Simon had naturally heard everything about the Colosseum, and from the point of view of pre-war civilization, more from the point of view of rational criticism, this means of consumption that equated human life with livestock and used it for cheap pleasure. Of course, in a sense, the bloody contest did inspire the viewer to fight and find meaning in war, as evidenced by the extreme admiration for famous gladiators during the Roman Republic, and even the release of gladiatorial slaves in many auxiliaries of the Roman legions.

But the Colosseum is also superior and inferior, with magnificent buildings such as the Colosseum, and fighting skills more like a dance of death with a special beauty, as long as the battle is quite fierce and impressive, the loser does not necessarily have to wait for a reverse thumbs up. Chariot racing, flooded naval battles, celebratory large-scale team battles, and even impromptu speeches by leaders. The ground arena is actually more like a super-large official social complex, roughly equivalent to a workers' gymnasium.

The underground private arena is quite different.

Simon was more than six feet tall, about half a head taller than the extensively malnourished wastelanders of the post-war period, and he didn't have to crowd to see the scene of fighting with just a ring of yellow sand surrounded by a wooden fence.

"Kill him!"

"Chop your hands! Idiot! Chop your hands! ”

"What the hell! Lao Tzu bet five dollars! Win! ”

A volley of blood shot into the crowd, shouting so loudly that it literally toppled the ceiling, and hystericals pulled at the guardrails, frantically cheering for their supporters. The two fighters inside were even more frantically swords-to-face, black and white flesh fighting together, pure hormones accompanied by the most intoxicating smell of sweat, diffusing in the small basement. It is a battle that men are naturally attracted to, engraved in the bones, engraved in the genes, and the blood factor left over from the human wool when they drank blood to hunt tigers and leopards tens of thousands of years ago.

The burly, dirty-braided black man obviously had the upper hand, and in the fierce fight, he kicked away the white opponent with a big kick, and the glove finger tiger hammered the opponent's cheek like a storm of fast punches, until the mouth and nose spurted blood, and his face festered, and he refused to stop, in fact, he could not stop, once he was seized and could take advantage of it, life and death were only a momentary reversal.

"Roar!" The black man roared violently, two thick breaths erupted from the nostrils like a cow's gasp, dripping blood and sweat flowed through the chest of the steel forging proof, and suddenly punched directly, the opponent has long been powerless to parry, completely relying on instinctive consciousness to avoid falling, a pair of short sticks naturally can't prevent the black big man from knocking on the bone and sucking the marrow of the entanglement, how can this head-on punch resist?

"Stop! Stop it! The referee wearing a centurion helmet on the side immediately jumped into the bar, opened his arms to stop the big black man, ignoring that the big black man was extremely irritable and chose people to devour, no matter how angry the big black man was, he never dared to cross the referee's arms.

"One!" The referee grabbed the white fighter who had been beaten unconscious, and Sen Sen's white teeth spat out a word, and the audience was obviously not satisfied with this, and howled: "Get up and continue!" ”

"That's it! What a fucking seed! ”

"Kill, kill! Rubbish! ”

"Two!" The referee crossed his arms and tilted his head to the sky, the tail of "two" stretched extremely long, and the bringets behind his blood-red Corinthian centurion helmet dragged out of a horsetail-like back swing, as if in reverent reverence for some deity.

"Three! Four! Five! Six! With each shout, the referee kept his posture and turned on all sides to face the spectators on each side, and the referee leaned over and struggled to get up, but his eyes were swollen

White fighters with no seams left.

"Seven!" Spectators who had bet on the white fighters roared, shouted, threw dung and mud, and shouted insults, all urging the exhausted fighters to get up and continue to fight until the end of their lives.

"Eight!" The referee crossed his hands and suddenly split points, then turned his hands into a knife, slashed his neck, and then opened his mind and stretched his hands, shouting: "Victory or defeat decision!" Blood God! Please accept this soul! ”

"Kill!"

"Kill!"

"Kill!"

The audience scrambled to the edge of the fence, gave a thumbs up in reverse, and the sound of shouting "kill" gradually merged into a wave, resounding through the underground arena, and under the impetus of everyone, the big black man who won with a crushing posture slapped his chest fiercely, roaring like a wild bear. "Blood! Blood! The big black man shouted, and then he pulled the white fighter up, pinching his neck like a chicken, and the latter broke free in despair.

“kill！ Kill！ Kill！ Under the double overlap of "kill and blood", the iron fist of the black man smashed into it, bringing out a puff of broken bones and brains, and adding a layer of different color to the yellow sand.

"Invincible Kress! 29th kill! Winner! The referee grabbed the big black man's right hand and raised it suddenly. The winner of this bloody contest was pronounced.

"Kress! Cress! Cress! "Whoever bets on the winner or loser shouted the name of this monstrous beast in unison, and naturally no one noticed the long bloodstain of the defeated after being dragged by enslavement.

"Damn, I put a bet on this guy and lost five dollars in vain." Marco muttered, rather blushing as he watched the audience who bet on Kress take out the dividends, but it doesn't seem to be much, only seven dollars can be earned after five dollars, obviously, Kress who completed the 29th kill is already not in high odds.

