Chapter 1553: Dream Broken in Qiming (32)

Meanwhile, the capital of South Africa, Pretoria.

On a street corner in a slum, a street hooligan is roaming in the shadows of the alley. He occasionally rummaged through the bins, trying to find food that was allowed to feed his stomach, and occasionally sniffed around the ground near various vending machines, trying to find a coin or two from the ground where the sewage flowed. But the city's inhabitants, even the poorest of the poor, know that the days of being able to pick up windfalls on the ground are over – even the most common vending machines on the streets rely on credit cards to make payments. The Auto-Cleaning Golem also frequently cleans the trash cans on the city streets every day to remove all the leftovers.

Their government leaves the poor people with no chance of survival. The real purpose of the recent introduction of the new card payment system is not to facilitate the daily consumption of citizens, but to kill the residents of the slums as soon as possible, so as to achieve the goal of "purifying" the big city of Pretoria in the short term.

Goo--the street hooligan's belly sounded again, making him more and more irritable. He searched for a long time and couldn't find any food to satisfy his stomach, so he kicked the garbage bin so hard that he kicked it hard. However, this did not make his condition any better, but only made him hungrier. He was so hungry that he almost fainted, and he had to fall to his knees in the filthy streets to rest. He knelt on his knees and rested for a long time before he slowly got up, his eyes shining with some kind of sinister light, as if he had made up his mind to do something bad.

Bediwell, who controlled the spirits, had been watching all this, because the man in the slum in front of him was exactly who he needed to follow. Using the list provided by the shadow agent, Bediwell focused on tracking the most suspicious citizens, and this man was one of them. By following the man, Beddevil and Arthur believe they will find clues that will lead them to the Swordmaster Ark, lurking deep in the city.

The man from the ghetto was on the move. Although he was already so hungry that he couldn't walk straight, the man still followed his will to survive and walked towards somewhere at the end of the street. Maybe he's going to find the Sword Saint Ark, or maybe he's planning to do something unreasonable and break the law for his own survival. Bediwell looked at all this and had a very bad premonition, but at this time he couldn't interfere at all, because the Holy Spirit he controlled was just a ball of photons, this ethereal photon with little power, and he couldn't interfere with the real world at all.

The thug turned around the corner and arrived at a pawnshop in the same dilapidated old town.

Was it going to rob him? But what should such a hungry fellow who can barely walk, and who has no decent weapon in his hand, rob it?

The spirit, controlled by Bedeville, easily followed, and the man pushed open the door and entered the pawnshop, which entered the pawnshop through the wall.

The man said something to the pawnshop owner, but he spoke Afrikaans, which the werewolf youth did not understand. The pawnshop owner looked the thug up and down for a moment, then finally nodded.

It doesn't seem to be a robbery of a pawnshop. Bediwell was a little puzzled. So what exactly does this little gangster want to do?

The pawnshop owner looked around to make sure no one else had seen it. This is actually redundant, because this dilapidated old town is usually desolate enough, and there are hardly any people near the boss's pawnshop. When the shriveled and thin old man, who had been a little too cautious, thought that there was no problem, he opened the front door of the pawnshop counter and beckoned the thug to come in.

Interesting. Bediwell couldn't help but think to herself. With such a mystery, could it be that these guys were about to do something criminal? It could be some kind of organized and premeditated crime, and Ark Swordmaster might be the mastermind behind this criminal gang. If the man he was following had done some kind of activity some time ago and had received an extra sum of money, then his next action would probably be to repeat the same thing. After tracking for so long, the case finally has some eyebrows, and if you continue to track, you may be able to discover the whereabouts of Sword Saint Ark.

The pawnshop owner took the thug and walked in through the iron door behind the pawnshop counter. He was very cautious, and as soon as he entered, he took the iron door with him, and put the bolt on it. However, the spirit manipulated by Bediville is not afraid of doors and locks, and can pass through walls. It slammed into the iron door, and squeezed in.

