CHAPTER 820: CHAPTER 821

In the private room 11.

Rosemary had sealed the deal, cash exchanged for goods with practiced ease.

She slipped the medicine into her backpack and rode the elevator down to the lobby. Horace, spotting her, broke into a relieved grin.

He’d been worried about the boss’s safety going upstairs alone. But there she was, walking out of the room 11 without a scratch.

"Got it?" Horace mouthed, his face a picture of excitement.

The place was a racket, but Rosemary caught his drift, nodding and tilting her chin up, signaling it was time to jet.

In the massive birdcage arena, the heavyweight boxer - a brute over 200 pounds - had been mauled by the beast, chunks of his arm flesh hanging loose. Now, he was being carted away, while the victor was rewarded with a feast of raw meat, retreating obediently back into its cage.

Next up was a lopsided match: a muscle-bound fighter tipping the scales at more than 300 pounds versus a kid who looked barely strong enough to lift a feather.

The kid, no more than five or six, was forced into oversized boxing gloves and shoved into the cage, his wails piercing the din, reaching Rosemary’s ears. She glanced over to see him clutching the bars,

desperate to escape, as the crowd went wild.

"These people are sick." A twinge of sympathy in Horace’s voice as he glanced at the child,

"Completely twisted."

"Do you want to see a little one’s fight-or-flight kick in when he’s pushed to the edge?"

The host was a foreigner whose words bore the meaning after translation.

The crowd roared back, "We do!"

"Place your bets, folks - will it be our fighter, or the kid? Countdown starts now - five, four, three, two, one!"

At the whistle’s blast, the fighter picked up the kid like a ragdoll and slammed him to the ground.

The crowd erupted, high on adrenaline. The kid lay there, crying pitifully, calling for his "mommy," too hurt to stand.

"Do you want to see more? Let’s see who wants to up the stakes. Who has the highest bet?"

The giant screen flashed with the bet stats: one thousand three hundred and fifty-one bets placed, the highest being thirteen grand. The host was clearly not satisfied, "Any higher bets? The thrilling moment

will begin; are you ready for it?"

"We are!"

"Show me the money!" The host’s words had barely left his mouth when the screen flashed a new bet: 1 million, from private room 1.

A hush fell for a split second, then the place erupted.

"It’s Sean! Sean’s in with a million!" The host’s voice was tinged with glee.

Rosemary narrowed her eyes in disdain. Sean? The jerk who was all over some woman upstairs, trying to get lucky? No surprise he was trash.

"Let’s hear your cheers as the next act unfolds," the host was drowned out by the escalating roar of the crowd as the fighter advanced on the kid.

Horace turned, only to find Rosemary had vanished.

The fighter lifted the child high, parading him around the arena like a trophy, the audience’s cheers shaking the very walls.

As the child was hurled away, the fighter was ready to bask in the wild cheers from the crowd, but a hush fell over the audience instead.

A girl, who seemed to have slipped into the cage unnoticed, caught the child in a protective embrace.

Outside the cage, the mother, her face streaked with tears, clung to the bars, pleading desperately,

"Are you from Solterra? Please, save my kid. His dad is drowning in debt; he didn’t choose to be up there. I’m begging you, please."

"Shut up," her pleas were abruptly cut off as someone gagged her and pinned her arms behind her back.

The fighter didn’t know who this girl was, and the host seemed just as clueless.

Rosemary confronted the fighter, her tone dripping with contempt, "Picking on a kid? Aren’t you ashamed?"

As Rosemary started to leave with the child, the fighter punched the iron cage door, prompting the host to snap out of it and announce, "This is a special surprise we arranged for the show, folks. Feel free to place your bets."

A staff member quickly locked the cage door. The desperate mother outside struggled and wept as the teen girl, frail and slight, now faced the prospect of dying in the cage with her child.

Horace finally squeezed through the crowd to the cage, and when he saw his boss locked in with the intent to save the child, he sprang into action, starting with rescuing the mother.

The fighter, oblivious to the girl’s background, knew only that winning tonight’s match would net him a cool hundred grand. He was determined to win at all costs.

Rosemary didn’t have boxing gloves or any protective gear, and she was still holding a child. As the fighter lunged with a punch, she swiftly side-kicked, sending the 300-pound behemoth staggering back.

The audience erupted in shock and excitement, never expecting such strength and skill from the girl.

Realizing Rosemary was no amateur, the fighter cracked a grin, relishing the thought of a worthy opponent. He swung at her again.

The crying child in her arms was terrified by the punch, but Rosemary reassured him, "Don’t be scared."

As the fighter’s fist came hurtling towards her, Rosemary dodged with lightning speed and launched a counterattack. Her foot connected with the fighter’s head, and his midsection and waist didn’t escape

unscathed. With a stylish spinning kick, she forced him back once more.

The roar of the crowd swelled.

The mother’s eyes widened in disbelief as the slender girl seemed to dominate the heavyweight fighter.

The fact that she was managing this feat while holding a child, using almost exclusively her legs, seemed like a twist of fate.

It was as though hope had been restored, and she wept with joy.

Horace quickly dealt with the underlings and found the key to unlock the cage. Rosemary tossed the child and backpack to him in succession.

"Go."

"Boss, what about you?" Horace was clearly worried.

"I’ll handle this," with the child no longer in her arms, Rosemary’s fists flew into action, her movements even more agile than before as the fighter’s fist plunged over.

"Boss, this joint is owned by Zebulon!" Horace’s words were lost in the din.

Rosemary didn’t hear him and delivered a strong kick to the fighter.

"Boss! This place belongs to Zebulon! Zebulon! Let’s get out of here!"

Horace pushed open the cage door, but the fighter, seeing him, punched the iron door again. There was no way he would let this girl escape; winning against her still meant a prize.

"Go!" Rosemary commanded, glancing back.

Dozens of staff members, armed and determined, pushed through the crowd towards them, clearly not intending to let the disruptor along with the mother and child leave without a fight.

Horace had no choice but to sling the bag over his shoulder, carry the child, and take the mother’s hand, leading them away first.