Gamers of the Underworld 118 Cruelty of Gladiator Fights!

In a smoke-filled room, a dark, beautifully crafted table was placed in the center.

A Devil sat on a dark sofa with his back to the door. He supported his head with a hand and appeared relaxed.

"Lord Sherlock, you're an evil Devil."

A Poison Toadman, who was wearing a checkered western suit, a coffee-colored waistcoat, and a tie and had three layers of fatty chin, was slumped in a huge executive chair as he faced the Devil.

Actually, he was sitting in the chair. Because he had lots of flesh, he looked like he was slumping.

The Poison Toadman inhaled from a white, heated metal stick and puffed out a mushroom cloud. Then he took out white metal sticks from the round table and said to the young Devil in front of him, "Don't you want to have a smoke? The taste is pretty good."

"No, thank you." Sherlock waved his hand and said, "The bloody chrysanthemum tea is sufficient. What do you think of my proposal?"

"Like I've said, I'm interested in your idea. For Gladiators, it's not sufficient to be creative. The audience has to like it. Actual capability is an important factor. Otherwise, I could pull it off with some weak-looking Goblins."

The Poison Toadman took another smoke. Due to his movement during his speech, his tight jacket buttons looked as though they were about to pop off.

"I understand what you're saying. I brought along 50 Goblin Gladiators for them to prove themselves," Sherlock spread out his hands and said with ease.

"Reserve fighters." The Poison Toadman straightened his back, and his flesh quivered. He extended his hand, which had four sticky fingers, and said emphatically, "Your Goblin warriors cannot be called Gladiators because they're not fully registered. If they have the courage to challenge a Giant like what Lord Sherlock has said, I won't hesitate to recruit them as Gladiators."

The Poison Toadman took another puff and made sucking sounds. Then he exhaled a mushroom cloud before saying, "There will be a small scale performance. As it's not a popular time slot and the itinerary isn't new, the spectators are few. I hope that your Goblins are as outstanding as you've claimed." The Poison Toadman smiled.

…

Black insects crawled on the damp bricks of a wall.

The chains dragging along the ground made shrill scraping sounds.

On a door was a sign that had the words "Resting Room 09."

The sounds of heavy panting pervaded the room. With the reflection of light from the lamps, the oily green skin accentuated the thick, strong muscles underneath.

An arm that was as thick as a Goblin.

A tall Orc whose hands were holding metal chains sat on a horizontal bench. He looked fiercely at the few Goblins in front of him. The strange green words above their heads were incomprehensible.

"You've been a Gladiator for ten years? Oh my God, that's awesome. Our Skills Trainer was a Gladiator too. Do you know the Gnome, Moroes?" one of the Goblins asked.

"Moroes? I knew a lot of Moroes. There is a Moroes Undertaker in the 'Money In The Bank Briefcase Tournament,' a Moroes Fireplayer in the 'Hades Inferno Tournament,' and a Moroes Final Rider in 'Buried Alive.' I haven't heard of a Moroes in 'Gnome.' What is 'Gnome?' Is it a tournament?" The Orc rubbed his knees and laughed as he replied.

"No, it's a race, the Gnome. He said he was a legendary Gladiator," another Goblin quickly said.

"Legendary Gladiator? The real legendary Gladiator is me!"

The Orc stood up excitedly, his flesh quivering as though it was alive. Then it became firm like Stone Slabs.

"Big Rock Johnson!"

The Orc stood in front of the light, and his shadow engulfed the Goblins. He had an imposing aura, and the Goblins looked small in comparison.

"Johnson! In the next script, you have to…"

A shout was heard outside. An elderly Gnome wearing a white cloak, sporting an unkempt beard, and holding a script was taken aback when he saw the Goblins in the room. He asked, "Who are these Goblins? Did you let them in? Why aren't they cleaning and watching over the stage? What're they doing here?"

"No, they say they're participating in the Gladiator fight," the Orc, Johnson, pointed at the green Goblins and replied.

"Gladiators?"

The elderly Gnome widened his eyes as he gazed at the Goblins who were fully armored and wielding weapons and shields.

If their Goblin race was disregarded, they looked like Gladiators.

"What did Boss smoke this time? Goblins? Is our business that bad?" The Gnome waved his hand and said to Big Rock Johnson, "Forget it, don't worry about this. You have to be knocked down to the ground at the tenth minute. Your opponent will use his elbow to hit your thigh and then carry you for a back slam. Then you'll be KO'd. Do you understand?"

"Wait, is my opponent a Gnome? He's only as tall as my belly, how could he do a back slam?" Big Rock Johnson asked.

"Are you an idiot? When he lifts you up for a slam, you'll raise yourself up. Will that suffice? After being a Gladiator for ten years, do I have to teach you?"

Johnson rubbed his bald head awkwardly.

"You can lift your scalp," Peasant, who was sitting opposite him, said.

"Whatever it is, prepare for your appearance. Is the soap applied on your body? When the light is directed at you, you have to appear shiny!" the elderly Gnome said to Johnson.

"It's applied." Johnson took out some soap and showcased his shiny skin.

"Okay, let's go."

The elderly Gnome took Johnson out.

There were only five Goblins left in the room.

Arthur, NotWearingPants, Sylvanas, BurningChestHair, and Peasant.

"What do we do?" NotWearingPants asked in the silent room.

"Ah? What shall we do?"

Peasant looked confused.

"For the next Gladiator fight, do we go out? What shall we do?"

NotWearingPants replied, "Shall we discuss our tactics? Though the mission description didn't mention mass fighting, won't the group that wins receive greater rewards?"

"I feel we should execute a precision range strike." Sylvanas took out her Short Bow and caressed it lovingly.

"A precision strike on our teammates?" BurningChestHair said.

Sylvanas jumped up and strangled BurningChestHair's throat with the ends of her bow. She pulled her bow and said viciously, "If you belittle me again, I'll give you a precision death!"

"I'm dying! Gosh, I'm dying!"

"Release him! The fight hasn't begun, and we'll be down by a gamer!"

NotWearingPants and Peasant hurried to save their teammate.

Only Arthur was silent as he sharpened his Short Sword with a whetstone.

Noises were heard outside as the four Goblins were scuffling.

"Ladies—! Gentlemen—! Welcome to today's Northern Underground World Professional Wrestling Tournament! I'm the host… let me welcome Big Rock Johnson, what? He's using a prohibited weapon the moment he appeared! No! Guards! Guards, oh my God. The situation is out of control. My God, this is the most bloody professional wrestling competition that I've ever seen. This competition shouldn't be called outlawed. This is totally inhumane! What? My words are censored?"

The four Goblins continued scuffling.

"My God! Johnson's equipment was taken away, brutally stolen. Take a look! The equipment was swallowed by Metal Devourer! Seems like Metal Devourer is winning. I look forward to the mass fight between Metal Devourer and 50 Goblins. Can Metal Devourer swallow the Goblins and their equipment?"

The four scuffling Goblins stopped and sat in their seats.

NotWearingPants looked at Sylvanas and asked, "We'll stand behind you. Can you execute your precision strike?"

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"Make haste! You fat lazy Hamster prisoner!"

"Pa, pa, pa!"

A Gnome with a missing tooth cracked his whip in front of three spinning Hamster Wheels.

Three Hamsters sporting o-faces ran on the Hamster Wheels continuously in front of the Gnome.

An Orc peered in and said, "The special blood effects above are done. We don't need the Hamster Wheels anymore. Let the Hamsters do some cleaning up."

The Gnome nodded and yelled, "Sinful ones, you can stop now. Go and clean the resting rooms!"

Chapter end