After the Demon Dragon fell, humanity unified the continent.
The remaining monsters retreated to the scorching sands of the south or the frigid regions of the north, and humanity came to hold the fertile lands as the price of victory.
What followed was the founding of the Empire.
The king who had led the war to victory executed the traitor Riyan, who had sought the throne by exploiting the chaotic political situation, and afterward, for the sake of a stable union, the kingdom declared its transformation into an empire.
The king, having become emperor, then proclaimed.
‘We must never suffer the same thing again.’
With the terror monsters had brought still vividly etched into them, humanity submitted to the emperor's oppression and control.
The regional lords and warlords who had once been independent powers were absorbed under the Empire, and on the grounds of the traitor Riyan, the cultivation and training of knights were controlled under strict surveillance.
Nearly two centuries passed in this way.
And an era arrived in which knights, in the sense the word once carried, could only be found in fairy tales.
***
The Imperial Capital, Citadel.
Four enormous gates rose on each side, and the walls stretched out from them like stems to form a single irregular rhombus.
And at the innermost part of those walls.
The Imperial Palace, perched atop a cliff that rose with its back to the coast, was also a structure that symbolized the birth of the Empire and its glory.
In the outskirts, where one could look up at that Imperial Palace, stood a building surrounded by high walls.
The Rhodus Gladiator School.
It was a school that supplied gladiators to the Imperial Colosseum.
Under the Empire's policy, which was founded on oppression and control, the Colosseum played a handy role in venting the subjects' discontent.
The events held in the arena were varied. Gladiatorial combat, beast hunts, jousting, and more.
The gladiators used there as expendables were produced by the schools, and their renown differed according to how excellent they were.
Berka, the director of the Rhodus Gladiator School, frowned upon hearing shocking news right after returning from a business trip.
“Say that again.”
“......The monster is dead.”
“Dead?”
“Yes, Director.”
Feeling the strength drain from him, Berka staggered, and the instructor who had been reporting quickly pulled out a chair for him.
Slumping heavily into it, Berka spoke with a dazed expression.
“The monster? As far as I remember, the only match on our recent schedule with a monster in it is Sharak's.”
“......It is that very Sharak.”
“That's nonsense. That was just a feeding match to begin with.”
“That is also correct.”
Monsters were rare.
In times so distant they were hard to even recall, during the war against the Demon Dragon, they were said to have been so common you'd trip over them, but these days they were creatures that had to be painstakingly captured alive on distant expeditions.
And monsters captured with such difficulty had an ‘owner.’
It was a concept like a pet dog. Only a bit bigger, and a bit more ferocious.
It was, strictly speaking, a secret hobby enjoyed only by high nobles who had money and time to rot and for whom keeping such monsters under them caused no trouble.
Of course, ordinary crowds also naturally got excited watching monsters and humans fight in the arena.
But those nobles with twisted inclinations were an entirely different breed, taking pleasure in the very fact that the monsters they owned craved blood.
“Who was the owner? Fenric, was it Marquis Fenric Noveil?”
“Yes, it was.”
“And that fellow.......”
What must it feel like to ask while already knowing the worst? Keenly feeling the director's mood, the instructor gave his answer.
“He's a Standing Member of the Imperial Arcana Council.”
“Damn it!”
BANG!
When Berka slammed the table, the instructor flinched.
“Fuck, what am I supposed to tell him? ‘The rat we gave it as prey bit the cat to death, how terribly unfortunate’? Goddamn it! What are we going to do?!”
“.......”
“Which bastard assigned the feed that day?”
“Instructor Jarek.”
“Cut off his right hand. Then send it to Marquis Fenric. Good thing Jarek's left-handed, at least. The marquis won't know that much.”
“Just that.......”
“Are you asking if we send just that? Want me to cut off your junk and send it along too? Wrap up some gold or silver or whatever you can find and send it with it!”
Sometimes, there are things more precious than life. Fearing the director might have a change of heart, the instructor hurriedly nodded.
Still fuming, Berka huffed and puffed but eventually regained his composure.
“Fine. Nothing else happened besides that?”
“W-well.......”
“Well what?”
Should he say it or not?
But if it was a matter that would cause trouble whether he said it or not, it was better to just say it and beg forgiveness.
“Yesterday, a star...... apparently fell.”
“A star?”
“Yes, a star. The rumors are all over the city. An instructor who was on night duty yesterday says he saw it too.......”
