Chapter 1502: Chapter 1502

Night descended over Valkyrium Arena like a dark curtain, and with it, the battles grew bloodier. The ground trembled beneath the roars of colossal beasts locked in combat, their claws sparking as they clashed under the blinding neon lights.

Each round unleashed stronger, wilder creatures, fangs flashing, muscles coiling, their monstrous bodies colliding with bone-crunching force.

The crowd rose as one, their cheers a deafening storm that drowned out the beasts’ howls. Blood sprayed across the dark sand, painting the arena floor in scarlet. Torn scales, shattered armor, and twisted remnants of earlier battles lay scattered underfoot, glistening like broken glass. Smoke hissed from the vents as the scent of iron and ozone filled the air.

Amid the chaos, the audience’s excitement only intensified. Faces lit by holographic flames, they watched with feverish eyes as the next pair of monsters prepared to fight to the death, each battle more savage, more spectacular than the last.

Igor kept raising his bets, even after losing again and again. Every time he managed a rare win, his triumph was short-lived, because the next match, he’d lose twice as much. Sean watched in silence as Igor’s spending spiraled out of control, the total now exceeding three months of his own salary.

The truth is, Igor was already deep in debt—to the organization, all because of his gambling addiction.

Salvo never once tried to stop Igor’s addiction; on the contrary, he nurtured it. Every loss, every desperate bet, was another thread tightening around Igor’s neck.

Salvo understood people like Igor: brilliant minds with fragile egos, easily blinded by their own genius. All he had to do was feed that hunger, money, prestige, the thrill of the game, and Igor would keep crawling back for more.

To Salvo, it wasn’t about generosity or loyalty. It was about ownership. A man enslaved by his vices was far easier to control than one driven by conviction. By the time Igor realized how deep he’d sunk, it would already be too late; his debts, his inventions, his very freedom would all belong to Salvo. Forever.

Sean understood Salvo’s intention all too well. Yet watching Igor sink deeper into his addiction was nothing short of repulsive. How could someone so intelligent be so helpless against his own desires? Igor should’ve seen through Salvo’s scheme—the manipulation was obvious to anyone who cared to look. And yet, he didn’t stop.

Perhaps he couldn’t. Or perhaps, Sean thought grimly, he didn’t want to.

A thunderous roar ripped through the arena as one of the beasts fell, its massive body hitting the ground with a shattering thud. The crowd erupted in cheers. Igor, however, slammed his palm against the table, cursing under his breath; he’d lost again.

After a long moment, Igor turned toward Sean, his expression a mix of embarrassment and hesitation.

"How much do you need this time?" Sean asked, already knowing the answer before it came.

Igor’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t blind to Salvo’s scheme. But what choice did he have? Whether it was the S.A.I.N.T. Organization or Luxemborough, neither offered a better fate. In the end, Igor had simply taken the first hand that reached out to him, Salvo’s.

"Fifty million," Igor muttered, clenching his fist.

Sean let out a dry scoff. "Okay."

He tapped a few times on his phone, and a soft notification chimed from Igor’s device, the transfer complete. Igor’s eyes lit up instantly, the shame and anxiety disappeared, then were replaced by greed. With a fast movement, he snatched the tablet and placed another reckless bet, as if his life depended on it.

Sean leaned back, exhaling in quiet frustration, while Igor’s attention snapped back to the blood-soaked arena below.

Far across the stands, in a shadowed VIP booth, Clift observed them through the tinted lenses of his augmented glasses. His gaze was sharp, patient, the look of a predator sizing up his quarry.

Data streams flickered across his vision, picking up subtle cues: Igor’s trembling fingers, Sean’s restrained irritation, the tension pulsing between them.

’What an Addict,’ Clift thought, narrowing his eyes. Pathetic indeed... but undoubtedly useful.

From what he’d gathered from his brief observation, Igor’s addiction seemed to be controlling him inside out, and it was far worse than Clift had anticipated. The debt, both financial and moral, seemed to chain him tightly to the organization.

Exactly the kind of weakness he could exploit.

"See something good?" Samuel teased, his voice smooth as he lifted his glass of wine.

He hadn’t known Clift for long, but Radcliff Equllan was far more taciturn than he’d expected. Still, Samuel had learned to read the man’s subtle tells.

Whenever Clift found a target worth pursuing, a faint, almost imperceptible smile would ghost across his lips, and his middle finger would rub gently against his thumb, a quiet habit, but one Samuel had come to recognize.

Clift said nothing. He simply took a slow sip of his coffee, his gaze still fixed ahead, then glanced at his watch.

