Chapter 17: The Death Match Club

Ashe's first impression of the Death Match Club was its dark atmosphere. Unlike the rest of the prison, which was brightly lit, the club had only minimal lighting. The arena at the center glowed under white lamps, while the elevated spectator seats around it were almost pitch black. It was as if the audience had been swallowed by shadows, leaving only the two fighters on the stage visible within that enclosed world.

It was also the place where Ashe saw the most inmates. On the way to the Death Match Club, Ashe had walked with Ronna past the library and gymnasium, and he encountered more than a handful of prisoners. Here, even without bright lights, he could sense nearly a hundred inmates from the whispers and faint silhouettes in the darkness.

"Ronna, are you here?"

"Is that a newcomer?

Oh

, that's the leader of the Four Pillars Cult. To think he actually dares to meddle with the Four Pillars Deities... He's a truly bold kid."

"The Gourmet Ronna has arrived!"

A burly man called Desmond teased with a grin. "Ronna, is that your new boyfriend? Looks like your taste has changed!"

Ronna snapped, "Desmond, say one more thing that damages my relationship with my boyfriend, and I'll bite you to death!"

He didn't sound genuinely angry. If anything, he was just a little flustered.

The surrounding laughter died down immediately. Desmond quickly pressed his hands together and apologized, "

Haha

, Ronna, I didn't mean it. Come on, introduce us to the newcomer."

Unwilling to continue, Ronna snorted.

Hearing that, Desmond let out a sigh of relief and shrank back into the crowd.

Ashe silently took all of this in and edged a little further away from Ronna. He had already realized that the seemingly bald, harmless-looking man he had approached could very well be a notorious slaughterer feared throughout the prison.

Ronna smiled. "His name is Ashe Heath. He came in two days ago and wants to join the Death Match Club, so I brought him here to show it to him. Who's fighting right now?"

"Diamond Tiger and Blind Orc Rudor."

"Rudor...

Ah

. Tiger's already an old man. Is he not even going to spare a few Contribution Points? Didn't anyone challenge Rudor first?"

"Of course! We all wanted a piece of that fat prize. But Rudor has never fought Tiger before and thinks Tiger's the easier target. Tiger's wager is higher too, so..."

Ashe leaned over the railing and looked down at the arena, where a brutal one-sided fight was underway. A frail, white-haired old man faced a muscular, green orc in a barehanded duel.

Yes, it was a one-sided slaughter.

Both traded blows without guarding, yet the old man took hits the size of cast-iron pans without even flinching. He wasn't winded, and not even a red mark appeared on his skin. The orc's strikes seemed no more than a baby tapping on his chest. In contrast, when the old man struck back, every blow carried devastating force. Each hit landed with the sound of cracking stone, making Ashe's scalp tingle just from listening.

At the time Ashe arrived, the green orc was already battered and bloody. His flesh was torn in several places, his teeth were missing, and his swollen eyes were nearly shut.

The old man sent him flying several meters with a single punch. He slammed into the wall, leaving a bloody smear before collapsing. Yet the old man showed no mercy. He glanced up and returned to hammer him relentlessly.

He resembled a bathhouse attendant scrubbing away grime, only he was scrubbing the orc's flesh off, bit by bit, with his fists.

Ashe couldn't bear to watch. "The winner is already decided. Why isn't it over?"

A nearby spectator laughed. "Decided? Not yet. Try reaching out your hand."

Ashe stretched out his hand and felt an invisible wall of air. Ripples spread outward, revealing a barrier that encased the arena and cut it off from the spectators entirely.

"The barrier only lifts when one side dies or loses consciousness. Then the medical staff will come through that door and drag the body to the infirmary."

The man pointed to a small, barely noticeable door in the arena. "As long as the barrier's up, there's no relaxing. You have to crush and overwhelm your opponent.

"In Death Matches, there's no surrender. The loser faces only two outcomes, which are either death or unconsciousness. Countless fools who overestimated themselves have died because they treated this place like a sports match, where friendship comes before victory.

"They stopped halfway and got killed, losing huge amounts of Contribution Points and skyrocketing straight to the top of the execution list. But that's the purpose of the Death Match Club. It transfers Contribution Point that shouldn't be yours to someone more deserving."

Thud!

Hearing another heavy impact, Ashe imagined the orc's insides being smashed flat. He asked, "Can he really be saved?"

"He hasn't lost consciousness yet. But even if he's saved, it's basically like being dead already. Look up."

Ashe looked up and realized that the glowing spot on the ceiling was actually a light screen displaying the match information.

[Tiger Norris: 35 Contribution Points Wagered VS Rudor Fangstrike: 5 Contribution Points Wagered]

Ashe stared in surprise. "The wagers aren't equal. Why would Tiger bet that much?"

The man beside him explained patiently, "As long as both sides agree, unequal wagers are allowed. In fact, very few duels have equal wagers. The rules state that with every death duel you participate in, you must wager one more Contribution Point than in the previous match. Tiger has fought thirty-four duels before this one, so he must wager thirty-five this time."

"So this is Rudor's fifth duel?"

The man let out a cold laugh. "No, this is his tenth. Every inmate starts with fifty Contribution Points. With each additional match, you must add one more point to your previous wager. He used forty-five points in his first nine duels and only has five left for the tenth."

