Chapter 6 – Malice
After upgrading Swordsmanship, Dante Voss returned to the attributes panel.
Physique: 36
Strength: 22
Speed: 52
Spirit: 39
slaughter points: 250
Left with a very auspicious number, Dante Voss had no habit of saving; he split them evenly among the four attributes.
In an instant.
A flood of stats poured into his body; his mind and flesh felt as if soaking in a hot spring, utterly relaxed.
His once-thin frame finally grew sturdy, muscles emerging in defined blocks.
The huge boost in Spirit also raised his mental resistance; the aftershock of today's massacre vanished without a trace.
Physique: 91
Strength: 107
Speed: 107
Spirit: 94
slaughter points: 0
Closing the system, Dante Voss shut his eyes and began analysing its functions.
His system wasn't sentient; there was no guide, only simple point allocation—not just for attributes, but also for Abilities.
And after killing, rewards could be harvested from the corpse.
So far the rewards came in only two colours: white and red.
White was common grade, giving everyday consumables; red was far stronger.
It could upgrade attack power and keep growing stronger through further investment.
Other grades probably existed, but he hadn't encountered them yet.
He guessed the reason he'd received Swordsmanship as a reward was a newbie bonus.
Rewards of that calibre shouldn't drop from ordinary people.
He couldn't tell whether the drop rate was based on strength or status—he'd have to test it later.
Mulling it over, Dante Voss slowly drifted into sleep.
He didn't know how long had passed before heavy footsteps outside the dungeon jolted him awake, his heightened Spirit letting him snap open his eyes instantly.
At the dungeon entrance, the Administrator led another large group of Slaves inside—daily replenishment, just like yesterday.
He himself had been brought in the previous night.
The Slaves, numb with fear, were herded into the cells; more than a dozen crammed into Dante Voss's.
Once the Administrator left, the prison fell silent again, save for the ceaseless sound of weeping.
In the lightless dungeon time was impossible to track; eventually Vic entered with a squad of Administrators.
Glancing at Dante Voss sitting quietly in the corner, Vic smirked and began explaining the rules to the newcomers, beating several Slaves to death before order was restored.
Pointing at Dante Voss, Vic shouted to the other Slaves:
"This is yesterday's winner—quite the fighter. Don't be fooled by his size; he slaughtered more than half of yesterday's Slaves!"
The Slaves were stunned, staring at Dante Voss in disbelief.
Even the survivors from yesterday were shocked; they'd assumed he'd merely lucked out.
Now they realised he'd carved his way out with sheer bloodshed.
Caution and dread surfaced in every Slave's eyes, a subtle hostility forming toward Dante Voss.
Only one could live; a powerhouse like him had to be eliminated first—simple instinct.
Those certain of death didn't care, but the stronger ones who saw a chance exchanged glances and silently forged an alliance to take Dante Voss down.
Dante Voss sensed their hostility.
He lowered his gaze, hiding his own murderous intent.
He'd wanted to conceal his strength, but Vic's provocation made that impossible.
Against a hundred enemies, holding back was suicide.
Yet revealing his power risked drawing the Celestial Dragons' interest—what if they made him a mount?
Setting aside the humiliation he couldn't bear, such a life would also halt his rapid growth.
And without growth, escape was impossible—inevitable death.
Clenching his fists, Dante Voss burned with the urge to kill Vic.
"If I can't hide it, I won't!"
His eyes turned fierce; he made his decision.
He would make today's match a bloodbath; since the Celestial Dragons wanted spectacle, he'd give them spectacle.
He would turn the Arena into a Shura field, satisfying them so thoroughly that even if they fancied him, they wouldn't remove him from the game.
Vic watched with satisfaction as the Slaves glared at Dante Voss—his gift to Saint Mike.
Nothing was more thrilling than watching one man beset by nearly a hundred.
He ordered food distributed; large numbers of buns were tossed into each cell.
This time the portions were clearly bigger—Vic wanted an even more spectacular show.
Dante Voss pretended to eat a few; no one dared snatch them now, waiting warily until he finished before scrambling for leftovers.
Once every Slave had eaten, Vic led them upstairs.
At the shackles-release station Dante Voss studied the "Key Room" carefully.
Sure enough!
The keys to their wrist and ankle irons came from there; he wasn't certain whether the Explosive Collar keys were kept inside as well.
Probably—both keys and collars were distance-sensitive and couldn't be separated far.
Freed from their irons, the Slaves were ushered into the armoury to choose weapons.
Now possessing the Intermediate Swordsman Ability, Dante Voss had a deeper understanding of blades.
He selected a better sword than yesterday and hefted it in hand.
After every Slave had armed themselves, Vic gave brief instructions and led them into the Arena.
As they entered, the Slaves subtly distanced themselves from Dante Voss; under a few burly leaders, a loose alliance took shape.
Dante Voss glanced at them, unsurprised.
Better this way—he had resolved to use their lives to entertain the gods above.
Their hostility let him strike without restraint, with little mental burden.
Vic bowed respectfully to the stands and officially started the match.
The Celestial Dragons watched the massed Slaves facing Dante Voss, interest sparkling in their eyes.
They recognised him—yesterday's victor.
Now it looked as though he was about to be set upon by the others.
"Well done!"
Saint Mike sat in the foremost seat, pleased with the scenario.
He wondered whether this Slave could wipe them all out; he hoped Dante Voss would perform even better.
Then he could have his new Slave slain at Dante Voss's peak moment, letting the other Celestial Dragons watch in envy.
"Don't disappoint me, lowly insect!"