My mom is waiting for treatment, and you're summoning me to be a hero?

Hearing the swordsman's unfriendly tone, Lin Mo gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, ready to add another dead soul to the black sword at any moment.

The swordsman also stood up, casually inserting the half-polished longsword in his hand into the old leather scabbard at his waist.

He looked at the burly man's corpse, then kicked the severed arm that Lin Mo had torn off and thrown on the ground next to the body.

His tone was tinged with genuine regret.

"This guy may be a bastard, but he does have some skill. In the last gladiatorial match, he single-handedly withstood the charge of three orcs. What a pity."

Lin Mo frowned and was about to make a move when several survivors hurriedly crowded around him.

A tall, thin man spread his arms between the two, a smile plastered on his face, trying to smooth things over.

"You two, you two... don't get angry. You're all human. It's not easy to survive in this place. You're both very strong, so don't fight amongst yourselves. You might have to fight side by side in the next duel."

Another short, stocky middle-aged man nodded in agreement, nodded toward Zhan Xin, and then gave Lin Mo a thumbs-up.

"New guy, you're really ruthless. But you don't know this yet. This guy is called Zhan Xin. He's the longest-serving among us, a full two hundred years old!"

The others chimed in, echoing the sentiment.

"Yes, half of the reason this prison has been able to hold out for so many rounds is because of him keeping things under control."

"It is said that the Zhanxin brothers inherited the legacy of the Sword God, and their swordsmanship is superb and extremely powerful."

"It's said he killed over two thousand people before he was arrested!"

……

Seeing everyone praising him, Zhan Xin couldn't help but smile.

However, Lin Mo once again voiced a discordant note.

"Two thousand people? Killed in one day? Not bad."

Zhanxin's lips twitched visibly.

The cage fell into an even more complete silence than when the burly man had begged for mercy.

All the survivors stared wide-eyed at Lin Mo, then turned to look at Zhan Xin in unison.

Killing two thousand people is indeed something to brag about, but Lin Mo's casual remark, "Killed them all in one day," instantly turned that bragging into a joke.

Zhan Xin remained silent for a while, then let out a long sigh: "I can't be bothered to argue with you."

After saying that, he sat back down, placed the long sword across his lap, and decisively chose to play dead.

Lin Mo did not dwell on the topic any further.

He walked past the group of underlings still groaning on the ground and stood before Zhanxin.

Zhan Xin frowned, his fingers resting on the hilt of his sword again, his eyes warily fixed on Lin Mo's right hand.

The hand was hanging loosely at its side, less than three inches from the hilt of the black sword.

But Lin Mo did not draw his sword. He simply looked down at the old prisoner and asked the question that concerned him most.

"You've been here the longest, do you know how to leave?"

Zhan Xin paused for a moment, then chuckled, loosened his grip on the sword hilt, and leaned back against the iron railing.

There was no mockery in that sneer, only a bitter feeling of having an old wound reopened by this question.

"Yes, there is. Winning the championship. According to the rules of this arena, the winner can gain freedom—not only their own freedom, but also the freedom of all races in the same cage. This rule was set by Huan Yu himself and is engraved on the stone tablet in the very center of the arena. No one can change it."

Lin Mo frowned.

This answer sounds reasonable, but it has an extremely obvious flaw.

"You've been here for two hundred years, neither dead nor a champion?"

Zhanxin placed the sword across his lap, leaned back against the iron railing, and let out a long sigh.

"The rules of this island are all set by Huan Yu. She decides which match counts as the final. You finally win, but she says it's an exhibition match. You kill everyone on the other side, and she says you've advanced. Only then do you advance."

His voice carried a hint of suppressed sarcasm.

"She can change the rules she sets however she wants. She's the referee, the organizer, the rule-maker, and the one who can change the rules at any time. No one here can be free."

Lin Mo remained silent for a moment.

Thinking to myself, this is a bit too perverted. Pleasure is the absolute god of this island.

Words become law.

How do we fight this?

Thinking this, Lin Mo spoke again.

"What are the rules of that arena? How do you fight? And who do you fight?"

Zhan Xin didn't hide anything. He opened his eyes and drew a circle on the ground above his knee with his finger.

"We humans are one faction, and the orcs, elves, and dwarves are also imprisoned in their own cages. Half an hour before each gladiatorial match begins, the information of each contestant will be announced, and the audience outside the arena will place bets."

The more money they bet on you, the more strength you recover in that fight. The better you perform and the more the audience likes you, the more they will bet next time, and the more strength you recover.

Of course, after the competition, the power will be stripped away again. After playing a certain number of matches, Huan Yu will personally announce whether or not the team has advanced to the finals.

She said if it wasn't the final, we'd continue playing; she said if we won, we'd be free. Even though it's been two hundred years, she's never said that before.

He withdrew his finger and looked up at Lin Mo.

"As for the rules of the gladiatorial combat, it's the most direct life-or-death struggle. Each cage sends out its own fighters, whether it's one-on-one or team battles, it all depends on the audience's votes that day. Whatever the audience wants to see, that's what we'll arrange. Losing doesn't necessarily mean you die, but if you're too badly injured and no one comes to your aid, you will die. Winning guarantees you'll live, at least until the next match, that's all."

Lin Mo nodded.

The rules are not complicated, and the loopholes are obvious enough.

The key is not how many games you win, but how much the audience bets on you.

If enough viewers can place bets, the restored strength can surpass the suppression of pleasure's rules.

This rule might be the biggest loophole.

If he can get the audience outside the arena to place crazy bets on him during the gladiatorial combat, then he can take advantage of his restored strength to attack Huan Yu.

But the problem remained: he had completely cut off contact with the outside world.

The lower-level clones should still be searching for the gods according to his previous orders, but the connection of consciousness was completely severed by the light curtain of pleasure, so he couldn't even sense their location, let alone give orders to the clones.

Even if they could make contact, the clones wouldn't have any money. This place uses real-world betting, not just facial recognition.

Just as he was pondering, heavy footsteps came from the darkness outside the cage.

Those were two guards who were over three meters tall. Their waists were almost the same size as their height, and they walked like two moving mountains of flesh.

Two fat faces were fitted with tiny eyes, almost squeezed into two slits, but the light shining through those slits was genuine demigod-level pressure.

One of the guards pointed a short, stubby finger at the iron bars of the cage.

"Two people from the human race. The next match starts immediately, don't dawdle."