"Get up! All of you, get up! You lazy, good-for-nothing beasts, slaves, trash. You were born to be slaughtered, to be eaten by wild animals. You're worthless, do you understand? Useless!" A burly man with a fat face and protruding ears bellowed as he wielded a leather whip, moving from cell to cell. He flung open doors, entered without a word, cracked the whip across whomever was inside, spat out curses, and dragged each prisoner out to hand over to his underlings. His belly, bulbous like a water gourd, strained against a black leather harness; his chest, grotesquely ample like a woman's, jiggled with every turn. This man was Yale.
Though morally questionable, Yale carried out everything Eimo asked of him with diligence. In less than three days, he had already identified the young individuals with potential. They were roughly divided into two groups: ages seven to twelve, and thirteen to eighteen. The older group was meant for the continent-wide gladiator competition three years from now, while the younger were reserved as future blood reserves for the "Madbloods."
"Boss, look! Yale has started working already," Fab's cheerful voice drew Eimo's attention as soon as he entered the office in the morning.
"Yes, oh yes, quite promising kids," Eimo replied, leaning against the window and looking down at the neatly lined-up squads in the training ground below.
"Yale is actually reliable in this regard," Fab commented.
"Don't expect too much," Eimo chuckled, sinking into his chair. "Now, let's talk about how to make money."
"Just waiting for your word, boss," Fab's eyes practically turned into coins at the mention of money.
"Alright, let Yale run the drills and see how the kids are progressing. Meanwhile, I'll outline my general idea. Lo Yi, call all the Aochu here," Eimo said leisurely, pulling a cigar from his desk drawer and lighting it.
"Just this little information?" Fiso, seated in his personal chair, frowned after hearing the report from the Middle East. "If it were that easy to find out, it wouldn't be Eimo. Why are there so many capable people around him?"
"Brother, what should we do?" Fuk cautiously asked.
"What should we do? Hmm, what do you think, my brother?" Fiso raised an eyebrow, smiling faintly.
"Right now, it's best to wait and see," Fuk hesitated. Though they were brothers, Fiso was never considered particularly filial.
"Exactly. Honestly, after calming down, I'm not worried anymore," Fiso said, observing Fuk. "Eimo has stockpiled a large number of slaves, many of whom are low-level or women. They aren't much use in the arena—at least not immediately. But feeding and housing them is costly. If they do nothing, even the Madbloods' resources wouldn't last. So they must be anxious. Short-term moves are inevitable. But with so much inventory, their liquidity must be strained. We just need to wait for the right moment, then… heh heh heh. Eimo, don't blame me for holding a grudge," Fiso's dark laughter echoed through the mansion.
"Boss, Yale's here," someone announced as dusk approached, signaling the end of training.
"Oh? Looks like news came from our little recruits. Bring him in. I want a full report on the kids," Eimo said, suddenly interested. He swung his legs over his chair and perched on the desk.
Lo Yi opened the door, allowing Yale to enter.
"Boss!" Yale bowed respectfully. "I just tested the new recruits. Several kids surprised me." Yale spoke bluntly, cutting to the point.
"Oh? Which ones?" Eimo's excitement grew.
Yale, not as clumsy as he appeared, carefully began his detailed report. For Eimo, it was slightly lengthy, but thoroughly pleasing.
"So, everyone, looks like my plan is on track," Eimo laughed.
"Even so, it's risky," Fab muttered, his old habit surfacing.
"Relax, Fab. We'll be fine. We are Madbloods—passion runs in our veins. As long as humanity has blood, we will succeed." Eimo's smile carried a subtle, chilling aura, the likely reason so many capable people surrounded him.
"Oh, and that little one? The frail kid I keep thinking about," Eimo suddenly remembered a child with sharp eyes.
"Seems nocturnal. During the day, he hides under the bed and barely eats. At night, he devours his meals," Lo Yi replied.
"Oh, what's his name?" Eimo asked, still intrigued.
"No one knows. He hasn't spoken a word," Lo Yi answered.
"Could he be mute?" Yale frowned, pondering.
"No, I'm certain he can speak. He's probably just not used to people, used to surviving alone in the forest. Ah, what a gem… I can't wait to see what he'll become," Eimo mused.
"I can take him for training," Yale offered.
"No, not yet," Eimo leaned back, eyes on the ceiling. "Patience. There's a greater opportunity coming. I sense something in him… a gold mine waiting to shine."
"Alright, Yale, write down the names and traits of the kids you're interested in. Lo Yi, tomorrow we check on the other slaves; some may be difficult to handle," Eimo instructed.
Night fell again. In a distant cell, the boy slowly sat up, staring at the bright crescent among the stars.
"What an interesting child," a clear, melodic voice said. The voice seemed to cleanse the soul; the disheveled man hidden in the straw slowly rose, his face smeared with dirt, clothes tattered. Yet the voice was hypnotic, impossibly human.