As Bediwell had envisioned, this so-called pawnshop was in fact a façade, and it must have had a more nefarious purpose behind the scenes. Behind the iron gate was a deep passage into the ground, and the pawnshop owner was leading the thug into the depths of the passage. If the spirit that Bediwell is now manipulating has a sense of smell, it will definitely send back the smell of blood to the werewolf youth through the headband. Even though it didn't have a sense of smell, Bediwell could clearly feel the heavy smell of blood, as the walls of the deep passageway, illuminated by the pawnshopkeeper's lantern, faintly reflected a dark red of blood clotting.

What's at the end of that passage? It's like a terrifying underground slaughterhouse. Bediwell hesitated to follow, but the pawnshop owner had already hurried to lead the man from the slum down the passage. Fearing that he would lose his target, Bedwell immediately followed. However, he did not go far in the passage, and immediately heard something in the darkness.

It was a cry from underground.

No, or rather, it was some kind of cruel cheer, or more appropriately.

By the time Bediwell's eyes lit up and he could see what was really going on, he finally understood.

It's an illegal underground martial arts club, the kind that relies on live streaming of videos of fights between people for the rich to place bets and be entertained.

Leaving aside the thug that Bediwell was following, there were probably fifty or sixty spectators watching the underground fight. Judging by their tattered clothes, they may also be citizens of the slums, but a few extra pocket money in their hands would allow them to engage in this kind of underground gambling. And these people were watching a thirty-foot square ring in which two men were fighting to the death. This kind of fighting is completely different from the boxing or wrestling matches that Bediwell remembers, because the people in the ring are completely risking their lives to kill their opponents.

The two men involved in the fight did not have weapons in their hands, but they tore each other's faces with their claws, bit their opponents' arms with their teeth, and slammed their opponents into their pussies with their knees. It was almost indistinguishable from the fight of the beasts, but the onlookers watched with vigour, cheering on the fighters in the arena with their most primitive and cruel cheers.

Seeing this, Bediwell probably knew how things were going to go. That's right, one of the fighters on the field was already overwhelmed and was quickly defeated. He fell to the ground under a vicious elbow from his opponent. Of course, Bediwell, who is experienced in combat, can see it clearly, the neck vertebrae of the man who fell to the ground have been completely shattered by the elbow blow, and this person will probably have to rely on a miracle if he wants to get up again.

The man's opponent, another skinny man from the slums, was almost exhausted, covered in numerous wounds, and almost a bloody man. Spectators who had lost gambling threw token-like items into a broken round hat belonging to the man, while frantically cursing the fallen man. On this side, the slum thug who was originally in charge of Bediwell's tracking was also stripped off to only a pair of pants and was ready to go to the ring for a match.

What a waste of time. Bediwell wondered. After following him for most of the day, it turned out that the "extra financial source" of the man he was following was not Sword Saint Ark, but this pathetic underground fighting club. Regardless of whether the next game is won or lost, Bediwell already knows the ins and outs of the matter, and there seems to be no need to continue to follow it.

The spirits controlled by the werewolf youth began to rise into the air, intending to leave the underground fighting club. However, at this moment, something suddenly caught Bediwell's eye.

Is that...... A teenager!

That's right, the player who had won the game was exhausted and was replaced. In his place was a ragged teenager. This kid is really skinny, probably the thinnest man Bediwell has ever seen in his life. His face was pale and his lips were blue, but he had to fight in such a cruel game!

Even if the child's opponent, the slum thug, was thin and half starved, the child's disadvantage was obviously greater, and even the blind knew who would win the game just by looking at his appearance!

So, the murderous smirk of those viewers. In addition to the pastime, the main purpose of these guys is of course gambling. This time, the difference in strength between the two players is so great that you don't need to think about how to bet at all, right?

However, Bediwell saw that the pawnshop owner, who was the banker, had a hint of cunning on his face in an instant. This kind of disparity in strength should not exist in the first place, otherwise it will definitely be the bookmaker who loses money in the bet. However, the dealer is so confident, there must be something greasy in it.

Sure enough, the moment the ring began-

Bang!, and the game was over.

No, it's not a game at all.

The frighteningly thin teenager rushed forward as soon as the fight began, punching his opponent in the lower abdomen, opening a huge hole in the stomach of the thug that Bediwell was tracking. The thugs are down!

It's not a race at all, it's a spike!