Long Xiaotian sat up suddenly, but was almost knocked down by a burst of pain - his wrists and ankles were locked with rough iron shackles, and the other end of the iron chain was fixed to the stone wall behind him, causing pain to his skin. He lowered his head and looked at himself. He was wearing a tattered linen robe. The material made his skin itchy. There was also a scar on his chest that had not yet healed. It was obviously not his original body.
The memory is like a broken film, and the final picture is Akun's distorted smiling face and the deafening explosion.
"Am I dead?" He muttered, his voice as hoarse as sandpaper rubbing against wood.
"Death?" The strong man sneered and poked his face with the handle of the whip, "You can't die now. Master Batiatas' gladiator training camp is short of supplies. An oriental monkey like you who has never eaten meat might be able to sell it for a good price."
Gladiator? Batitas?
