Illumi Zoldyck left with one-third of the blood bag remaining.
I picked up the thing he stuffed into my hand and looked at it. It was pale yellow packaging paper, compressed biscuits that the prison guards sometimes ate.
Oh, they probably scavenged it on their way here.
I handed the compressed biscuit to Feitan, who showed no intention of taking it. "No need to look. Your brother showed it off like that; it's definitely been 'spiced up' inside."
Feitan believed Illumi's poisoning claim because Feitan had personally witnessed me being bitten by a Garara snake and suffer no ill effects, which surprised him greatly and left a deep impression. Therefore, Illumi's act of poisoning the biscuits was within the realm of reason.
Remembering that my childhood favorite biscuits were also poisoned by Silva, this family truly carries on a tradition.
Is this the warmth of the Zoldyck family? I love it, I love it. (Laughs)
"Although no one can snatch this from you, it would be quite bad if it were discovered. Eat it, quickly," Feitan urged.
That's right, ill-gotten gains would surely bring trouble. To leave no evidence, I had to eat the packaging paper along with the biscuit. The paper wasn't plastic but paper of a similar material to book pages. It should be digestible; I could just consider it like eating tree bark or something.
"Are you so hungry that you're eating the packaging too?" Feitan raised his slender eyebrows, similar to a woman's, as if watching a rare spectacle, watching me swallow the contents.
Both the compressed biscuit and the packaging were dry and hard, making me feel extremely uncomfortable. Stupid Illumi Zoldyck, bringing such unpalatable things only caused me more trouble; it would have been better if he hadn't brought anything.
"..." As a mute, how was I supposed to explain my foresight and environmental consciousness to Feitan?
"By the way, I also want to tell you that I don't like eating tongues or internal organs," Feitan emphasized. "Remember, the only part I eat is the meat. Don't bring me any extra things back to the cell."
"..." Who cares about you!
"Understood?" Feitan narrowed his dark golden eyes menacingly. "If you understand, blink once."
"..." I didn't want to bring trouble upon myself, so I blinked obediently.
Although Feitan was a roommate with anti-social tendencies, he wouldn't intentionally make things difficult for those who obeyed his commands, as it was pointless and he lacked the inclination.
The blood transfusion time was likely calculated by the doctor. After the transfusion, the guards arrived right on time to escort Feitan and me back to the cells.
It was already past midnight, and the sounds of my cellmates snoring filled the air. In the "real world," I definitely wouldn't be able to sleep with the three-dimensional surround sound of snoring, so the intense activity in the arena during the day was very necessary. It wasn't just intentional self-destruction; it was also about being so exhausted that one could fall asleep under any conditions.
I hate snoring so much. It reminds me of my ex-boyfriend's snoring in the "real world." On the nights we slept together, I slept poorly every day, unable to fall asleep until past eleven and waking up at six in the morning.
No wonder some Western films show married couples sleeping in separate rooms. That is the most advanced and humane setup. Unfortunately, it requires the material condition of having two bedrooms—poverty is the original sin, the root of life's misfortunes.
My university roommates in the "real world" also snored occasionally. Yes, snoring isn't exclusively a male phenomenon. This solidified my determination to prefer sleeping alone; it's better to be single!
Feitan didn't snore. Of course, do little kids snore while sleeping? Otherwise, they'd have some respiratory illness, wouldn't they? Beware of an untimely death.
Thinking about these trivial and pointless matters, I dozed off leaning against the wall. Waking up meant repeating the same life. I could somewhat understand why my cellmates always chatted idly and said boring things. It's because life in the cells is truly monotonous; one has to find amusement for oneself.
For a while, they pondered how to make me, the "cool guy" who never spoke, open up. They tried everything, soft and hard tactics, even instigating my roommate Feitan, using every conceivable method. Naturally, it all failed. They never knew I was mute, and Feitan never exposed me, content to watch the show for his own amusement.
Sometimes, when they were too bothersome, I would roast an extra portion of meat (cooked to a random degree of doneness) and toss it into the cell opposite, effectively silencing them.
"Mommy, hungry, meat meat."
And thus, a new meme was born.
"Idiot," Feitan derided my act of throwing meat to the dogs with unreserved mockery.
"..." Oh, for goodness sake, my old buddies, I swear to God, if this continues, I might just kick your butts hard with my boots.
After all, this is a place for labor reform, not an ordinary dormitory. Perhaps the people upstairs finally couldn't stand the cheerful barbecue activities in the cells. Feitan and I, being the core figures of the barbecue activities, were kept back in the arena by the guards after the daily activities in the arena concluded and everyone returned to their cells.
