Secret World: I Became a God Through Lies

Chapter 102 Whale Grave Arena: Bloody Opening

"There is no mercy here. Only the strong can leave."

"Those who fail will sleep here, never to return."

When Alison, Baroque and Ian walked into the gate of the Whale Grave Arena, they were met with

It was a strong, sickening smell of blood, as if the echoes of countless deaths were still resonating in the air.

This area is the oldest and cruelest trial ground of Whale Tomb.

For hundreds of years, countless pirates, gamblers, and desperadoes have fought for their lives here, but only a few have actually walked out alive.

A team had already gathered at the door - the members of the Red Rose Pirates were lined up in an orderly manner, their hands on the hilts of their swords.

Their eyes were as sharp as cold iron, and they were all silent, yet ready to go, as if what they were waiting for was not a battle, but a baptism of blood.

At the front of the team, Rosalind "Ironheart" Dewar and Belinda "Nightingale" Gray stood quietly.

Rosalind glanced and nodded slightly, which was a silent signal - Mrs. May had given the order.
The Red Rose will briefly ally with the Lost in a deathmatch, with one goal: to survive.

Alison gave him a short, calm look in response, saying nothing more.

She understood very well that the so-called "allies" were just travelers temporarily standing on a tightrope.

No one wants to be the first to fall into the abyss before the wire breaks.

"Don't die here." Rosalind's tone was cold, as if she had regarded bloody battles as a daily routine.

"I will try to survive."

Alison responded just as coldly, turning around and leading Baroque and Ian into the arena without hesitation.

When their footsteps touched the sand, a heavy bell rang out from the sky.
Like the heartbeat of a giant beast, it announced the official start of the fight to the death.

In the center of the arena, a high platform slowly rose.

Standing on the stage was a man wearing heavy whale-skin armor and a cold bone mask on his face.
Only a pair of cold eyes were revealed, as if they could see through the fear deep in people's hearts at a glance.

He is none other than the "Boneless General" - Greg Belog.

He slowly raised his right arm, and the palm made of bones suddenly clenched in the air.

Bang——! !

The iron gates on all sides suddenly closed, as heavy as rocks, locking all the contestants into this blood-red cage.

The air seemed to be filled with the groaning of rust, as if the entire arena was slowly closing into a huge coffin.

"Pirates, gamblers, and desperadoes."

Gregor's voice suddenly rang out, like thunder striking the top of the head, shaking everyone's nerves, "Welcome to the death battle arena of the Whale Grave."

His tone was emotionless, yet suffocating.

He raised his hands, two ancient keys hanging in his palms. The sunlight shone through the dome of the arena, shining on the metal, reflecting a cold light.

"The rules here are very simple." His smile was hoarse and cold, like a rusty blade scratching across a stone surface.

"Want to leave? Win the sea flag."

"Want to survive? Defeat your opponent."

"Only the team that collects nine sea flags is qualified to face me. And the key in my hand belongs only to the final winner."

Below the stage, hundreds of pirates roared like wild beasts.

Some of them drew their swords, some punched each other, and some simply raised their heads and roared.

Everyone's eyes were filled with greed, fear, excitement and murderous intent.

Alison stood still, her eyes scanning the surroundings like a sharp blade, quickly detecting potential threats.

She counted around—at least twenty-seven teams, each one like a bloodthirsty pack of wolves, waiting for the next bite.

"Nine Sea Flags..." She narrowed her eyes and silently said in her heart, "This game is not that easy."

On the high platform of the arena, in the VIP room made of dark blue glass,

Several Terian naval officers, dressed in luxurious uniforms with gold and silver trims, drank red wine and leisurely looked down at the blood-soaked arena below.

Their smiles carried the usual contempt of those in power, just like people sitting at a banquet, coldly admiring a feast paved with blood.

Lennox Flemington gently swirled the wine glass in his hand, the crimson liquid reflecting an eerie light in the glass. His habitual smile played on the corners of his mouth, a trained contempt that was neither sharp nor false, but pure, innate indifference.

"I have brought our best warriors." He spoke gently, as if introducing a batch of precious goods. "I hope you are satisfied, Lord of the Deep."

As he finished speaking, the man next to him slowly looked up.

Kerkosen, one of the masters of the Whale Grave, was like a shadow rising from the seabed.

His face was hidden in the shadows, revealing only a pair of eyes that seemed to be smiling.

His voice was low and hoarse, as if every word was being pressed out by the deep sea.

"But you...are asking for too much, Emissary of Terrian."

There was a hint of cold disdain in his eyes as he stared at Lennox.

"Twenty-two sleeping slaves, and you're only willing to give up twelve? Are you asking me to do this as charity?"

Lennox smiled lightly, as if the question was just a boring joke at the banquet.

“But they are not ordinary people.”

He whispered, his tone like the whisper of a venomous snake.

"They are carefully selected and battle-hardened members of the Terrian Navy. If you personally 'sleep' them, they will be your most loyal servants and your sharpest claws."

Kerkosen didn't respond immediately. His gaze fell into the cup, and after a moment's contemplation, he slowly spoke, "...Then, let me see the goods first."

In the center of the arena, on the blood-red sand, a team slowly appeared.

Their steps were steady and orderly, not like a group of pirates out to risk their lives, but more like an army marching out of a parade ground.

The armor was polished to a shine, and the blade reflected the strange blue light above the Whale Grave. Every step revealed a well-trained murderous aura.

Alison's pupils suddenly shrank. She stared at the team until her eyes fixed on the person in the front.

She was very familiar with that face.

Alfred Lane.

The former adjutant, the comrade who once fought side by side with him, is now wearing the uniform of the Trian army.

As part of the "cargo", he appeared in this deadly battle - standing on the opposite side of her.

Her heart suddenly tightened, and her chest felt as if it were nailed by rusty nails.

All the solidarity we once had and all the trust we had in the smoke of war were shattered at this moment.

Her gaze slowly shifted towards the podium, and through the glass, she saw the group of noble officers raising their glasses and laughing.

They laughed calmly, as if they were enjoying a play that had been arranged in advance.

Alison's fists slowly clenched.

"Alison!" Alfred's voice broke her silence.

There was anger in his voice, but also a hint of struggle and resentment.

"You have indeed fallen and joined the pirates!"

"But it doesn't matter - today, you, like these pirates, are the subjects of our promotion trial."

"As long as we defeat you, we can... be promoted."

Alison slowly raised her head, her eyes so cold that they seemed to pierce through his armor.

"You're wrong, Alfred." Her voice was low, and the corners of her lips twitched slightly.
Without a trace of hesitation in his eyes, he said, "What you face...is not a trial, but betrayal."

She slowly glanced towards the platform, her eyes like a blade slashing across Lennox, that aristocratic face that always had a smile on it.
Hypocrisy, indifference, pity—looking down on everyone in the arena like livestock.

She finally understood that this battle was not meant for her from the beginning.

It is to make them - those who still believe in order and obey orders - see clearly that they have long been used as chips and thrown into the deep sea gambling table.

The arena fell into a brief silence.

Immediately afterwards, a bell rang out, resounding throughout the area like a raging wave crashing against the shore.

The battle has begun.

(End of this chapter)