The walls were covered with scratches from nails or teeth, cold and damp.

Walking down the prison corridor and further in, there was a narrow wooden door. It was old, dirty, and covered with deep brown spots.

That was the dry blood of people.

The northern woman stood in front of the wooden door, half of her silver hair was wet and sticky on her scalp, and water droplets hanging from her body.

After washing her whole body, the female slaves retreated and took away the only two pieces of dirty cloth she used to cover her body. Then the slave traders and fighters escorted her here, along the way, countless greedy eyes lingered on her.

She heard the cries of thirst for killing, and the roar of lions, faintly coming from the other side of the door.

She doesn't know when it started, but the people around her have closed their mouths tightly. She can hear their rapid heartbeats, which makes her somewhat nervous too.

The slave trader sighed deeply and took off her handcuffs. She gently moved her wrist and looked down at the heavy ankle cuff hanging from her ankle. She looked at the slave trader in confusion.

The slave trader seemed to see through her thoughts.

"Don't even think about it," he said roughly. "Wear it, you don't need to take it off."

The door suddenly opened, and hot air rushed in, accompanied by a strong smell of blood and the stench of death.

A man wearing a black leather hood, holding a large iron hook, was hooked into the abdomen of a body, dragging it in.

This was a half-sized male corpse, without a half-head. The stomach and chest were scooped out with a big hole. The edges of the wounds were strangely shaped, as if they had been torn open. The skin where it was not covered by blood was white. Dirty golden hair, blue eyes. The neck and arms were covered in tattoos.

She recognized the tattoos of his clan and was a fellow Northerner.

"Krom is with you," she whispered.

"The hag has spoken," the slave trader said, "did you hear her, she said something, don't know what she said?"

"Maybe this dead little hag is her little lover."

The man in black leather headgear greedily looked at her, "Uh, this [bleep-], and this [bleep-], the figure is unrepaired. Clean after stripping, just the hair is messy a little bit - why didn't you trim her?"

A rough man next to him rudely asked, "You mean the one on her head?"

So all the men laughed with a vulgar and lewd smile.

She looked at them expressionlessly.

The man in black leather headgear shook his head, "So beautiful, wasting away, too bad."

The slave trader sighed, "Indeed, it is a pity. With just this face and this butt, this mare, I can at least sell for fifty silver coins. But what can we do, the orders of Lord Ashure - go in."

As he spoke, he reached out to her below the waist, wanting to twist a bit on the round and plump white flesh.

But the next moment, his wrist seemed to fall into an iron clamp.

She grabbed his wrist.

In an instant, the sound of an overwhelmed wristbone echoed, and the thick hand is strangled into purple.

The slave trader was sweating profusely and screaming in pain.

He looked up in horror and found that his jade-like eyes had turned to him and were staring at him without looking away.

She gently turned her wrist.

The slave trader immediately screamed and knelt down, trying to twist her fingers and mumbling loudly: "Loosen, loosen... what are you all doing?"

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Only the reactions of the two fighters were slightly slower.

She lifted her left arm, her elbow striking the left fighter's temple, causing him to roll to one side bleeding from his mouth and nose.

Then she turned her body and quickly poked her middle and index fingers into the right nostrils of the right fighter's body.

The slave trader saw with tears streaming down his face as the muscles in the snow-white arm bulged and the right hand of the striking man screamed as it was poked into his nostril, lifting the finger and both feet lifted off the ground!

She threw the striker at the black-skinned man dragging the body, and two strong men fell to the ground.

Just as the slave trader was terrified and thought he was dead, the iron clamp on his wrist disappeared.

The northern woman, with her thin lips pursed, moved her wrist and dragged her shackles step by step, disappearing into the wooden door.

Beyond the wooden door is a simple and crude passage built of rough logs.

The dazzling sunlight penetrated directly through the cracks in the logs, baking the hot sand under her feet.

She smelled fresh blood seeping out from under the sand.

She walks forward and arrives at an open, circular clearing surrounded by a crude wooden fence. The ground and pathway are covered in thick, yellow sand.

A mild breeze blows by and brings a faint smell of wild animal into her nostrils.

