Chapter 57: The Arena

“Coming up next is the crowd-favorite Mambo Knight!

And his challenger for this bout is—” The announcer’s voice boomed through the stadium speakers, nearly drowned out by the roaring crowd.

“The Silicone Knight, riding high on a three-match winning streak!”

You finally snapped.

Turning away from the blinding arena spotlights, you looked at Gravel and complained, “No, seriously, are Terran naming conventions really this much of a meme?

Is this not some bizarre cultural cross-contamination?”

Gravel tapped her chin, her golden eyes reflecting the neon lights.

“These knights named after materials seem to belong to a unified corporate umbrella.

Rising stars like the Clay Knight, Ceramic Knight, and Resin Knight from the earlier brackets are definitely affiliated with each other.

It’s a marketing tactic to showcase their sponsor’s industry influence.”

Good grief.

It was a fellowship of plastic modelers.

You immediately scrapped your grand plan of registering Patriot under the title of ‘Marching Knight’ and started brainstorming something far more abstract.

Just imagining the arena host pinching his nose and screaming, “The Race-Card Knight is the final victor!” was enough to make you crack up on the spot.

Riding the high of your own internal shitposting, you didn’t even bother pulling up PRTS to calculate the actual combat stats, DPS output, or skill cooldowns of the contestants.

You just started throwing down bets based entirely on gamer intuition.

“I reckon this guy has the protagonist aura!”

Sixteen consecutive losses later.

Gravel, struggling to suppress a fond smile, gently offered up her own coin purse.

“Doctor, please use my funds for now.”

“No way!

I’m actually locking in this time!” You swatted away her hard-earned salary, your gamer pride wounded.

With a flick of your wrist, you projected the PRTS interface and slapped your last three measly coins onto the betting terminal.

The upcoming matchup was beautifully simple.

Ten Originium Slugs versus Jesselton!

And you, a tactical genius, were currently putting your life savings on the Originium Slugs.

Two hours later.

Gravel walked away from the exchange counter carrying an absolute mountain of chips, her expression completely blank.

That actually worked?

The casino staff glared daggers at the two of you.

They had watched you make a degenerate, desperate comeback, draining the house’s margins bit by bit.

Just as the pit boss signaled his bouncers to turn hostile, Gravel casually flashed her Tier 4 Knight badge.

The bouncers instantly evaporated into the crowd.

Watching the LMD balance in your account skyrocket once again, you felt invincible.

“Sir, would you like to buy a bouquet?”

A little girl lingering near the casino’s opulent entrance seized the opportunity, hurrying over to diligently present a basket of somewhat wilted flowers.

“These are Tilan flowers!

They symbolize eternal love and bright expectations for the future!

You can give them to the pretty big sister right there!” The girl pointed directly at Gravel, who perked up, watching the exchange with great interest.

“They won’t increase my drop rates or make me rich, so no thanks.” You waved her off, entirely uninterested.

You weren’t joking around—you still hadn’t grinded the 180,000 LMD required for Patriot’s Elite 2 promotion!

Revitalizing Rhodes Island’s economy started with strict financial discipline.

The little girl clicked her tongue in annoyance, immediately pivoting to Gravel’s side.

“Sister, sister!

Would you like a bouquet of Pink Tilans instead?

The flower language for these is ‘a forced romance is still sweet and juicy’!”

Gravel happily paid for the entire basket.

As expected of Kazimierz.

Even a street urchin had the hustle of a seasoned corporate marketer.

Watching the noisy pair walk away into the bustling commercial district, the little girl finally sat down on the curb.

She counted the crisp LMD notes she had just received and prepared to call it a night.

Even though that weird guy’s words were blunt, he was actually a softie.

She wasn’t blind—she saw the subtle look he gave the big sister, silently prompting her to slip an extra 100 LMD into the payment as a tip.

She wouldn’t have to starve today.

The little girl carefully arranged the remaining withered flowers in her basket.

Opening her mouth slightly, she blew a soft, shimmering breath over the petals.

This was her Originium Arts.

It was pitifully weak, only capable of making organic matter rot just a little bit slower.

That was why she sold Tilans.

