From Prisoner to Si Chen

Before Ji Lan spoke, another male voice came from the side:

"Oh? Mr. Gillan is so sure?"

Cordell, the second son of the Minister of Propaganda, walked over, intentionally or unintentionally inserting himself between Gillan and Didier, staring at the fight under the glass wall.

"Mr. Euan's strength is indeed good, but in fact, he is better at the cane technique, and he is only good at unarmed combat."

He pointed at the man in sunglasses on the field.

"Facing Mr. Aslan, who specializes in fighting skills, his chances of winning are not great. What's more, Mr. Aslan is a senior heraldry-level fighter and has already reached the threshold of a master."

"You only need to go one step further, find your own fighting style, study it, and develop your own secret skills to become a master."

Cordell seemed to have a good understanding of the two men he was fighting against, and his analysis was very thorough.

And his words were more like explaining to Miss Dedel.

Gillan did not refute this, but showed interest.

In the past, he lacked a clear understanding of the master. He only thought that he had practiced martial arts to perfection, and had a physical fitness that exceeded the heraldry level.

But according to Cordell, it turns out that you need a unique fighting style and master the secret skills to be called a master.

From this point of view, the flat-headed captain of the purification team was not a real master. Because he only has master-level physique and skills, but lacks secret skills.

It might be more appropriate to call him a "quasi-master".

The same goes for the four Cyborg guards of the Federation Colonel.

"Since you two have your own judgments, Gillan and Cordell, how about a game of gambling?"

At this time, Prince also walked to the other side of Miss Didier and glanced at the two of them.

"I put 200 gold on Caesar and bet that Mr. Aslan will win."

"Heh." Cordell smiled lightly, glanced at Prince, and said with a hint of sarcasm: "Prince, you still like to take advantage. You have listened to all my analysis. Don't you have your own?" Any insights?”

"What a coincidence, I think so too, do you still need to say it?"

Prince responded with a shrug.

He turned around and suggested to everyone on the sofa:

"Everyone, let's bet on one hand! It's a rare gathering without a lottery ticket!"

"Okay, cousin Prince."

France smiled and agreed.

"Then I will bet 200 Caesar, just like you, and bet Mr. Aslan to win."

When the others saw this, they responded to Prince's call with dignity and participated in the gambling game together. Each one counts, and the lowest bet is 100 Caesar, all bets on Aslan winning.

The young people here are not stupid, and they have a certain understanding of the two members who are fighting. Cordell's analysis is spot-on, and Aslan has a significantly greater chance of winning.

The fighting competitions in the "Monthly Salon" are entertainment in nature, the stakes are not big, and there are no exaggerated odds. In addition, there is a betting limit, which is a limit of 200 Caesars, so they will definitely choose the side with a greater chance of winning.

Upon seeing this, Milinda took the initiative to reach out and press the bell on the side of the sofa.

jingle.

Not long after, the previous staff member came into the box holding a small book. After a conversation, he quickly registered everyone's bets one by one.

"Mr. Gillan, won't you participate?"

Seeing that the young man in black coat was silent, Miss Didier couldn't help but ask curiously.

Gillan shook his head.

"I don't like gambling," he said.

In his past and present lives, he never participated in gambling, no matter how big or small.

Because he is well aware of the evil nature of people, and he also knows that desires will be infinitely magnified in gambling, and eventually turn into man-eating beasts.

"It's really boring." Cordell said lightly.

The others also smiled.

Don't like gambling?

Just an excuse.

As an illegitimate child, I guess he is short of money.

They also understand and tacitly agree that there are no jokes.

"I'll bet on 200 Caesar, but I'm just betting that Mr. Euan will win."

Didier thought for a while, took out two "100" denominations of Caesars from a small and exquisite wallet, and handed them to the girl in uniform behind her.

Everyone was a little surprised.

Especially the two young men Prince and Cordell.

"Miss Didier, do you really believe what he said?"

Prince frowned slightly and glanced at Gillan.

Dedel still had that gentle smile. She looked at the others and explained:

"Everyone has suppressed Mr. Aslan, but someone has to suppress the other side to be interesting, right? And what if Mr. Euan wins?"

She said, covering her mouth and laughing softly.

Hearing this, everyone was not persuaded.

It’s only 200 Caesars anyway, so losing is no big deal.

On the contrary, Miss Didier deliberately "sacrificed herself" to enhance the lively atmosphere of the gambling game and make them more favorable.

"It doesn't matter. When this game is over, I will give half of the money I won to you, Miss Dedel."

Prince smiled pretending to be a gentleman.

"I can't let you lose alone."

"I will too." Cordell said with his hands in his pockets.

“Sister Dedel, there’s also a share for Milinda!”

Milinda said with a playful smile.

The others all agreed, saying that they would all share the winnings with Didier.

However, Didier smiled and shook her head and said:

"Thank you all in advance. But the game is not over yet, are you so sure of winning?"

"Then let's wait and see." Cordell said calmly, very confidently. "The competition between the two participating men has reached a fever pitch, and the winner is about to be determined."

After hearing this, everyone got up from the sofa and came to the glass wall.

They gathered together and cast their gazes downward, while Gillan was pushed to the edge.

He didn't care about it and just stared at the two people on the field.

The gentlemen and ladies in the auditorium on the first floor took part in the competition. They were in high spirits, waving their hands or raising their fists, cheering for the team they had chosen.

The atmosphere on the field was enthusiastic, and the game reached a critical moment.

Mr. Aslan, who had short hair, a beard, and strong muscles, stepped forward, blocked the punch of the man in sunglasses Youan with his left hand, and swung away a backhand straight fist with a cold face.

The punch hit Youan right in the abdomen.

Bang!

Youan arched his body and vomited stomach water from the corner of his mouth.

"Aslan! Aslan!!"

The audience cheered, and many people stood up with excited expressions.

Aslan took advantage of the victory and hit his opponent's chest with a knee, followed by an elbow strike, slamming Euan's back.

There were two muffled sounds of bang, bang, and the opponent was staggered.

Anyone with a discerning eye can see that these two heavy blows have completely defeated Yuan's final counterattack.

Sure enough, Euan lost his balance and slowly fell down.

Including the young people in the box on the second floor, almost all the audience had already judged the outcome of this first fighting match.

Aslan wins.

Prince smiled, but Cordell didn't react at all, as if all this was what he expected.

But at this moment.

Euan, who was about to fall, suddenly jumped forward.

He hugged Aslan's waist, and amidst the astonished expression on the opponent's face, he turned around and threw him, slamming him onto the competition stage.

Bang! !

Aslan was hit unexpectedly and fainted on the spot.

The middle-aged referee was also surprised. After a moment of surprise, he quickly went on stage to report the count.

After dozens of countdowns, Aslan still couldn't stand up.

"The first competition of 'Monthly Salon', Mr. Euan won!"

he announced loudly.

The whole place fell silent.