This time, Micah didn’t immediately bend down to loot the corpse of his defeated opponent. The spectators and thugs had barely had time to place their bets on Artholomew in an attempt to win back their lost pol before Artholomew got tackled to the ground and pummeled until his face caved in. And after Micah ruthlessly killed Artholomew, the people around the lawn watched him with their jaws touching the ground.

There were a few thugs who heard Dennis talk about Micah as the newbie who beat Rego and Bunt. And by the time Artholomew hit the ground, everyone knew that Micah had just arrived in Hell. There was no way Micah had gathered enough pol to grow as strong as Dennis. And he was even further from reaching Artholomew’s level.

And Micah didn’t win using an advantage in strength. He was just better at fighting, and what really set him apart from his opponents was that he knew how to end fights quickly. He didn’t waste time. Micah used the most efficient and simplest method to defeat Dennis, Chris, and, lastly, Artholomew.

It wasn’t until the end of his fight with Artholomew that Micah showed a slight degree of superhuman strength and speed.

A few of the spectators were simply stunned at what Micah had accomplished during his first day in Hell. Others, with a little more foresight, briefly envisioned what would happen in the future after Micah gathered enough pol to strengthen his body and maybe even awaken his ability.

“Anyone else?”

So, when Micah casually asked that question after defeating the person recognized officially as the strongest person in the neighborhood, no one stepped forward. There were a few who were maybe a little confident in their reputations that even stepped back and hid behind the people around them, afraid that Micah would choose them as their next target.

“No one?”

Micah didn’t quite shout, but he spoke loudly enough that it startled people who had gotten used to the awkward silence that followed Artholomew’s fall.

“Great. I was getting a little tired after all.”

Micah rolled his shoulder as he spoke. But it was obvious to everyone who saw that he wasn’t tired in the least.

“Well, since no one has any objections. From now on, I call the shots.”

Micah looked around at the crowd, which was slowly beginning to disperse after things took a turn from fighting to politics. Since the bookie was affiliated with Micah, it would be futile to try to take back their bets.

“Okay?”

“...”

Micah frowned in response to the silence that answered his request for confirmation of his statement. Being acknowledged as the shot caller and no one rejecting his claim as being the one to call the shots were two entirely different things. And if Micah wanted to make things as easy for him as possible, he had to be acknowledged.

Stolen novel; please report.

“Okay?!”

Micah spoke again, with more force this time.

And as he stared down a couple of the meeker-looking spectators and thugs, Micah got a few assenting mumbles. It was a good start, but it wasn’t enough.

“Then, don’t you all think we should celebrate? There’s finally someone who can steer up this shitty town! Don’t you think so, Rego?”

“Yes, I do, boss!”

After the three battles with the leaders of his former group, Micah had completely subdued and earned Rego’s loyalty, at least until someone stronger came along.

“And what’s the best way to celebrate?”

“Eh….”

Unfortunately, Rego wasn’t quite on the same level of understanding as his boss and couldn’t respond satisfactorily. But Micah decided to overlook it in lieu of his bookmaking.

“Gifts, Rego! Don’t you all think so? Aren’t gifts a great way to celebrate?”

A few people who saw hope in response to Micah’s mention of gifts eagerly agreed to his question and shouted their response out loud, which led to more and more people getting excited over the gifts they thought Micah was going to give them.

“Great! Then, everyone who agrees to follow my lead in the future, raise a hand!”

Micah demonstrated as he raised a hand. However, the enthusiastic response he got made his action a little redundant. He looked on with a smile as practically everyone raised their hands, hoping that they would get a gift in return for pledging their allegiance to Micah.

And considering the circumstances, the only gift that Micah could give was to return the pol that Rego had won from everyone betting on Micah’s opponents. However, Rego didn’t make any moves to take out any of the pol he had collected. He just had a slightly pitying look on his face as he waited for Micah’s next words. Rego might not have known Micah for long. But Micah’s personality was clear even from the limited interactions he had with him.

The gifts wouldn’t be the return of the pol they had lost through betting.

“Wow, that’s practically everyone. To think so many of you want to give me gifts. I’m quite honored.”

“‘Huh?’”

The crowd was understandably confused.

“Hmm? What are you waiting for? I haven’t got all day.”

“Ah. I see. You thought you were getting the gifts. Understandable. Who doesn’t want free stuff? But here’s the thing. You are getting your gifts. I am giving you the gift of the opportunity to not die.”

Micah’s smile disappeared, and his tone grew frosty at the end of his speech.

“Rego, make sure no one leaves. Absorb the pol if you have to.”

While he spoke, Micah bent down and rummaged through Artholomew’s pockets. He managed to scrounge up another twenty bronze coins that quickly disappeared when they came into his hands.

“I think some of you are beginning to understand since you’re already trying to leave. But let me tell you your options. You either die and lose all your pol. Or you make a friend that’s more than capable of making sure you stay alive.”

Micah spoke with a slightly more friendly tone again.

“From one person to another, and hopefully from a future friend. Let me give you all some advice. Choose the second option.”

Micah had already vocalized his threat, but his last sentence filled the listeners with dread.