Simon is used to seeing killing scenes, this kind of slightly ornamental fighting is naturally not his appetite, as early as the beginning of the battle, Simon saw that Kress could completely beat the opponent two or three times until he couldn't get up, probably in order to maintain a bit of suspense, he was deliberately tuned to be you back and forth for ten rounds. Simon really wants to replace the white fighter to face this big black man, in the pure power comparison, he is really unpredictable, but the problem is, on the battlefield of the death, do you have guns and knives? A bullet goes into the brain, it doesn't matter what kind of fairy you are.

People are absolutely fair in this regard, princes and nobles, peddlers and pawns, and bullets and shells, absolutely equal.

"Such a person, of course, can fight, but it is too tender, and it is burned into the bones, and the caretaker is barely strong, and it is estimated that he will be the first fart to go out to fight." Simon commented that he didn't even lower his voice, but fortunately it was noisy enough that no one would notice him.

Ramirez nodded, tossed a coin, and took a glass of bad wine from his former servitude. "Wait, the next batch of beasts from Harrisburg is coming! Battle the Imperial Legionnaires! The referee predicted, and immediately disappeared behind the red curtain that fell.

"Longhu generally recruits people from the residents of the city who are clean with their feet, and it is not a problem that their feet are not so clean, but those cubs who also tend to have no bones will not be able to pass the first round, and they don't know how to be flexible, and now the bullets are very expensive, so they are thrown into the homeless group to make do." Ramirez smacked his lips, took a sip, handed the wine to Marco, habitually leaned against the pillar next to the entrance, and engaged in the battle at any time and broke away at any time, and his twenty or thirty years of mercenary career has been deeply rooted in Ramirez's blood.

Simon glanced at the crowd of people in the underground arena in different clothes, and knew that this place was full of gourmets for bloody feasts,

Besides, wasteland is born to compete, and Lori in Peter's arms can still read it without changing her face, at best, her face is pale. Slavetowns allow guns to travel, and it's not ambiguous for Wasteland cowboys to draw guns and shoot at them.

"Most of the people in the underground arena (commonly slang for pits in English dialogue) are probably old dogs who are dying of death, and if you die a happy death, it will be a blessing from heaven, Commander, if you really want to recruit skilled soldiers, I still recommend that you go to the bankruptcy in Area F to consider it." Ramirez rubbed his throat as he stepped on the sand where he had just spitted, making no secret of his disdain for the slave fighters in the underground arena: "Slave! We are all residents! You are the noble Hydra! I can put aside my prejudices and fight side by side with these, but it's doubtful that others are as open-minded as I am! ”

Ramirez is Simon's right-hand man who is most relied on now, compared to Peter's youthfulness that still needs to be constantly honed, the former Longhu old mercenary has extremely rich combat experience, otherwise Simon would not risk dying in vain to subdue this person, his words, Simon must consider.

Before Simon could speak, Jonathan was unhappy, put his hands on his knees, condescendingly looked down at the golden eyes that were not much different from the little chicks in the eyes of the giants, and said angrily: "Blind, do you mean that if I fall into the pit by bad luck, I will still be a when I climb out of the mud pit, right?" ”

"The Imperial Veterans are on the field." Simon quietly handed over two cigarettes, and temporarily persuaded the two old friends who were reluctant to cross paths. Jonathan, Peter, Ramirez, Marco, this is the person Simon can really rest assured to hand over his back now, any suspicion will greatly affect the direct combat effectiveness of the future team after its establishment, and he must not let it go!

For the sake of the leader, the unstarted verbal argument came to an end, and everyone's attention turned back to the fighting arena. Two enchanting slave girls covered in red and black oil paint surrounded the priest-like referee with a centurion's red tasseled helmet and walked into the battlefield. The referee exaggerated his hands and shouted, "Next round, start!" ”

The right hand and the left hand were stretched out: "Please!" The Blood God Warriors of Harrisburg! Luxus! Amid the shouts of the crowd, a crusader with a double-edged axe appeared, his face painted with a blood cross like that of his former colleague.

"Please, Marcus of the New Jersey Empire! Immortal centurion of the Immortal Legion! ”

The crowd immediately turned to a chorus of boos and cheers, it was an open secret that the northerners did not like the Empire people on the East Coast, and the Imperial merchants had reduced their trade as a result.

"Get back into your mud pit! Bugger! ”

"Why don't you catch a mermaid from Long Beach University and take a look! Hahaha! ”

"Cub from the East!"

In such a wave, the exiled veterans of the empire came into Simon's field of vision.

PS: In some passages of this book, the author will specifically mark out some cultural deficiencies caused by the large-scale social regression of the wasteland world, the more civilization degrades, the complex grammatical order will disappear, and the wrong grammar that seems to be wrong but actually conforms to the times will emerge in an endless stream, and the author will try to use some Chinese writing that is closer to English dialogue in the text, so as to be closer to realism.

Given that USA is a country of immigrants and immigrant communities are common, post-apocalyptic language will naturally be a trend and lingua franca will become a bond. This was the case in a country of the South Asian subcontinent.

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