She stops at the inner side of the pathway, instead of rushing into the clearing.

She squints.

The heat from the hot sand distorts and warps the view in the clearing. From the pathway, she sees four strange-looking shadows standing in the bright clearing, reflecting the sunlight.

Whistling sounds come and go from above the wooden fence around the clearing.

She blinks a few times to adjust her vision to the light and realizes they are four muscular men. They wear leather shoulder armor, leg protection, and strange, helmet with long feathers. Their exposed skin is covered in sweat and blood.

The thing that draws her attention is the weapons in their hands.

One person is holding a spear, another is holding a sword and shield, another is holding a net and harpoon, and the last person standing the farthest away has no armor and is holding a bow and three quivers.

She looked around and did not find anyone else, so she slowly dragged her shackles into the open space.

What she did not notice was that the sand dune slightly bulged next to the fence behind her.

The moment she stepped into the open space, the air echoed with a hundredfold racket.

Standing in the open space, she finally raised her head to see the situation above the fence. The open space in the fence was like the bottom of a wooden bowl. One after another, the audience sat high on the edge of the bowl. The audience had both men and women, staring straight at her body, their eyes seeming to pierce through her, bursting out with a series of vulgar laughter.

Aashur was sitting in the first row of the highest booth in the audience seats.

He is just fifteen years old, a skinny young man. He has a coppery skin and dense black curly hair, with thick eyebrows and large eyes, and a four-cornered face and large nose unique to the Enriler family.

On A-shu's left hand side is a beautiful noble young lady, also his fiancé. On his right is a middle-aged man.

The middle-aged man has sparse hair but is neatly combed back from his temples, revealing a smooth forehead and a nice goatee around his mouth. He is wearing a brown scholar's robe and sitting upright in a chair, holding a scabbarded sword in his left hand.

Looking at the bright silver-like bodies below, bathing in the sun, the young man's broad square face showed a complex expression.

A voice suddenly penetrated into his ear: "Excuse me, the young master of Xinsi'er, is it her who bit your root of life?"

The black priest who calls himself "Lucius' friend," sitting in the second row of the booth with other priests, just behind the small A-shu's seat on the right.

A-shu's face suddenly turned red.

"Rumor! Shameful rumors!" The young man roared, "I was just absent-minded and kicked in the thigh root! And it's the outside of the thigh!"

"Yes, the thigh root," the priest said carelessly: "It is because of this that your father, Sir Xisiel, sent the Empire's strongest swordsman, Sir Barniemel, to be your bodyguard, isn't it?"

Ashuel was furious and yelled, "Speak nonsense again, I will cut off your tongue that spreads rumors!"

The black-skinned priest laughed and leaned back on the chair back, wrapping his body in the red robe, not speaking.

Ashuel glared at him with fiery eyes and turned to look at the audience. He gritted his teeth and bit his thumb nail in hatred.

The black priest enjoyed Ashuel's expression from the back row. He noticed that the beautiful noble girl sitting to the left of Ashuel looked at Ashuel's restlessness and gently placed her delicate hand on Ashuel's back to comfort him, but was pushed aside by Ashuel's anger.

The noble girl withdrew her hand, looking composed as if nothing had happened.

The black priest smiled, admiring the girl's graceful figure, looking inside her loose and luxurious silk dress from the collar.

At this time, the person sitting in front of the priest, Benny Mell with a beautiful goat beard, glanced back at the priest.

In a moment of eye contact, the black priest suddenly felt intense pain all over his body, as if not hot blood was flowing in his veins, but countless sharp ice particles!

The priest tried his best not to scream, but his lips turned white.

Benny Mell turned back.

"Don't be too quick," Ashur gritted his teeth and said, "Don't be too quick! Kill her slowly! I want to make a hundred wounds on her silver-like white flesh, not one less!"

The priest shuddered slightly, his eyes lowered and he dared not say another word.

The private room door was knocked rhythmically.

The slave trader and the two beaten thugs knelt outside the private room, asking Ashur for peace.

"Honorable Master," the slave trader said respectfully, his head not dared to raise, "I have brought the criminal in accordance with your orders, let you dispose of him."