Red Tilans, Pink Tilans, Purple Tilans…

Leaving the glamorous, neon-drenched avenues of the knight arena behind, she nimbly handled through a maze of narrow alleyways, sinking deeper and deeper into the filthy, suffocating slums.

It was a completely different world.

The commercial districts were brightly lit even at the dead of night, but down here, the residents were lucky to catch a sliver of faint sunlight during the absolute peak of the afternoon.

The Kazimierz General Chamber of Commerce had long since monopolized the superstructures above this sector, using the massive overhead platforms to grow fresh organic fruits and vegetables for the wealthy.

The slums lived in perpetual shadow.

The little girl approached a dilapidated shack made of rusted corrugated metal.

Following the old rules, she slid the LMD she had scraped together over the past few days through a slot in the door.

A minute passed.

Then, half a dirty syringe and a rock-hard piece of black bread were tossed out into the mud.

She banged her small fist against the metal door.

“Why is there even less medicine today?!

Last time, the liquid clearly didn’t stop above this red mark!”

She was illiterate.

The most educated moment of her entire life was when she memorized those few lines of corporate flower language to sell her wares.

The person inside the shack clicked their tongue impatiently.

“You must have remembered wrong, brat.

Take it or leave it.

If you don’t want it, get lost!

Who else in this entire sector is going to sell suppressants to you unlucky, penniless ghosts?”

The little girl clenched her fists, her knuckles turning white.

But the humiliation didn’t feed her, and it certainly didn’t stop the pain.

She bent down, picked up the black bread, and grabbed the syringe—a needle that had been used by who knows how many people before her.

She pushed the plunger, injecting the murky fluid into her bloodstream once again.

As the cheap suppressant entered her system, the agonizing, burning pain in her chest slowly began to recede into a dull ache.

Breathing a little easier, she pulled down her frayed collar and stared at the cluster of grain-sized Originium crystals embedded in her skin.

Were there a few more than yesterday?

She couldn’t count very high, but the black cluster definitely looked denser.

At least those two weirdos from the arena had given her a bit more money today.

Even if she didn’t sell a single flower tomorrow, she would still have enough saved to buy another half-dose of medicine.

Sitting in the grime, the little girl held the black bread with both hands and stubbornly swallowed it, bite by dry bite.

Tears welled in the corners of her eyes as she choked on the coarse crumbs.

She didn’t know if she was crying from the physical pain, or from something else entirely.

“Yo, Tilan-seller.

Not dead yet?”

A young boy sat down on the dirt beside her.

A jagged shard of Originium protruded sharply from his bare shoulder.

He, too, was clutching half a piece of stale black bread.

“Aren’t you still breathing too?”

The little girl swallowed a mouthful of bread with immense difficulty.

“I haven’t lived long enough yet.

An uncle in the alley told me he once saw a kid with the exact same disease as us live past eighteen.”

“I don’t expect to live that long.

But at least half of that…

nine years old, right?” The boy offered a weak, tired smile.

“Then you’d better work hard to reach it.”

The little girl paused, looking at him.

“What, you think you can easily live to nine?”

The boy was silent for a long moment.

The distant hum of the neon city above vibrated through the rusted walls around them.

“…Because I’m probably going to die tomorrow.”

He carefully pulled aside his tattered shirt.

The little girl’s breath hitched.

The jagged black Originium crystals didn’t just stop at his shoulder—they spiderwebbed down his chest, the dark veins extending all the way into the flesh directly over his heart.

“I’m just unlucky,” the boy whispered.

“The spot they decided to grow in is getting worse and worse.” He looked up at the dark, metallic ceiling that hid the sky.

“It’s a pity.

I really wanted to see the Radiant Knight come back…

She’s the only role model us Infected have.”

The little girl froze.

She stared at the black veins on his chest, her face completely blank.

Without tears, and without sorrow, she simply said, “Goodbye.”

But the little boy cried.

Clutching his stale bread, he looked at her and sobbed, “Never see you again.”

[Rhodes’s Note:

Enjoying the operation so far, Doctor?

(This daily grind literally pays the landship’s rent!

to use the links!)