The northern woman had just entered the circular clearing and in the next moment, she quickly twisted her waist and sidestepped.

Her heavy shackles restricted her movement speed, but this space was enough.

At almost the same time, two arrows whistled and passed by her trembling chest, caused by the swinging of her upper body, as she shot into the dark tunnel-like entrance.

A man's scream came from the pitch-black tunnel, and she could tell that the voice belonged to the hook-handed corpse man with a black leather hood.

Before the archer could draw his bow again, she struggled with her shackled feet and shifted two steps.

The audience was screaming happily.

"That's it, keep shooting!"

In the private room, Ashur was intently watching the struggle of the white meat in the yellow sand square, maliciously muttering to himself, "Shoot again, waste, shoot the barbarian woman into a wild boar!"

The sword sorcerer Barnimere next to him suddenly exclaimed.

The noble girl on the other side of Ashur kept her attention on the private room and softly asked, "What's wrong, Barnimere?"

The sword sorcerer shook his head.

"Maybe it's a coincidence," he said.

When the archer pulled the short bow again, he surprisingly found that the target was gone.

The northern woman cleverly moved her steps, successfully turning the spearman standing on the front line into her shield. In order to dodge the arrows, she also leaned forward, reducing the target.

The spearmen among them was the strongest of all four. At the moment, his back appeared like a wall, shielding the northern woman firmly in front of him.

The archer cursed, he could only put away his short bow.

There was no need to shoot arrows at a woman who was unarmed and had shackles on her feet.

The other three stood lazily in their original positions, watching as the iron giant-like spearmen roared and charged forward, with a momentum like a mountain collapsing and a tsunami!

She expected the spearmen to charge at her, so she arched her back like a big cat, taking a light sigh.

Her eyes, like yellow jade, focused intently on the spearmen's shoulders and arms.

Stab, chop, or sweep?

The heavy shackles restricted her movements and jumps. Although a stab or chop could be lethal, they might be dodged by her, but a sweep, she could not dodge.

The use of a spear and a staff was originally interchangeable.

In the next second, the shoulder of the spearman moved and the heavy spear was lifted, bringing a mournful storm.

It was a sweep!

In the joyful roar of the audience, the spearman sneered and brandished his spear.

He knew the weight of his strike. Before he was captured by the Assyrians and became a gladiator slave, he was one of the bravest warriors of the kingdom.

Once wielding his round spear, he smashed the skull of a shaggy dog!

So he thought.

He planned to break the two legs of the northern barbarian woman and then torment her, finally impaling her on the end of his spear.

As long as he can please Lord Ashurbanipal, he may be set free...

While thinking this, he felt a sense of regret.

The woman was top-notch, except for her skin that wasn't honey brown, with a delicate and beautiful face, long legs, curvy hips and big breasts - she was a great mother for a warrior.

It was a shame she had to die.

With a lightning thought, the spear swept across the woman's legs.

With a crisp snap, her legs were swept clean. The massive force forced her feet off the ground, and she flew sideways and fell heavily in front of the spear wielder.

The sand rose.

The warrior under the hooded helmet had a frozen grin on his face, filled with shock. The spear in his hand had become lighter?!

In the moment the spear hit the legs, the woman suddenly lifted her foot. With the constraint of the shackles, she could only lift her foot a little bit. But this small distance was enough to change the outcome of the strike.

The spear, with its precise and deadly accuracy, hit the black iron shackle on the woman's ankle.

Sparks flew.

The sharp edge of the shackle cut the woman's wrist and blood gushed out.

In the moment she was knocked back, a metal spearhead that was half the length of an arm flew into the air and spun.

She reached out and grabbed it in her hand.

The spearman didn't have time to figure out what was going on with his spear when he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his groin.

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A hand grabbed his loincloth, tightly twisting it and pulling hard.

The spearman screamed in pain and involuntarily knelt on one knee.

Two legs covered in dirt popped out from underground and wrapped around the spearman's neck, causing him to fall over.

The woman carefully turned her body and adjusted her posture, still holding the spearman's vital spot as she sat heavily on his helmet.

She tightened her legs with force.

Before the spearman could appreciate the delicate smoothness of the woman's skin, he felt the strong thigh muscles underneath the skin.

His face turned red under the helmet. His neck bones made cracking noises, but the fatal spot was still in the woman's hands, hurting him so much that he had no strength to resist.

The audience gave disbelieving cries, one wave after another.

In the private room, Ah Shu's face turned pale, unconsciously tightening his legs. The scene in front of him brought back the deep-seated pain.

The other three gladiators were stunned, momentarily forgetting that they were still in the death arena.

Next second, the woman grabbed the metal spear and swung her arm with force.

The spear with the broken spearhead flew straight through the air, piercing the archer's chest.

The archer's front chest sprayed with fresh blood, falling flat on his back.

The neck bone of the spearman made an unwilling breaking sound, and the head of the helmet wearer twisted to a strange angle.

At this time, the sword-shield man shouted and approached the woman with the spearman's body intertwined with her from both sides, along with the harpoon man.

The ground was quiet and only the crows and sparrows made no sound.

The audience held their breath and watched the battle that was about to reverse.

Ashel tightened his fist. The black priest was also drawn to the melee, his back leaving the chair.

The woman's shackles entangled the neck of the spearman, and for a moment she couldn't sit up, so she took off the spearman's bronze helmet and held it with both hands, like holding a head.

