Simon's agile movements made the Fools who were outside the main battle group not dare to act rashly. They began to spontaneously form teams, attempting to launch a simultaneous attack to leave Simon with nowhere to escape.
Simon understood this and then took some time to kill the two injured Fools from before.
Even the thickest armor has weak points, not to mention that gladiators wouldn't be fully armored; that wouldn't be a gladiator, that would be a heavy infantryman. Simon used extremely fast stabs, striking from their backs, piercing their natural carapaces, causing blood to splatter everywhere. After watching these two poor souls lose their ability to move, Simon calmly faced the battle group coming for him.
The strong will always enjoy the loudest cheers and face the greatest risks. This was his current thought.
A winged Fool flew to near ground level and launched a probing attack from behind Simon, which he blocked with his shield. At this moment, three shield-wielding Fools charged from the front, their shields pressed together like a battle formation, or more vividly, like a wall, crashing straight forward, sealing off Simon's attack. On both sides, several heavily armored Fools watched menacingly, ensuring that Simon would be forced back if he tried to escape in any direction.
This was a decisive kill!
Among the Fools present, it was basically impossible for anyone to escape, unless they were Soul Warriors who could teleport or similar.
Simon, of course, couldn't teleport, but he could fly!
He leaped high, stomping on the winged Fool's helmet in mid-air, using the force to fly even higher, then spread his cloak like a strange bat, escaping the encirclement.
The audience gasped; such a sight was unprecedented!
In mid-air, Simon's arrival seemed to enrage all the winged Fools. They could not tolerate a wingless bug being so audacious in their airspace, so they all swarmed around him, launching attacks from all directions.
Simon's swordsmanship did not involve aerial combat, and his experiences in the Dream Gladiator Arena could not provide him with references, but he remained calm in the face of danger. He wielded his Nail, striking up, down, left, and right, unleashing a rain of sword light that blocked all attacks, then gathered his cloak and plummeted to the ground like an arrow.
Witnessing the spectacular escape, the audience's cheers grew even more enthusiastic, as if they were about to tear off the roof of the Colosseum.
Several battle groups that were already engaged in fierce combat also noticed Simon and slowly moved towards him, wanting to draw him into their swirling battle.
Being antagonized by everyone in his first appearance, Simon also felt an uncontrollable surge of fierce killing intent. This was his true, irrational emotion, infected by the fervent atmosphere of the Colosseum.
But he still maintained his rationality, knowing that he couldn't kill all the Fools, so he decided to temporarily avoid their edge.
Simon, focused on dodging, quickly exhausted the patience of his pursuers. They began to fight among themselves, and the previously unified front instantly collapsed, plunging the scene back into chaos.
Simon moved outside the battle groups, like a drop of water entering the ocean, but it was like entering a turbulent undercurrent, capable of being shattered against a reef at any moment.
A Nail could strike from any direction, and the noisy environment made it very easy to get distracted. Simon tried hard to block while also fighting against the distracting thoughts in his mind.
Carefully observing these warriors from all over Hallownest, their attack methods were mostly developed through countless bloody battles, carrying flashes of personal talent, and were very instructive.
The sub-consciousness in the Dream Gladiator Arena was ultimately all Simon himself; a single person's imagination has its limits, and there were many moves he wouldn't think of. Now, however, he could learn from the strengths of many.
The bloody battle seemed to never end, as if it would continue until everyone was dead, but in reality, there was a time limit. It was just that the tense nerves during combat subjectively prolonged the experience of time passing.
As the intense drumbeats slowly ceased, the audience's cheers gradually died down, and the Fools gave each other space, lowering their weapons.
This bloody battle was over.
The satisfied audience scattered large amounts of geo, covering the arena floor in a thick layer.
Some Fools went to pick up the geo, while many others remained indifferent.
In short, the scene became peaceful.
Only then did Simon have the leisure to carefully observe this battlefield.
It resembled a circular stadium, with a large, sunken flat area in the center, and the surrounding audience stands rising in tiered steps all the way to the top.
The walls of the audience stands had huge, sharp, tusk-like stone pillars, many of which were broken, hinting at the terrible battles that had once taken place. In the center of one side of the audience stands was a massive throne, from which hung a gigantic, ferocious mask that had been broken in half. On the throne sat a large, dead insect, also wearing a terrifying mask, its body slumped to the side. Though dead, its majesty remained.
This was the Fool King.
The creator of the Colosseum of Fools, the belief and ultimate goal of all fighters.
Masks seemed to be standard here; there were masks on the walls, the audience wore masks, and all insects' faces were covered by an extra shell. But these were just ordinary masks, serving only to conceal faces. These were not the masks Simon yearned for, the ones that could bind the void.
These masks were the totems of the Colosseum of Fools, imbued with religious meaning, and the bloody battles were a ritual.
So what was the purpose of the sacrifice? Simon's mind was filled with questions.
Thick metal chains crisscrossed everywhere, and bonfires and lanterns hung like countless stars, their light blazing.
There were floating specks of light in the air; these were the souls of dead fighters.
What had happened, what would happen in the future, countless bloody battles, the blood of the dead soaking this land, the unyielding obsessions of the defeated echoing for eternity.
This round of slaughter was as tragic as ever. Over a hundred Fools had entered, and only about twenty-three remained standing. Among them, Simon had killed eighteen and injured forty-five, an impressive record.
A gate on one side of the circular Colosseum lifted, and the Fools walked inside in twos and threes.
Some would chat and laugh with each other, but more often, they remained silent. Simon followed the main group inside.
A heavily armored Fool walked beside him and suddenly turned his head to compliment his agile movements.
Simon was a little surprised; he didn't remember this Fool, but he politely returned the compliment, "Your swordsmanship isn't bad either."
The other party didn't say anything more, as if he had simply wanted to praise Simon.
But Simon was now intensely interested in the history of the Colosseum of Fools. He proactively spoke to other Fools, following them through the dark corridor, then jumping down a well to the resting area.
The resting area had a hot spring in the corner, where many Fools would rest after a battle, then sleep, eat when they woke up, and then prepare for the next battle.
Such a life was terrifying and monotonous; only 'Fools' could endure it.
Simon spoke to the fighters, but few paid him any attention. Seeing this, Simon stopped trying.
After soaking in the hot spring, he lay down in an unoccupied corner of the resting area and began to sleep.
Come to think of it, he hadn't slept in a long time; he had been busy ever since his last hot spring bath.
It was time to sleep, to get a good night's sleep in this world full of slaughter.
Who knew if his next awakening would be his death.
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