"The main course is coming," Feitan said in a low voice when he was excited. "Don't just rush forward to die, or I'll break your legs first, and then I'll ensure we survive until the game time ends."
Oh, as expected of a veteran resident of the arena cells, he seemed to have a very good understanding of the current situation.
As a mute, I couldn't proactively extract information from Feitan or others about the arena. I could only piece together intelligence from others' fragmented words and my own deductions.
As far as I knew, the prisoners in the arena were divided into two groups: one group held Illumi, Chrollo, and others, and the other group held me, Feitan, and others.
Besides the cells being separated, another difference was that the arena activities for the former group were scheduled for the morning, while for the latter group, they were scheduled for the afternoon.
I had noticed the significant difference in the arena usage between the afternoons of the first and second days, but I hadn't thought about it further. I didn't expect that the arena users during these two times were indeed two different groups of prisoners. It was Illumi's appearance in the infirmary that confirmed this for me.
As for how I ruled out the possibility of Illumi and his group's arena activities being at night, it was because I was about to experience the nighttime arena dungeon myself, which was a timed challenge with the objective of survival or defeating elite monsters.
The health bar of an elite monster was only slightly longer than that of a normal monster, far from comparable to the heavyweight boss like Silva Zoldyck. They were simply not enough to be considered a threat. However, even teaming up with Feitan to farm these things was quite difficult. These monsters had high attack, high health, and high speed, and our attacks were completely ineffective. We spent almost the entire time dodging and weaving, which was a huge disparity in strength.
Although the elite monsters were far inferior to Silva, we truly experienced the level gap between them and the small fry monsters from the afternoon. By the end of the game time, our injuries were as severe as a week's accumulated damage.
"There's a special rule here," Feitan told me after witnessing the difficulty of the elite arena dungeon. "They call it the 'Twelve Trials.' If one can defeat twelve monsters of that level, anyone, regardless of who they are, will be unconditionally pardoned."
"..." Those who could reach that level should be considered elite forces of Meteor City. They wouldn't need a pardon to move freely in Meteor City based on their strength, would they?
"How nostalgic. The last time I saw it was after I pulled out that annoying guy's tongue," Feitan's remaining fighting spirit turned into a rare moment of casual conversation.
Like many people from Meteor City, Feitan had accepted employment from the mafia. Unfortunately, his employer's attitude was contemptuous and greatly displeased him. So, late at night, while everyone was asleep, he went on a killing spree and pulled out his employer's tongue, torturing him thoroughly. The cooperation between Meteor City and the mafia had been long-standing. As someone who disrupted order, Feitan was naturally arrested and imprisoned here until now.
Feitan's storytelling rhythm was dictated by his personal interests. The beginning and end of his stories were very concise, while the part about how he tortured the employer was the focus of the description, very detailed and specific. It was clear that he was enthusiastically enjoying himself.
The cellmates in the opposite cells, as incidental listeners, didn't find anything problematic with the story content and applauded repeatedly.
Oh, right. Everyone here were people who had disrupted the order of Meteor City. In short, none of them were easygoing.
Feitan's storytelling style perfectly fit the classification here. As the saying goes, "Birds of a feather flock together," and it's no wonder Feitan was happy to stay in prison, to fight the ferocious beasts in the arena, rather than bow down and accept the arrangements of the upper echelons of Meteor City and express his obedience.
"They consider this a punishment," Feitan sneered dismissively. "But to me, this is just a practice ground. It just requires more time... I'm getting a bit tired of it. Humans are more interesting than animals."
After the prelude of his prison story, Feitan revealed his true theme: "If you clear this game with me, I will no longer interfere with your suicidal behavior, how about it?"
This request was perfectly normal and also beneficial to me, so I nodded.
Encouraged by Feitan's prison story, the cellmates began to share their own prison stories, many of which were clearly exaggerated boasts. To quote the most classic evaluation: "If you're so awesome, why are you still here?"
Even the usually quiet Feitan had revealed his personal past experiences, making me the most mysterious prisoner. They eagerly speculated about my prison story, developing rich associations around the theme of "arson, murder, and robbery." They believed my skill in barbecuing stemmed from a fondness for cannibalism.
"..." The more they fabricated, the more absurd it became.
They were half right. I was indeed sent to this map because I killed the driver and hijacked a supply vehicle. The reason was that I wanted to wash my hair and take a shower.