As the shield and sword wielding man approached, he took a step forward and swung his sword at the woman.

The woman lifted the helmet to meet the blow, and the rusty bronze sword pierced straight into the eye socket of the helmet.

Just in time, she grabbed the helmet and passed it.

The man's bronze sword immediately fell out of his hand and was left in the eye socket of the helmet in the woman's hand.

The woman drew out the bronze sword with her right hand and held the helmet with her left hand, standing unsteadily from the body of the spearman.

Although she had not yet been able to unlock her shackles, she still took faltering steps, but all the spectators took a deep breath. It was as if the other two people in the arena had already become two corpses.

The sword-shield wielder, who had lost his weapon, turned and ran, heading straight for the archer's corpse.

She couldn't stop him: the harpoonist on the other side screamed sharply, sticking out the harpoon to stab at her.

The woman stood upright again.

She gently swung her helmet, blocking each of the harpoons that were coming in with ease, seemingly lightly.

But she knows the truth. At this point, she was gasping for breath, sweating profusely, her limbs felt weak, and her stomach was roaring like thunder - the heat from the piece of pie was not much to begin with, and combined with the constant bleeding from her ankle, her physical strength was almost depleted.

Ascher was absorbed in watching in the box, and couldn't help licking his lips.

The tall and sturdy body of the northern woman was covered in sweat, reflecting the blazing sun, like a shining silver statue.

This made his "thigh root" gradually expand, and it became even more painful.

Serves him right, he knows I'm powerful now. Even if you beg me now, I'll have to consider it.

Arshal hated to think.

His eyes were only on the mother horse bitch who needed to be punished and tamed, completely ignoring the sadness and hatred that flashed through the eyes of the noble young girl next to him.

The fisherman rotates the fishing net and suddenly covers the woman's head.

She dodged by lowering her head, but the helmet in her left hand was not grasped firmly, and was dragged away by the rope of the fishing net, flying far to the edge of the field.

The fisherman was overjoyed.

He knew that this woman, wearing shackles, was difficult to move, so he actively retreated two steps and moved out of the range of the bronze sword's attack; adjusted his breathing, and changed to holding the fishing spear with both hands, taking on a posture of holding a spear.

She took a deep breath, bent down, and also held the sword with both hands, with the sword tip diagonally pointing at her feet.

She watched the opponent's foot movements and expected a sliding straight thrust. She lifted her sword and stuck to the harpoon, pushing it out, and then cutting forward with the momentum.

She didn't wait for the opponent's sliding straight thrust.

The harpooner glared viciously at the woman and was about to charge forward with all his strength, when suddenly his eyes widened and he cried out, retreating.

She heard pain and confusion from his voice.

She raised her eyebrows and saw an arrow in the harpooner's arm.

Another arrow came flying. The woman watched it fly from a distance of an arm away and hit the fence.

She cast her gaze towards where the arrow came from.

The sword and shield bearer without the bronze sword stood next to the archer's body, dropped his shield, picked up a short bow and quiver, and clumsily aimed at this side with the bow.

The harpooner held his arrow-wounded arm and swore loudly.

The spectators around the venue cheered and laughed.

The woman also slightly curved the corners of her mouth.

But the smile disappeared from her face in a flash: the newly converted archer kept his bow drawn, and began to approach her by running.

Even if this guy's aim was unreliable, she was still a still target.

As long as he approached within ten steps, she would be dead for sure.

However, the newly converted archer stopped.

The woman saw that the spearman in front of her also began to retreat in a ready stance.

She noticed that the sand behind her was rising, and something seemed to have just drilled out of the sand.

Then, a heavy, snoring rumble came from behind.

She took a deep breath, and the animal smell that she had smelled at the entrance of the tunnel became even stronger.

The woman's lips also curved slightly.

But the smile disappeared from her face as the newly turned archer, with his bow drawn, started approaching her while running.

Even if this guy's aim is unreliable, she was still a motionless target.

As long as he gets within ten steps, she's dead for sure.

But the new archer stopped.

The woman saw that the harpoonist in front of her also began to retreat with a vigilant posture.

She noticed that the sand behind her was rising, and something seemed to have just burrowed out of the sand.

Immediately afterwards, a heavy rumble came from behind.

She breathed in softly, and the animal smell she had smelled at the tunnel entrance became stronger.

She slowly turned her head, catching a glimpse of the predator with her peripheral vision.

It was a cave lion.

A genuine giant beast. Its head was almost as big as her chest, and its shoulders were almost as tall as a person. Its fur was the same color as the sand.

There was a lot of blood on the cave lion's mouth and huge claws, which was the reason for the brutal and strange wounds on her fellow villagers' bodies.

The cave lion was staring at her intently, and suddenly its deep throat turned into a roar.

She tensed up.

At that moment, a roar came from another direction, as if they were echoing each other. Roars also came from the other two corners. Then three more cave lions emerged from the underground pits.

"Nothing is more real than the moment between life and death," the black priest said in a murmur, "The false singing and drama of pretense are no match for the unstoppable reality."

They lurked around the arena, eyeing the live prey in the middle with greedy looks.

This is why the capital of the Assyrians was known as the "Bloody Lion's Den". In their unique gladiatorial culture, when the host deemed the brave fight to be an ugly farce, lions were released to devour both the humiliated fighters.

In the boxes and the stands, all the spectators sat up straight.

Their eyes shone with excitement as they watched the upcoming grand scene with rapt attention.