Meng Li had been thinking about leaving Sylvain City and heading to another Grand Soul Duel Arena. After all, without battles there was no income, and his team—both its members and himself—lived luxurious lives off the prize money from the Grand Soul Duel Arena. He didn't want to answer to anyone, which was why he hadn't joined any faction.
However, just half an hour ago, Meng Li had suddenly received word from the Grand Soul Duel Arena: a team was issuing them a challenge, and it was a cross-rank challenge at that. The news had filled him with elation. Setting aside the fact that he was never the cautious type, even a cautious Soul Master would never believe that a team at the thirty-level mark could defeat a forty-level team.
If it weren't for the rule that Soul Masters holding Soul Duel badges were forbidden from placing bets at the Grand Soul Duel Arena, he would have put a heavy wager on himself without hesitation.
Meng Li had already gathered all of his team members and was hurrying to the Grand Soul Duel Arena to secure their first income in half a month.
Income wasn't the only thing at stake. There was also release.
Killing—especially killing Soul Masters—was itself a form of catharsis and enjoyment for him and his mad-dog teammates. If they hadn't always lived within the Grand Soul Duel Arena's territory, they would likely have been killed by more powerful Soul Masters long ago.
Meng Li's motto was to grow through slaughter.
He was thirty years old this year. He had even already thought up a Titled Douluo epithet for himself: the Fiend God.
Of course, he had some self-awareness. Becoming a Titled Douluo in this lifetime was almost impossible—unless some extraordinary fortune fell into his lap, such as obtaining an exceptional Soul Bone or a ten-thousand-year Soul Ring to transform his constitution.
The Sylvain Grand Soul Duel Arena, central main dueling district.
Today the arena was unusually lively. Although the news had only come out an hour ago, the prospect of a cross-rank challenge had drawn the curiosity of a large number of high-tier spectators. The fact that the target of this challenge was the notoriously savage Fiend God Team made it all the more enticing.
The Grand Soul Duel Arena's dedicated betting area had already opened its books. The Soul Power levels of both sides were plain for all to see. The odds, naturally, were enormously lopsided.
The Fiend God Team was set at one-to-one, while the Shrek Seven Devils' team stood at a staggering one-to-ten.
Of course, the Grand Soul Duel Arena never lost money. The losers' wagers went without saying, but even the winners had to hand over a ten percent commission based on their winnings. This was a major reason the Grand Soul Duel Arena frequently organized spectacular Soul Duel tournaments—the higher the stakes, the greater their cut.
This had long been the primary source of income for any Grand Soul Duel Arena on the continent, even exceeding ticket revenue.
Soon, the odds shifted again. So much money had been wagered on the Fiend God Team that the odds continued to plummet; the Shrek side had already climbed to one-to-seventeen and were still rising.
The betting lines were split into two. The queue for the Fiend God Team stretched out the door, spectators scrambling to get their bets in before the duel began, while the Shrek Seven Devils' betting counter sat nearly deserted. Apart from a handful of speculative gamblers, almost no one was paying attention.
Just then, an unexpected voice startled the drowsy staff member at the Shrek Seven Devils' betting counter into full wakefulness.
"I'd like to bet thirty thousand Gold Soul Coins on the Shrek Seven Devils."
"I'm sorry—how much did you say?" The staff member froze for a moment, then hurriedly asked for confirmation.
Flandre frowned. "I said I'm betting thirty thousand Gold Soul Coins on the Shrek Seven Devils to win. Is that a problem?"
The staff member swallowed hard. Although the Sylvain Grand Soul Duel Arena was the largest in the Kingdom of Sylvain, a bet of thirty thousand Gold Soul Coins was still an exceptionally rare sight.
Those thirty thousand gold coins weren't all Flandre's own—they included the personal savings of the Shrek Seven Devils, the Great Master, and several other teachers.
Over at the long queue for the Fiend God Team, more than a few spectators had already burst into stifled laughter. The looks they cast Flandre's way were as though they were staring at a fool.
"Are you sure?" the staff member asked once more.
Flandre's expression didn't change in the slightest. "I'm sure. Run the card." As he spoke, he produced several gold-value cards and placed his bet.
At that moment, he was doing everything he could to keep from grinning. He certainly didn't want his bet to trigger a wave of copycats that would bring the odds crashing down.