Roth had already signed up for three of the four sports in the Molympic Games. There was only one left: the cockroach races.

Roth followed after Molegana, swimming through the pebbles. Now that he’d visited all four arenas, the arrangement of the coliseum was quite simple. In each cardinal direction, there was an arena. North was the burrowthon arena; west, the whack-a-mole fields; south, the undercover mole amphitheater; and finally, to the east, the cockroach race stadium.

Thanks to the enhanced audibility granted by [Mole Form], Roth could hear the skittering sounds echoing down the tunnels when he entered the cockroach race stadium. This place smelled the worst in the coliseum.

Molegana randomly went through one of the tunnels. A mole threw food across grid-shaped metal bars, where several cockroaches scuttled. Their shiny, chitinous bodies glistened under the dim light, each as large as a kitten. The cockroaches' antennae twitched incessantly, and the dark, segmented abdomens of the insects expanded and contracted rhythmically as they breathed.

Roth couldn’t help but shudder to see the beasts fighting for food.

“What are the rules for this sport?”

“Each participant gets to use up to three cockroaches. They are sent into the tunnels. Whoever outlasts the others as the humans hunt them wins.”

“So it's a game of luck.”

“Yes and no. Some cockroaches are faster or have better instincts. Some moles spend their whole lives breeding good racers from strong bloodlines. Do you want to sign up?”

“I don’t have any cockroaches, though.”

“No problem. You can just buy some from a cockroach breeder. Follow me.”

Roth followed Molegana as she took him to another tunnel. This one was even smellier than the others. A mass of graying hair lay motionless, half-covered in pebbles. “Hello, sir?”

The ball of fur stirred and unfolded, revealing an older mole. “If it isn’t little Molegana. What brings you here? Are you thinking of joining the cockroach race this year?”

“No, but my friend here wants to buy some from you.”

“He’s come to the right place. The right place indeed.”

Roth glanced at the cockroaches up for sale as the moles exchanged pleasantries. He was no expert, but these seemed smaller than the ones he’d seen in the other tunnel. Their movements were also more sluggish—a few of them were even limping! How was he supposed to compete like this?

“Hello,” he tried saying to one of them. They didn’t react. Roth frowned. He had the [Omniglot] title. He should be able to talk to any race. “Can you hear me?” he tried again. They didn’t respond. Roth stretched his mind, trying to connect to the cockroaches telepathically, to no avail.

The old mole approached. “Hey, pup! Why are you trying to speak to them? They are dumb as rocks.”

“T-they are?”

“Yes. They are radiation resistant. One of the few animals that didn’t mutate much after the Rain of Fire,” the old mole explained.

“I see. For the races… does it have to be cockroaches? Or can I use other insects?”

The two moles exchanged a look. “Any insect can participate. However, cockroaches are by far the fastest.”

“And the rules say that there’s a limit of participants?”

Molegana sulked, hearing Roth’s question. She had previously said that the limit was three. However, Roth had to confirm if his guess was right. “Yes. Three cockroaches, max.”

“And can I use items, skills, pets, and consumables in the games?”

“They are part of your strength, Martyr. Of course.”

Roth nodded. “I see. I’ll take three, then!”

Would you purchase 3x[Sickly Racer Cockroach] for 1000 gold each?

Roth bit his lip. 1000 gold for each of these ugly, sickly bugs was a rip-off. However, he didn’t complain.

Congratulations! You’ve purchased 3x[Sickly Racer Cockroach].

Would you like to sign up for the cockroach race? Admission costs 1000 gold.

With this, he was finally done signing up for all four sports in the games. He was confident about the burrowthon, the whack-a-mole, and the undercover mole competitions. He had prepared thoroughly for each one based on what Molly told him previously. The cockroach races could go either way, so he had to try to increase his chances of victory somehow.

“Can I have a paddock just for me?” he asked the older mole.

“Of course.” To Roth's disgust and terror, the old mole entered one of the paddocks and started picking cockroaches up and stuffing them in his mouth. He ate all but three. “Here. The remaining three are your racers.”

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“T-thanks.” Turning to Molegana, Roth smiled and said. “Thank you for showing me around, Molegana. I know you have to prepare for the games too. I’ll see you at the burrowthon.”

“Looking forward to seeing you there, Martyr.”

Roth watched the small mole go and found that the older mole had curled into a ball, ready to take another nap. He focused, trying to determine whether Zin was around, lying in wait, but didn’t hear anything.

Roth reached into his pockets and removed three golden acorns, each glinting under the dim light. He threw them through the bars toward the cockroaches, eliciting curious movements from the bugs. Closing his eyes, he communicated silently with the treeant soldiers hidden within the acorns. “Keep these cockroaches alive and safe from humans. Do whatever it takes to make it happen.”

A synchronized sound of agreement echoed from the three golden fortresses. As the cockroaches approached the glimmering acorns, a mysterious blue light began to radiate from them, making them hover just above the ground before flying directly onto the cockroaches' backs. The insects thrashed and jerked violently, attempting to dislodge the foreign objects, but the acorns remained firmly attached to the back of their necks.

Roth watched with a smirk as the treeants emerged from the acorns, carrying spools of silk. The tiny warriors marched with precision around the cockroaches' necks and antennae, expertly tying them with silken threads. The cockroaches' movements grew less frantic as the treeants established control over the larger insects.

