132 The High Celestial Lord Senses Something Amiss

The mood of the Exalted Gao Tian recently had been far from pleasant.

A man with an enchantingly seductive appearance and a small blue mark tracing his chin gazed at the battle unfolding in the arena, his expression dark and brooding to the point of dripping gloom.

These were his two most formidable warriors. Usually, for amusement—or rather, to prolong his enjoyment—he rarely allowed such powerful fighters to face each other directly.

After all, in Gao Tian’s arena, most battles ended with only one survivor. Putting two star gladiators together was an extravagance so rare that even he seldom permitted it.

Yet today, not only had he done so, but he had pitted the second and third-ranked champions, just below the reigning Hulk, into a single clash.

Such a lavish spectacle would have, in the past, filled the entire arena to bursting. Even the most notable and influential figures would flock here to witness the event.

But what was the situation now?

Gao Tian’s face darkened as he scanned the entire arena from his elevated seat, overlooking the battlefield, only to see the stands sparsely populated with a handful of spectators.

What was more disheartening was the lack of excitement or passion. These few onlookers seemed indifferent, their eyes heavy with sleepiness, yawning as if they were here out of obligation rather than interest.

“Damn it! What’s wrong with these people?!” Furious, he smashed the exquisite crystal goblet in his hand, cursing without restraint.

As one of Gao Tian’s chief sources of income, the desolate attendance certainly hurt his profits. But as an ancient being of the cosmos, he was not lacking in wealth.

He did not hate these people for cutting off his income; he hated that no one appreciated his favorite form of entertainment.

Throughout his almost infinite lifespan, he had delighted most in various gambling games.

Among all, dueling was unequivocally his top favorite.

If he were to stand now and deliver a speech, he would surely spread his arms wide and roar, "My friends! I love dueling!"

No, wait—that was something Jos would say.

But the declaration, “Gentlemen, I love dueling!” was inevitable.

The thrill of the underdog’s comeback, the overwhelming force suppressing many with one, the tide of numbers overwhelming the mighty, the psychological stratagems of intrigue, the honorable and methodical contests, the unbridled chaos of open and covert attacks—

Different races from myriad planets, wielding diverse weapons and martial techniques, engaging in life-or-death combat within his arena!

What could be more exhilarating than a wager where the victor remains uncertain until the very last moment?

He and the likes of the card kings differed fundamentally in their understanding of gambling: he did not care about winning or losing.

With his long life matched by ample wealth, ordinary wins and losses were inconsequential.

Much like some so-called ‘normies’ enjoying the process despite inevitable failures.

As for fatal accidents caused by inadequate precautions, such outcomes did not concern Gao Tian.

“Damn it! Why is no one coming to watch my duels! Where the hell have these people gone?!”

No one dared respond to Gao Tian’s furious roar. His temperament was twisted and volatile; approaching him now could mean being smashed to pulp.

Though he had yet to display formidable power, his arsenal of black-tech gadgets was unmatched.

“L-Lord!” Suddenly, in this deathly silence, a trembling voice called from the doorway.

“What is it?” Gao Tian frowned, his staff-like weapon glowing faintly. If the man failed to provide a satisfactory answer, the next moment would see him reduced to a puddle of pus.

“I-it’s Lord Ronan who has arrived!” The man blurted out, prompting a smile to bloom across Gao Tian’s face like a flower.

“Oh?! So my tournament still draws an audience after all!”

Ronan, the Kree Inquisitor, though not frequently in contact, had visited the arena several times to watch the duels.

His reputation rivaled that of Gao Tian’s own, the self-proclaimed king of Sakaar. Having him attend was a tremendous source of pride.

It was like having a renowned chef sample one’s own baked bread—naturally, a reason to boast.

Gao Tian rose just as a blue-skinned man wielding a massive war hammer strode in.

“Greetings, Grandmaster.” Ronan set the hammer down and nodded respectfully.

“Long time no see, Ronan. You came because you heard about today’s duel, didn’t you?”

After exchanging pleasantries, Gao Tian led Ronan to the best vantage point for watching the fight. But then Ronan’s words left Gao Tian frozen in place.

“No, I came because I heard about a performance by an organization called ‘Seven Sins.’ I’m merely passing by and thought to greet you.”

Before Gao Tian could respond, Ronan, true to his word, didn’t even glance at the fierce combatants and turned to leave, hammer in hand.

“Then… what exactly are you doing here???” Gao Tian stammered, then realized his focus had been misplaced.

“Wait a minute! What the hell is this ‘Seven Sins’ thing???”

“Sir, it’s a performance troupe claiming to be ‘Idol’ entertainers. Recently, most of the audience has been drawn to them,” a trembling attendant reported.

“Ha? Idol? Performance? What is that supposed to be?” Gao Tian was bewildered. He understood each word separately, but combined, it made no sense.

Just then, the door swung open again, and a white-haired, equally flamboyant middle-aged man strode in.

“Yo, little brother, long time no see!” The Collector greeted Gao Tian with a laugh.

Though brothers, their meetings were infrequent, so Gao Tian was surprised by the Collector’s arrival.

“Collector? Why are you here? To watch my arena matches?”

“Well… maybe next time. I’m just here to ask if you have any SSR-grade fluorescent sticks of the ‘Sloth’ variety? If so, could you spare one?”

. . . m.