The middle-aged man was taken aback when he heard Odis's question, then he smiled and said, "As long as you don't call the police, you're not breaking the law."
"You win a match and get £5, or you lose and get £3. How about that? Pretty lucrative, right?"
Odis then realized that he was going to fight in underground boxing, or to put it more politely, no-rules fighting.
It does sound like a lot of money. Most middle-class people in Backlund earn between £3 and £8 a week. To be precise, anything over £6 is considered relatively wealthy for a middle-class person.
But often, injuries sustained during a match can take more than a week to heal.
[At this point, I hope readers will remember our domain name: Taiwan Novel Network → ᴛᴡᴋᴀɴ.ᴄᴏᴍ]
Then Odis was considering another matter: I was worried about not having any real combat opportunities, but I could go to the underground fighting arena and hone my fighting skills in unregulated combat.
Seeing that Odis remained silent, the middle-aged man assumed he was dissatisfied with the payment: "How about winning 6 pounds and losing 4 pounds?"
He laughed and said, "I can't give you any more. After all, you've never played in a competition, and I don't know your skill level. This is the highest price I can offer you."
Odis, regaining his composure, asked, "If I can win two games in a row, how much money can I earn in the second one?"
"Young man, you seem quite confident?" the middle-aged man said with a smile. "The second match is £12!"
"However, I must remind you that the people who fight in the fighting arena are all quite skilled."
Odis, however, continued, "So, if we win three games in a row, we can earn 24 pounds just from the third game?"
In that case, you could earn a total of £48 from the three matches! That's incredibly profitable!
He grinned and said, "Why didn't I think of this way to make money before?"
The middle-aged man noticed that Odis's smile was becoming increasingly unsettling. He cleared his throat and said, "If you win three games in a row, you can get 50 pounds for the third game. However, very few people can win three games in a row, so don't even think about it."
Odis, however, seemed not to hear the middle-aged man's words: "That would make a total of 74 pounds! Not bad!"
"You..." The middle-aged man said helplessly, "Fine, think whatever you want."
Odis said, "I'll go with you. I'm going to play in the competition."
He felt he couldn't wait any longer!
"Okay." The middle-aged man put his fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly. Soon a small carriage came along.
Once aboard the carriage, the middle-aged man introduced himself. His name was Gers, and he was the manager of an underground fighting arena. Every day, he would scout for new recruits at fighting clubs and similar places.
Odis nodded, agreeing that it was also possible: people who fight in underground boxing matches tend to "wear out" faster.
The carriage arrived at the south side of the bridge, where a dilapidated bar was located in a narrow alley.
As Gers led Odis through the door, a patron immediately greeted them: "Gers, you've brought back a fledgling again?"
"This is no fledgling," Gels said seriously. "This gentleman is a senior member of the Backlund Fighting Club!"
This explanation only drew laughter. One red-nosed drinker laughed and said, "Last time, you bragged about that big guy to the skies, but he only lasted a minute on the field before his nose was broken."
Haha~
The laughter grew even louder.
Gers waved his hand impatiently: "Gentlemen, get ready to place your bets!"
As he spoke, he led Odis to the bar, whereupon the bartender immediately opened the bar counter and then knocked on the door behind it.
The door opened from the inside, leading to a downward staircase, where a guard stood.
"Give it your all, fledgling, try to hold on for a minute!"
Haha~
The cheers and laughter that followed seemed to threaten to lift the roof off.
After the door closed, Odis stopped on the stairs and asked, "May I place a bet?"
Gers was taken aback at first, then laughed and said, "Of course!"
Odis pulled his wallet out of his pocket: "Let me see, I have 66 pounds, 12 sours, and 5 pence left. I'll bet it all on myself to win three in a row!"
Gers stared at the stack of money in a daze: "You...you're very rich."
Odis was also slightly taken aback. He examined his clothes and asked, "Do I look like I'm poor?"
"You… I noticed you weren't dressed like a gentleman in a tailcoat or tuxedo, and you always took public carriages, so…"
That's why Gers went up to ask. If he had known that this guy could come up with more than sixty pounds in one go, he would never have asked. If someone is that rich, they would only participate in no-rules fighting if they were crazy.
Odis said with some helplessness, "Wearing formal attire is very uncomfortable."
Not a single mistake, not a single poem, not a single post, not a single piece of content, not a single look!
"But that's how gentlemen dress."
Odis shrugged: "I've never wanted to be some damn gentleman."
He didn't continue the conversation, but instead handed the money to Gers: "Remember to give me the receipt."
"Okay, okay." Gers quickly put the money away. Of course, he wouldn't refuse a business that was offered to him. At the same time, he planned to spend 1 pound to bet on Odis winning the first match. If he won, the odds would be very high. If he lost, he would only lose 1 pound.
Coming down the stairs, you enter a sizable underground space, two or three times larger than the bar above, with two additional entrances. The only downside is that the air quality isn't great.
In the center of the site was a large wooden circular fence, and on the fence and on the ground inside, some dried bloodstains could still be seen.
In addition, this place also serves as the bar's warehouse, where some wooden barrels and two simple yet sturdy liquor racks are stored.
The betting area was a small, dilapidated desk, behind which sat a burly man in his thirties with a fierce face and teeth stained yellow from cigarette smoke.
Hearing Gers' conversation with the other person, Odis knew that this was Simon, the owner of the underground fighting arena.
After learning that Odis had bet over sixty pounds on him, Simon gave the somewhat thin young man in front of him a fierce look: "You've got guts."
Odis smiled slightly and asked the manager, Gers, "Please prepare a dinner for me, and preferably not too greasy."
Gers first looked at Simon for approval before nodding and saying, "Okay."
Simon, with a malicious smile, reminded him, "You'd better eat less, otherwise you'll feel terrible if you get beaten up and throw up later!"
The thugs behind him burst into undisguised laughter.
"Thank you for reminding me." Odis didn't say much, found a stool and sat down. A dozen minutes later, Gers brought him his dinner.
Pork stew with tender peas, a large loaf of bread, and a cup of cheap tea.
The food was so-so, but Odis wasn't picky about food. He ate all the food while watching the gamblers who came to place bets one after another.
By around 8 p.m., more than 200 gamblers had gathered here, and the first game was about to begin.