Moments later, the battle below reached its end. The wyvern let out a thunderous roar before tearing the orc’s head clean off. Bone cracked, blood sprayed across the metallic sand, and the audience erupted into ecstatic cheers.

A grotesque spectacle, perfect entertainment for a city that worshiped violence.

At that end, the show for today.

Everyone left the show in high spirits. The wealthy, long accustomed to comfort and predictability, felt a rush they hadn’t experienced in years. They spent money like water, drunk on spectacle and thrill, and that was precisely why the Valkyrium Arena remained the most profitable place in Zenon.

Unfortunately, not everyone shared in that happiness.

Igor Renovich had just added another fifty million Rohm to his mountain of debt.

In the bathroom, he splashed cold water on his face, the chill cutting through the haze of adrenaline that still pulsed in his veins. His reflection stared back at him, pale, tired, and furious. He didn’t understand why his luck was so cursed. Yet the more he lost, the stronger his obsession with winning became.

His mind spun with desperation. Still, the voice in his head kept urging him, ’Find more money, Find more money’.

Once, he’d gone so far as to use children in his experiments, chasing breakthroughs that would both feed his ego as a renowned creator and scientist, at the same time, fill his pockets with enough money for a lifetime.

The dream was sweet, but the reality was cruel. The authority uncovered his diabolical experiment and sentenced him to the death penalty.

Soon after, all the reputation he had built over the years crumbled before him. Even if, by some miracle, he managed to escape from prison, no one would accept him; his crimes and addictions had been laid bare before the public.

Thankfully, that miracle did happen. He was saved by the Paladin. But the downside was that now he was bound to them like a slave, with no way out.

And that was the problem, he depended on them too much, like a drowning man clinging to driftwood. Deep down, he knew their generosity wouldn’t last.

For now, they still needed him. But once the project he was working on was completed, he wasn’t sure if they would still show him the same generosity they did today.

As these thoughts tangled in his mind, the creak of a door broke his focus. A man stepped out of the stall and moved to the sink beside him, quietly washing his hands. Igor glanced at the strange man in a brown suit.

His appearance was unlike any of the wealthy patrons Igor had ever met, those who always exuded an arrogant air, as if they owned the place. No, there was a certain humility in this man’s demeanor, a grounded presence that made Igor sure he wasn’t someone born into wealth.

Whatever—it had nothing to do with him.

Igor flicked his damp hair back, grabbed a tissue to dry his hands, then tossed it into the bin. He was about to leave when a voice stopped him.

"Excuse me, sir—you look a bit familiar."

Igor froze mid-step. Turning around, he forced a polite smile.

"I think you’ve got the wrong person. I don’t believe we’ve met."

The man raised his hands in apology, looking a little dejected. "Yeah, sorry about that. You just look a lot like my friend—I haven’t seen him in years." He paused, a hint of nostalgia softening his expression. "He’s the one who taught me about beastfights. Thanks to his guidance, I almost never lose... well, sometimes I do," he said with a faint, melancholic smile before his tone brightened again. "But today, I won a hundred million Rohm!"

Igor’s eyes widened. "One... a hundred million?"

"Haha, yeah, I really owe him for teaching me." The man laughed, then smiled with quiet satisfaction. "Maybe it’s just my lucky day."

A twinge of irritation sparked inside Igor; his own losses still stung, and the man’s easy confidence felt like a slap.

"You gamble on beastfights often?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

"Yeah, though this is my first time in Zenon. I heard the bets here are high, so I wanted to test my luck, and it paid off." He grinned, proud and carefree.

Igor clenched his jaw. Luck. That word gnawed at him.

"Ah, but it’s not really luck, you know," the man continued. "If you understand the beast’s behaviour and know how to calculate the odds, it’s not that hard."

"Calculate...?" Igor’s eyes sharpened.

"Yeah. But what is most important is that you have to study the beast’s nature, their strengths, weaknesses, even signs of fatigue or drugging. Some beasts are deliberately weakened to affect the outcome. With the right observation, you can see through it."

Igor’s pulse quickened. His mind raced. If I knew all that... I could win. I could pay my debts. I might even be able to break free from them. But his hopeful thoughts froze as the man glanced at his watch.

"Oh, sorry for keeping you. I should go before my fierce secretary starts calling." He chuckled, clapped his hands dry, and walked past Igor, striding toward the door. Follow current novᴇls on 𝔫𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔩⟡𝘧𝙞𝙧𝙚⟡𝘯𝘦𝘵

"Wa— Wait the minute!" Igor blurted, his voice echoing slightly in the tiled room.