming an enslaved person.

Upon hearing the rules, the Falcon Squad understood immediately why people had been forming alliances from the outset: it was all about delaying the inevitable.

Why not agree to hold off for an hour before fighting? It was obvious—the tournament organizers wouldn’t allow it. Bringing in half the beasts was precisely to prevent such collusion.

As the host announced the start, the locks restricting the beasts were released. The monsters were first to celebrate, whether strong or agile, rushing at their prey.

Chaos instantly engulfed the arena. It was impossible to tell who was fighting whom; only the cries, shouts, and sobs mingled together. The air reeked of urine, feces, and blood.

The Falcon Squad had no need to join forces with others. Their only focus was preserving their strength. With their skills, as long as they stayed together, their lives were not in immediate danger.

They quietly summoned their weapons, careful not to draw attention. They did this when no one was watching, unlocking their gene-locked arsenal, something ordinary people could never possess. Exposure would ruin everything.

Standing back-to-back in a circle, they watched the carnage unfold, waiting for their moment…