Roth's smirk widened into a grin. The rules stated a limit of three cockroaches, but there was no prohibition against leveraging the abilities of other insects.

*

The taskmaster of the Lindstor family came in through the door. She was followed by one pale man, a man with a cucumber-shaped head, a large man with broad shoulders, and a woman who wore a dark serpent as if it were a scarf.

Kulvar stood up at once. “Mr. Loki. Welcome! Welcome! My son told me that you’d be visiting. I can’t thank you enough for coming,” Kulvar said humbly as he shook hands with Loki and then respectfully greeted the Pegasus generals.

Loki remained expressionless. “O’Shaughnessy told me you’re in dire straits. Please tell us about what happened.”

“Sapphira is in the middle of a gruesome war. The Bustards, the Svensters, and other small slaver families have banded together and are gunning for my throne!”

“The slaver families have kept a delicate balance for years. What changed?” Loki asked.

“I don’t know! Suddenly, the gardener responsible for attending the Busterd’s greenhouse decided to torch our prized greenhouse. It’s the most valuable garden in the city, maybe the whole region! Well… it used to be, at least. This act of arson cost us millions!

“I invited the head of the Bustard family to come into my office and gave her a chance to make amends. Sometimes, in these families, there are power struggles. I assumed the arson had been the idea of a stupid, unruly child and that we family heads could work something out, but she accused me of torching her garden before I knew it. I couldn’t have that.”

“Has anyone in the family investigated this incident at the greenhouses?”

“We have certainly tried, but the slaver alliance has set up some kind of force field that prevents us from entering the gardens of the 83rd floor. An effort to conceal evidence of their wrongdoing from the garrisons, no doubt.”

“Anything else?” pressed Loki.

“Not that I could think of.

“What about the war? What’s the status of your forces?”

Kulvar shook his head, sinking in his chair. “So far, it’s been a war of attrition. We send in our battle slaves to fight theirs. The core forces on each side remain untouched.”

“And the garrison?” Loki asked.

“They don’t interfere. We have pull with the Moon Garrison, but the alliance has deep connections with the Sun Garrison. We are evenly matched in terms of influence with the military. The soldiers take no sides in this war and only step in when things get too bloody.”

“And the magistrates?”

Kulvar shook his head. “It’s the same thing. They are sitting this one out.”

Loki sighed. None of this was new to him. The director in charge of the Sapphira Pegasus branch had already given him a briefing package. However, there was value in hearing how this key NPC phrased things. “I need to have a word with my subordinates.”

“Of course,” Kulvar said, standing up and walking toward the taskmaster to give Loki and the Pegasus generals privacy.

“Sir, did we have to come here for this?” challenged Yillian. “This is a mid-tier city. Powder and I would be much better off in the Dark Abyss or the capital.”

Loki ignored him entirely, not even deeming the ridiculous complaint worthy of a reply. The leader of the Pegasus guild turned to Xerxes instead. “Xerxes, be a lamb and discover what happened in the greenhouses. Something about this whole thing smells fishy.”

“Leave it to me, sir.” Xerxes turned into a mud statue and crumbled into pieces.

“Anak, Kulvar didn’t mention the dwarves. However, it’s too much of a coincidence that they come to town, and the whole city is set on fire shortly after. There’s more to this than meets the eye. I want you to look into any notable players with the dwarf race. Take special notice of Galatheel from the Ogres, Zitrin from the Basilisks, and TurtleShell from Cerberus. One of them might be involved.”

Instead of taking a flashy exit, Anak simply walked out the door.

“Yillian, you will lead your men and bolster the Lindstors’ forces. Make sure that in every event battle, you leave no survivors. I want you to squash the alliance.”

Hearing about how he and his black elephant were finally about to see some action, Yillian smiled, content. He jumped out of the window toward one of the bottom floors. Loki signaled Kulvar that he had finished talking to his subordinates.

“Yes, Mr. Loki?”

“How are the Lindstors’ finances doing?”

Kulvar laughed weakly. “Terrible. I had already spent nearly everything I had helping my son in the capital. This war couldn’t have come at a worse time. O’Shaughnessy was kind enough to send some gold here, but it’s barely enough to cover a day of bounties.”

Loki bit his lip. That was his money Kulvar was talking about.

Kulvar continued. “To worsen it, most foreigners I hire to help in the war keep asking for gold. They don’t care about anything in the family’s armory.”

Loki drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. He compared the information given to him by the branch guild, Anak’s intelligence network, and his connections. Most of the guilds left in Sapphira were second and third-tier guilds. They were probably using the event to farm gold to buy the [Dwarven Vanguard] sets. They were considered to be the very best set of equipment in the game for level 40 warriors. There wasn’t a guild with players in their 40s who didn’t want one.

As he thought of this, he again thought of the 82nd floor and the dwarves. There were no such things as coincidences. This whole ordeal reeked of another player trying to complete a large-scale quest.

Kulvar kept his eyes glued to Loki, waiting for him to speak. Loki sighed. “Mr. Kulvar, I would like to make a donation to your coffers. That should help your family stay afloat.”

“Thank you, sir! Thank you! Thank you!”

Someone in Sapphira had dared mess up with his plans. He would ensure they failed in whatever quest they were trying hard to complete.