Mesmerized, the boy stared, a trace of fear in his eyes.
"Afraid of me? Sensitive little one," the voice continued, calm and warm. But it only heightened the boy's unease. He gripped the iron bars, trembling.
"What's your name?" the man asked softly.
No answer. The boy's chest heaved rapidly.
"Oh, we wouldn't want to wake anyone… rest now, child," the man murmured, slipping back into the straw.
The boy stared at the wall, eyes wide, sweat streaming, still shaken.
"Boss! Boss!" someone dashed into Eimo's office, breathless.
"What is it, making all this noise?" Eimo frowned.
"Boss, news! The Zongren Hall… after selling all stock to us, gathered another batch and sent it to buyers," the messenger panted.
"Is that all? Expected. So why rush into my office?" Eimo's face darkened.
"No, boss, there's more. Important news," the man stammered, lips turning purple.
"What is it, speak! If it's trivial, don't bother, someone else will handle it," Eimo coldly snapped.
"Amano… he's set off for the Middle East," the messenger finally managed.
"Oh?" Eimo paused, then frowned. "I knew of Amano's ambition, but I didn't expect such courage from that coward."
"Boss, should we… act?" Lo Yi gestured a slicing motion.
"No. Not at the door. Amano isn't easy; we can't risk it. Let him go. His bravado is small-time. Keep an eye on Fiso instead," Eimo said, glancing at the still-nervous messenger. "Next time, stick to the important stuff first."
"Understood, boss," the man replied, bowing and retreating.
"Lo Yi, gather your men. Let's inspect the slaves. Surely some will surprise us," Eimo stretched, lighting a cigar. "Honestly, scheming is far more fun than paperwork."
"Because that suits you, boss," Lo Yi replied mechanically.
"Ha, now you're sarcastic?" Eimo twitched.
"I'm just speaking the truth," Lo Yi said.
"Some truths humans don't need," Eimo waved dismissively.
Crossing the training ground, Eimo, Lo Yi, and his men reached an empty annex housing over seven hundred slaves.
"Wow, quite a crowd," Eimo remarked, observing the scramble for scarce shade.
Most were seasoned slaves—criminals, conscripts, thieves—with hardened gazes.
"Why those looks? Do they think you're a woman?" Eimo asked Lo Yi.
"No, otherwise they'd never see a woman again," Lo Yi replied coldly.
Heh, still feisty, Eimo thought, smiling.
"Are you the boss here?" a black-haired, bearded man demanded, tugging at heavy shackles.
"Ah, sharp eyes," Eimo feigned surprise.
"I heard your arena is different. Gladiators can come and go freely?"
"Indeed. Our Madblood gladiators stay voluntarily. Why?" Eimo absently searched his pockets.
"We don't want to stay. We're leaving," the man shouted. His followers echoed, and almost all the slaves joined in.
"Interesting," Eimo murmured, lighting his cigar with Lo Yi's help.
"Hey! Did you hear me? We're leaving!" the man yelled.
"Oh, leaving? Fine," Eimo said, turning his attention.
A strange fear surged through the man's chest after locking eyes with Eimo. Sweating, he tried to maintain bravado.
"Uh, alright. We'll go." Dragging his shackles, he moved toward the gate.
"What about these?" he asked.
"Removed shortly," Eimo replied with a smile.
"Finally, some relief," the man muttered. Freed of shackles, he felt emboldened.
"Brother, think it'll work?" a younger man asked.
"Probably. Too many of us; they can't control a riot," the older man said, rising.
"A bunch of idiots," muttered a rugged man in the corner, closing his eyes.
"Boss, you're reasonable," the freed man said, approaching with a grin.
"Sure. Let's remove your shackles," Eimo replied coldly.
Suddenly, blood spattered. A scream, then a mangled body collapsed, limbs severed.
"Damn it! They tricked us! Brothers, fight!" enraged men swung chains, charging.
"Worthless ants, scram," Lo Yi intercepted, hurling bodies aside, iron shards flying.
"Seems there's a misunderstanding," Eimo shouted. "You're slaves I purchased, not voluntary gladiators. Freedom? Not while you're slaves. Madblood slaves die for Madblood!"
Eimo's gaze softened as he added, "Perform well, and you can become Madblood gladiators, gain freedom, and earn wealth."
Chaos erupted as the command to eliminate the defiant slaves was given. Thirty or so attempted resistance against seven hundred, with some clever enough to create havoc. For Eimo, minor losses were inconsequential.
"Good. Accidents handled. Let's begin the registration. Cooperate fully," Eimo said, smiling again. Ten assistants arranged tables as the slaves queued to provide personal details.
"See? A peaceful atmosphere is much better," Eimo remarked to Lo Yi.
"I'd prefer some excitement," Lo Yi observed, flicking blood from his arm.
"A troublesome hobby," Eimo shrugged, discarding his cigar.