"Who's in charge of the money?" I asked.

Scheler, who was in charge of confiscating the weapons at the door, looked at me with bulging eyes as if he had done something wrong.

"Aru, Aru takes care of the money tonight." He said.

"Two more." I commanded.

Tonight was very exciting, and there were quite a few people buying tickets. The last thing I want is for the money I collect to be taken away by some shitty thing.

Scherer ran away, and in a few seconds he was back with two of his best men. They went to look for Aru, and I looked back into the field. All the way to the vicinity of the gate, it was full, leaving no gaps, and it was full of people—all sorts of people, similar only bloodthirsty excitement. They will definitely be satisfied.

Pu Lan, the skinner, my popular fighter, has just finished his long and lazy entrance ceremony. He was angular, painted green from head to toe, and carried a small round shield in his left hand, with his infamous whip sword coiled around his waist, which when lacquered looked like a poisonous snake. He paced unhurriedly. It's a ...... who came to fight today Shurima people? Is it called Falan, or is it Farui? Anyway, as long as he wins, I'll know what his name is. He clasped his shoulders in both hands, and eagerly tried to pull out a pair of short daggers behind his back, as if he wanted to stare Pu Lan out of a hole. He had crossed more than half the world to come here, and if he was taught a lesson by the local teenager casually, he would not let himself go.

With a wave of the towel in the host's hand, the game began. The two men circled each other in the middle of the field. The Skinners never let the audience down – Pu Lan drew his whip sword and slapped it on his body at will. (There are only about eight people in the world who can do this without ripping off their faces, and he likes to show it off.) ）

The Shurima could not bear such a light insult, and immediately drew two daggers. He sprang up, turning into a whirlwind of blades that swept across the battlefield, breaking through the wind at a very unnatural angle. Although Pu Lan was taken aback, he was already on guard. In an instant, he raised his round shield and opened a dagger, throwing the Shurima aside.

It was as if an eternity had passed. The Shurima man completely lost his balance, his hands on his waist, and his whole body was wide open.

With a flick of his wrist, the whip sword slashed cleanly across his opponent's throat. The Shurima fell to the ground, and a pool of blood gradually poured out from under him. The audience burst into cheers.

"Keep an eye on the cash box!" I shouted to my little brother behind me.

"Understood, Boss!" Scherer replied. The crowd rushed into the front hall to collect their bets.

I watched as the men in the fight ring carried the corpses of the Shurima onto the carts. A few steps away, Pulan was celebrating with a crowd of fans. He had an expression on his face. I know that look very well. Not relieved. Nor is it satisfied. He's getting more and more invincible now, and it's not a good thing.

About an hour later, the audience had dispersed. The account is also clear. I was about to say goodnight to my brothers, and guess who stopped me at the door?

It's the skinning man Pulan. He clutched a bulging bag of money, but didn't look very happy. He said he still had a problem to solve. Sure enough.

I asked him what the problem was. He's just won in front of an unprecedentedly large audience. That's right, he said, that's the problem: he's bringing unprecedented attendance. So he also has to share the money. Divide my money.

I understand what he thinks now, exactly what I thought when I took over here. But understanding doesn't mean I'm satisfied. I said, no.

Then he exploded. He began to tell me how lucky I was to have him working on my field.

"Do you know how many people in the world can have the ability to do something like mine?" He asked. "Just nine!"

"Nine. Oh. It seems that they have added another person. I said.

He still wouldn't shut up, saying that I was already fat and couldn't remember what it was like to fight to the death in the ring. At this time, my men began to notice the situation here. I can't allow others to think I'm a good talker. Maybe it's a good opportunity to remind Pulan who is the boss and who is paid to do the work. But he just doesn't have the eyesight.

"You're just an outdated thug, wearing a fur coat, and telling us who can really fight all the time what to do." He said. "Anyone can do this errand."

I don't like to hear that. I told him that we could go to the field and compare, and he would know how much I still had to do. I think he must have realized that he had no way out, so he accepted my offer.

"If I win, yours will be mine. All the money goes to me, too. He said.

I nodded. He seemed to be waiting for me to make a condition. I really thought he had something I'd be interested in.

I have only one request, this fight has to have an audience.

"If you're going to fight, why don't you sell some tickets."

Duel night has arrived. The crowd was so crowded that the crowd even crowded out of the gate. I've got five people guarding the cash box tonight.

I walked into the field. Drums rumbled and roared. On the opposite side stood the skinning man Pulan. Painted all over in green, simple-minded – as always. Vastaya's ancestry made me suddenly feel that it might be better to be decent. I told Pu Lan that as long as he was willing to admit in front of the audience that he was wrong and shouldn't have offended me, we wouldn't have to fight.

He spat on the ground, clattering the whip above his head. He won't bow his head anymore.

When the host waved the towel, he was half a field away from me. The whip sword flung at me, and before I could react, the nimble little bastard shaved off a small piece of my cheek. He danced a few more rounds, getting closer and closer to my throat. While I was still dealing with the strange soft sword, he smashed his shield into my face. I fell to the ground with my back to the sky, and I saw a double image in front of my eyes.

He raised his whip. Less than a minute before the duel began, he was ready to kill me.

Don't even think about it.

The whip sword rolled at my neck again, but this time I grabbed it. And it's empty-handed. Pu Lan's stupid green face had bulging eyes.

My blood was pumping. Hair stands on end. I felt a low growl coming from my lips. I barely felt the blade cut my palm, and I didn't notice the blood running down my forearm. I stood there and pulled Pulan towards my other fist.

After a few rounds of repetition, my Brass Finger Tiger began to smash his face into a puddle of rotten flesh.

When I finally stopped, he coughed up a tooth. He said I had made the biggest mistake of my life.

"What are you doing? I'm your cash cow. He said.

"Skinner, you've lost to outrageous thugs. Who will pay to see you? ”

With the last of his strength, he vomited a mouthful of blood in my face—in front of the gods and all the spectators.

I must not allow so many viewers to think that I don't deserve to be the boss.

So I pinched Pu Lan's throat and lifted him up, and then smashed it to the ground with all my might, smashing his incomprehensible head into the ground. He twitched for a few seconds, then stopped completely still.

The audience went crazy on the spot.

Late at night, I went to my mother's house as usual to have a look. She had already fallen asleep, so I gently put a bag of money on the cupboard and kissed her on the forehead.

She woke up. Seeing me standing by the bed, she smiled happily. I touched her face, and she noticed the bandage on my hand—cut by the skinner's whip.

"Hey, Setty, what's going on?" She cares.

"It's nothing, I got it when I built the house." I say.

"What kind of house did my son build today?" She asked.

"Orphanage. Made for orphans. I kissed her again, saying goodnight.

"What a good boy."

She closed her eyes and fell asleep. The expression on his face seemed to be proud of his two words because he lived a decent life.