novelraw Chapter 672: Really Not Going Back?
Chapter 672: Really Not Going Back?
Hel knew persuasion was useless, so he didn’t linger any longer and left with his men.The office door was closed again, and Harry Hunter looked at Connor: "Not going back? Maybe you could go back and see your parents, see where you were born."
Connor’s voice was very soft: "When I was a child and almost starved to death while wandering, I once dreamed that I could find my parents, be taken home by them, and gain a little love. I can endure hardships, I’m not afraid of pain, I can do any kind of work, I’m healthy without any disease, I can eat just a little and not be a burden to them. I can’t fathom why I was abandoned."
"Later, when I entered the underground fight club and saw many orphans like me who had been abandoned, I thought it was normal for parents to have children and then discard them, so I never obsessed over being abandoned again. At that time, I had only one thought, I had to survive, who my parents were didn’t matter at all, I decided then I would never look for them."
He hadn’t expected that the couple who raised him were not his biological parents, which explained why they discarded him so casually.
The memory was already very blurry; he couldn’t remember their faces at all. He only remembered that there were these two people who raised him for a while, and then one morning he woke up in the wilderness.
It was a chaotic and poor place, many people didn’t have enough to eat. He didn’t wake up naturally but was abruptly awakened by a fierce dog biting him, the dog had nothing to eat and often bit weak children to eat.
That was his first explosion.
With his bare hands, using his young and tender hands, he killed that fierce dog.
At that time, he was only six years old.
He didn’t know why he had so much strength, didn’t know why he had the instinct to fight, but from then on, he lived by his fists.
He became better and better at fighting; the older children couldn’t beat him, not to mention those younger.
If he did happen to meet strong kids in their teens, he would desperately hide, run for his life.
He didn’t know how he survived; maybe nobody really had it out for him—a wandering little beggar. No one was fighting to kill him; after all, everyone had it hard at that time, the most important thing was to fill the belly, not to kill a child, and killing a child couldn’t be eaten—people hadn’t gone so crazy yet.
So he survived in the cracks, wandered from one place to another until he was eight when he caught someone’s eye and was tricked into going to the underground fight club.
He thought his wandering life was finally over, thought there would be no more hardships, but hadn’t expected this was the beginning of a nightmare.
He was too small, couldn’t beat those strong adult men at all, and couldn’t escape.
Day after day he was thrown into the Arena, first fighting fierce wolf-dogs, and after advancing, fighting kids even fiercer than wolf-dogs.
Fortunately, he was truly talented; his reaction abilities and physical strength increased day by day, and his outstanding achievements earned him enough food—much better than what he ate when wandering; spectators even threw him chocolate, he hadn’t tasted such delicious food before.
He grew rapidly, he had no time to think about any parents, his opponents grew increasingly stronger, even children five or six years older than him appeared in the same Arena, not wanting to die meant he had to focus all his energy on fighting.
He didn’t die.
He won.
At nine, with talent and strength beyond the reach of ordinary people, he fought across the entire Arena and won the championship.