"So if Rudor loses this match, he'll have zero Contribution Point left, and he'll never be able to earn more through death duels. Unless he literally digs coins out of his stomach, he'll stay at the top of the execution list forever."

Ashe quickly caught on. "Wait... does that mean he lost all nine matches!?"

"That's why he's called Blind Orc Rudor. He always challenges opponents he cannot possibly defeat."

Boom!

Following another heavy blow, the green orc's head looked on the verge of bursting. At the same time, the ceiling screen chimed and displayed the words.

[The Winner has been decided! Tiger Norris]

The barrier surrounding the stage vanished instantly, and the small door at the edge of the arena swung open. Three black-robed figures wearing crow masks entered. They didn't even use a stretcher. One of them grabbed Rudor by the leg and dragged him away like a corpse.

The audience chattered loudly in the darkness.

"Tiger is too devious. He pretends to be weak just to steal Rudor's Contribution Points."

"Steal? Hardly. I knew from the start he wasn't easy to deal with. Rudor isn't just blind, he's brainless. Anyone with half a brain knows that any old men, women, or children who can stay in the Death Match Club are anything but harmless."

"How many people has the old man dragged out now?"

"Just counting from when I arrived, at least five."

"Old man, you already have plenty of Contribution Points. Next time, leave the opportunities to us youngsters. And that orc is ridiculous. If he had to donate his points anyway, giving them to me would've been better."

Tiger wiped the blood from his fists with a towel, then suddenly coughed twice and spat out several mouthfuls of bloody phlegm. Alarmed, he said, "That orc hits pretty hard. I think I've suffered internal injuries..."

The crowd roared.

"Who would believe that!?"

Clearly, they had seen people fooled more than once by the old man's weak act.

"He's strong."

Ashe looked to the side and noticed the Death Maniac Swordswoman had appeared again. Unlike the others, the dim lighting did not affect her. She seemed to emit her own light, dispersing the darkness as she sat upright on the railing, standing out sharply against her surroundings.

Even more surprisingly, she had changed into a new outfit. She now wore a tight training uniform resembling a sword dojo's sparring suit, and her long red hair was tied back, giving her the sharp and spirited aura of a skilled swordfighter.

Ashe blurted out, "Why is he so strong?"

The man standing nearby and the Death Maniac Swordswoman answered simultaneously.

"Because this arena allows attacks, but restricts spell output."

She glanced at Ashe, covered his mouth, then continued, "There are many types of sorcerers, like artificers, warriors, scholars, and healers, but most rely on mana to drive their spirits. Once mana output is restricted, they become no different from ordinary people.

"But a small number of sorcerers possess strength beyond ordinary humans, even without spirits. These are sorcerers who specialize in body techniques. Generally, any sorcerer who trains their body can be one of these—swordmasters, fistmasters, gunners, spearlancers, or axe-cutters. With proper weapons, they can also fight groups. But compared to their physiques, their true advantage lies in skills. Their bodies are not much stronger than those of ordinary people.

"There is one category of close-combat sorcerers who constantly strengthen their bodies. Some even modify their flesh and bones through their spirits, turning themselves into weapons. Their bodies gain overwhelming brute force, and the effect lasts even without spirits. In a prison where spirits are banned, that advantage becomes decisive.

"These sorcerers are called Brute Body Sorcerers. "These sorcerers are called Brute Body Sorcerers. They abandon the limitations of mortal bodies, making their own no longer bound by flesh and blood."

Ashe glanced down and noticed Tiger leaving the arena.

No way! He actually scraped metal off the railing just by running his finger along it!

So that's why he's called the Diamond Tiger...

"Since you're here, hurry up and pick your opponent," the Death Maniac Swordswoman said. "Just don't choose the old man. For your first duel, pick someone who fights barehanded. You should go unarmed yourself."

"Why?"

She crossed her arms. "Because you're too weak. If you fight with a real sword, you could be crippled before you even land a few swings. If your opponent is also using fists, at least you can last a few rounds and give the experienced transmission system time to collect data. What I worry about more is you losing your sword and getting decapitated. To avoid a scene this painful to watch, your first fight should be unarmed.

"I don't expect you to win a fistfight. But you at least know how to take a beating, right?"

Ashe nodded and took her advice. He turned to the inmate he had been chatting with. "I want to take part in a Death Match. I'd prefer an unarmed opponent. Any recommendations?"

"Unarmed combat? You've come to the right guy, my brother. I fight unarmed. Have a match with me. I promise I won't bully you."

Ashe joked, "Sure, but since this is my first duel, I'll only bet one Contribution Point. Even if you're just pretending to be weak to lure me in, you won't earn much when you win."

"Don't worry. I won't take your Contribution Point. I'll even give you some. I'm very weak. After all—"

Suddenly, the lights in the entire arena blazed on. The darkness over the audience vanished, replaced by dazzling brightness that flooded the place.

It was only then that Ashe recognized the "friendly guy" he had been chatting with had been none other than Iger! The man he had met and almost punched not long ago. Iger smiled at Ashe. "Even you tried to punch me in the face."

"Good to see you again, Ashe, bearer of those adorable fists."