Alright, by conventional standards, I, who did such things, was undoubtedly a mad and ruthless bandit.
But this is just a game, so it doesn't matter.
Feitan's current mission briefing and team invitation were typical quest assignments.
As for the process of teaming up to farm elite monsters, it was similar to any regular game: observe and summarize the elite monster's action patterns, look for opportunities, launch attacks, probe its weaknesses, then observe, and repeat.
The strategy was scientific, but unfortunately, my and Feitan's attack power was insufficient, or rather, the game's level suppression effect was too strong. The damage dealt to the elite monsters was negligible.
Looking at the elite monster's remaining nine-tenths of its health bar, I couldn't help but fall into deep doubt, questioning whether this dungeon was an un攻略able story-kill type of dungeon.
Elite monsters could be challenged up to three times a week, and their species would sometimes change randomly, requiring new exploration strategies. This could likely be farmed for more than a year.
No, this wasn't the main reason I abandoned Feitan.
Today's elite monster was a giant beast that resembled a spider. Oh, spiders are the future alias for the Phantom Troupe that Feitan would join in the original work; it held significant commemorative meaning.
The amount of silk a spider produced was directly proportional to its size. The arena was covered with spider webs as thick as fingers, the dense webs like stretched white cloths. These white cloths were extensions of the spider's senses. Touching a white cloth would trigger the spider's attack. It was best to use my small size to my advantage and move carefully in the gaps. During this time, I wondered how troublesome the subsequent venue cleanup would be. Perhaps it would require burning?
The spider's body must have some special biological structure. The sticky spider silk acted like its ice rink, on which it slid rapidly like an ice skater. When it spotted prey, it would rush forward, and its barbed spider legs would swing down like sickles, then it would spit silk to entangle the injured prey.
The hunting process was basically like this. I shed some bandages as decoys, temporarily escaping it.
Its exoskeleton was very hard, with no soft spots. Feitan attempted to attack its only obvious weak point, its eyes.
This is the disadvantage of being uncultured. Although a spider's eyes are small, they are more than twice the number of a human's, and its field of vision is almost 360 degrees without dead angles. Feitan's attempt to snatch a piece of meat from the fire almost led to his untimely death. Fortunately, I pulled him back, helping to preserve a future important team member for Chrollo and greatly salvaging the potentially ruined plot of the original work, burying my achievements and fame.
Once again, we had to return without success, abandoning annihilation and focusing on survival mode, right?
Regardless of the chosen mode, gathering together was not an option in Feitan's or my mind; we had always fought individually. So-called teamwork simply increased the segment of assisting with finishing blows. We wouldn't interfere with each other's battles, only stepping forward to deliver a final blow when an opening appeared and then retreating.
Under the obstruction of the spider webs, I didn't know where Feitan had gone, nor did I need to care. What I should be concerned about was where the spider was, and to quickly retreat far away.
When I felt a slight movement under my feet, I thought the spider, unable to find its prey, had used a new skill. I was fully alert, but unexpectedly, Illumi Zoldyck emerged from the ground.
"?!", the last time I saw Illumi Zoldyck emerge from the ground was many years ago when I was reading the original manga in the "real world." I saw Illumi Zoldyck perform his first rapid digging, burrowing into the ground to sleep.
He extended his hand towards me. My first reaction was to refuse; in fact, I instantly wanted to stomp on his face and push him back into the dirt.
It wasn't until I saw what was in his open palm—my whistle. The dust had obscured its original brilliance.
The whistle's chain was gone, only the main body remained. No, the fact that he could retrieve the main body was beyond my expectations and could be called a "surprise."
"Let's go," Illumi said to me with lip-sync.
"..." I clenched my fists slightly.
Stay, or leave?
I was mentally prepared, but I hadn't expected the choice to come so suddenly.
Yes, I had already reached a conclusion: share the fortune, but there's no need to share the hardship. My relationship with Feitan wasn't that good.
A friendship forged over barbecued meat, just drinking and eating friends.
There were no unbreakable contracts, no unassailable vows.
Although my relationship with Illumi wasn't great, at least Illumi wouldn't torture me. You know, most fanfiction routes with Feitan tend to be "tortured love," and I'm too old to deal with that kind of drama.
When faced with two evils, choose the lesser one. I bent down and took the whistle from Illumi's hand.
Illumi clasped my hand back, pulling me into the ground, into the darkness beneath.
Mersil's Favorability towards Illumi +1
Current Mersil's Total Favorability towards Feitan: 0
Current Mersil's Total Favorability towards Illumi: -998