Pujie Dungeon, inside that gladiator cave that's never open to outsiders.
Thick, sticky fresh blood had soaked large stretches of the Fungal Mat dark red, but the color was visibly fading at a speed you could see with the naked eye, as the Mycelium tirelessly carried out its mission of decomposition.
Around the arena, a dozen or so figures lay scattered all over the place, all D Level personnel. Some bodies were still relatively intact, just unconscious or badly wounded; others were mangled, with severed limbs and exposed organs.
The ones still clinging to a breath let out pained groans, while most of the rest were already utterly silent.
Only Ming, drenched in blood as if he'd just been hauled out of a blood pool, was still standing in the middle of the arena, panting heavily.
He was still holding one D Level guy whose legs had been stomped to a pulp.
"P-please… please… spare… me…" The captive forced out a broken plea from his swollen lips.
He didn't even finish the sentence.
