Richard, a new member of the League of Bastard Children, stood on the street with a blank expression.

This grass platform team alliance sounds very unreliable, but the conditions given are reliable enough - Rog promises to pass on the Orlando family's information for him as much as possible in the future.

That's at least a promise worth thousands of gold coins.

If you want to make a move in the Northeast Province, you can't avoid the noble court, no matter what the Orlando family wants to do, Sauron will definitely get some news, and Richard, who is weak and weak, will not be blind in intelligence.

Shaking his head and smiling back to his senses, Richard raised his hand and rented a passing two-wheeled carriage for two silver coins.

"Starry Arena!"

The carriage turned around and began to gallop through the streets of the city of Cologne. As the mileage increases, the buildings on both sides of the road gradually thin out into the less bustling suburbs.

The northeastern province is located on the border of the empire, and there are many inhuman races between ignorant and semi-ignorant, and the folk culture happens to be fierce and aggressive. All this provided fertile soil for the development of gladiatorial fighting, making it a leading ornamental sport in the country.

The Starry Arena was one of the more than a dozen arenas in the city, large and small, and the only special thing for Richard was that it was the property of Sauron, and the fifty highland barbarian fighters promised to him were kept here.

Sauron was a new aristocracy, so the Starry Arena was of course a new type of arena, and the buildings made of logs and bricks were noticeably more modest than the fine granite fields of the old large arenas.

"Sir, today is a day off, please come back another day. ”

The steward of the arena is short and fat, and his facial features are mediocre. It's just that there is a very eye-catching big mole on the chin, and more than a dozen long and thick black hairs are densely poked out, and they are actually bundled into a lock by a silver hoop ingeniously.

Richard handed Sauron's edict to the steward, and he carefully checked the seal as he stroked the handful of hair.

"Highland barbarians, of course there is no problem. The steward nodded, and led the guests into the arena.

There was no gladiatorial fight to see today, and it was deserted inside, with only a few servants cleaning. The Starry Arena may only be open to the common class, with only crowded, affordable seats in the auditorium, and no private boxes of the kind that are generally preferred by the aristocracy.

"Honestly, it's not bad to take them away. They wounded many other fighters, and slaughtered the crocodile for meat, which was completely bad. The fat steward shrugged his shoulders with his hands outstretched, "I can't do anything about it." ”

Two male servants walked into a deep corridor together, and when they came out, they were followed by dozens of shirtless brutes.

It is well known that the more north the cold regions are, the taller and more muscular they are, and the opposite tends to be short and thin.

It is well known that the highland barbarians inhabit the snowy plateaus of the far north, and are entitled to call all branches of humanity southerners or lowlanders except themselves.

Therefore, they naturally have the largest stature and the physique of a brute, and if muscle is also a virtue, the highland barbarians must all be saints.

Richard was about eight sharps tall, and his swordsmanship practice gave him a body of muscles that were not cumbersome, and he was outstanding among the locals. But compared to these strong men who are nearly two blades tall on average, they are like a pile of pumpkins mixed with potatoes to make up the numbers.

The barbarians stared at the Pompeii in front of them, their eyes cold. In his unwavering eyes, he seemed to still carry the frozen air of the far north.

They are the most outstanding samurai, and they are invincible in the ice fields, so they are arrogant, arrogant, and contemptuous!

"Big men, I bought you from Lord Sauron. Richard unfolded the parchment, briefly showed Sauron's handwriting, and continued, "So according to the laws of Pompeii, now you are all my slaves. ”

The barbarians were as silent as dead marble sculptures, as if they hadn't heard, and they were completely indifferent to it.

Sauron bought what they had hoped to be the trump card for the revitalization of the Colosseum, but in the end there was nothing they could do about it, and now it was Richard's turn to gnaw on the hard stone.

The fat butler suddenly felt that his legs were a little weak.

In this bloody place, ruthless people are never uncommon, but being as ruthless as these highland barbarians is a different story.

"But I don't think anyone likes to be a slave, so I want to make a bet with you. If I lose, I'll set you free. Richard snapped his fingers a few times, "But if I win, you'll have to fight for me." ”

A barbarian parted his companion's shoulders and stepped out and stood across from Richard.

Even by the standards of a highland barbarian, this man is really not a burly man. He was at least two blades tall, a head taller than Richard, and his shoulders were half as wide. By the most conservative estimates, he also weighed more than twice as much as Richard.

What's even more terrifying is that this brute-like barbarian actually seems to be very light when he walks around, and seems to have found a balance between strength and agility, which is by no means comparable to those obese strongmen in the market.

"Sounds good, bet on what. ”

He had a horrible scar running through his throat and left chest, perhaps because of it, and his voice was hoarse and low.

"Wrestling, how's it going?"

Among the highland barbarians, who had not been smiling, a burst of laughter suddenly erupted that was enough to overturn the dome of the Great Arena.

They are true connoisseurs who understand that wrestling is a direct contest of strength and physique. The diminutive Pompeii are not as good as the half-sized children of the tribe who never have enough to eat, so how can they have the courage to challenge the best "snow bear hunters"?

That's the title you can only get by fighting the most dangerous snow bear on the ice with your bare hands!

"Wrestling? I love wrestling. The Roshan barbarian grinned and lightly punched Richard, "Gunther, Highlander. ”

"Richard, Pompeii. ”

Seeing that the two had already negotiated, the steward was as anxious as an ant on a hot pot. Involuntarily tugged at the hair locks on his chin, and beads of sweat were visible to the naked eye on his forehead.

He was born as a commoner, and he struggled for half his life to have the prominent position he has today, and his assets were even more abundant than some broken nobles, but commoners were still commoners.

If there is a nobleman with an obviously underdeveloped brain who deliberately seeks to die, and is smashed into meat sauce by barbarians on this acre and three points of land, the steward will inevitably bear part of the responsibility, and half of his life's efforts may be in vain.

"Sir" tugged at Richard's sleeve, and he reminded in a low voice, "This brute can kill a male boar alive with only three punches and two kicks! ”

Wild boars are covered in natural armor made of stones and pine resin, and are more difficult beasts than tigers. The advice of the big mole is sincere and sincere, but whether it is useful or not depends on who the target is.

"Three punches and two kicks, I can kill with one punch!"

The big mole shook his hand and pulled off the silver hoop on the hair lock, along with a few black hairs. He was desperate, and he cursed in his heart for some incorrigible scumbag.