“Did I hear that wrong? The star that hangs in the sky? Is that what you're talking about?”
“Yes.”
“Get out.”
“......Sir?”
“Get lost right now, before I kill you!”
At the bloodcurdling order to leave, the instructor quickly turned around and was just grabbing the doorknob.
Berka, who had been clutching his throbbing temples, called the instructor back.
“Wait. So, that monster.”
“Sir?”
“Who the hell was the feed that killed that monster?”
***
A damp underground prison.
Inside the iron bars, Riyan, who had been sitting upright, soaked in blood and sweat, tilted his head.
Where is this place?
He remembered up to felling the monster and receiving the crowd's cheers.
He also remembered a number of armed men roughly dragging him underground afterward.
It wasn't that he hadn't considered fighting back. But he had spent a great deal of strength felling the monster. On top of that, his current body was far too feeble to put his full skill to use.
His body.
His thoughts reaching that point, Riyan quietly lowered his head and looked over his body.
Scrawny limbs, and a torso with its ribs plainly showing. The chains locked around his wrists barely allowed him to even twitch.
He organized his thoughts again.
Why was he being treated like this in such a dank place?
Killing monsters was only natural.
That was a truth carved deep into his bones through the grueling war. But this place where he had opened his eyes again was clearly a world where that truth didn't hold.
‘I've never heard of a place like this.’
Over ten-odd years of war, he had met people who had flocked from all sorts of places, and hearing about the worlds each of them had experienced had been one of his pleasures.
Yet no matter how hard he searched his memory, he had never heard of a culture or custom of working humans like slaves and making them fight monsters.
Judging by his current state, wasn't it as though he were the one being treated like a monster instead?
It was just as Riyan let out a small sigh.
Clomp, clomp.
Footsteps approached. Soon, a dim shadow fell in front of the bars.
Then two figures appeared.
“Is this the bastard?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You can go.”
“Understood.”
The one Riyan took to be the jailer turned away without a single word of question.
To a jailer, a prison is the kingdom he rules as king, and his pride. That such a man would leave his throne without a single word of question.......
It meant the rank of the one giving orders was that high.
And.
He was a skilled man who paid no mind to danger, even when facing someone who had felled a monster.
The bars opened.
“Raise your head, slave.”
“.......”
The process of checking someone's eyes was important. You had to see through the other's mind and read their will to prepare for what came next.
And it was a process that favored no single person, fair to both sides alike.
Riyan raised his head.
Then he met the eyes of the voice's owner.
A soundless conversation.
They were eyes that revealed a fiery temperament. Overbearing and violent. If Riyan offended him even slightly, those thick hands and feet would come swinging.
But there is always an ironic calm within a storm.
Riyan glimpsed that calm.
SCREECH—!
The man dragged a chair over from the corner of the cell and sat down in front of Riyan.
“I'm Berka, the director of the Rhodus Gladiator School.”
Rhodus, Rhodus.
It wasn't in his memory. Nor was the name Berka.
“I told you my name.”
“......Riyan.”
“Riyan?”
The man called Berka repeated the name a few times, then burst out laughing.
“That's a cursed name. I guess you weren't a welcome child to your parents?”
A cursed name.
What did that mean? Riyan's pupils narrowed for a moment.
At that, Berka tilted his head as if asking what was wrong.
“It's the name of a traitor, isn't it?”
Traitor.
As his comrade's words before his death came back to him, anger flickered in Riyan's eyes for an instant, and seeing it, Berka grinned.
“Those are a warrior's eyes.”
Nodding as if satisfied, Berka stopped laughing and spoke in a low voice.
“Where were you born?”
Barely calming his emotions, Riyan gathered himself and answered. It was a good opportunity, after all.
“The Reblia Mountains.”
“Reblia? Where's that?”
“It's in the Belance region.”
“Belance...... Ah, the frontier? But that's strange. I heard this batch of slaves was procured from the Kormo region.”
The first button had been fastened.
He hadn't opened his eyes in a completely different world. There were regions they both knew well and shared.
On top of that, he could roughly figure out his location.
Kormo.
A coastal region bordering the southern desert.
Belance.
The man knew it was the frontier. And he found it strange that Riyan said he was born there.
In other words, it was a place with the Belance frontier to the north and Kormo below it.
Moreover, the enormous arena where thousands, even tens of thousands, could gather, along with the crowds' clothing and accessories, were also important clues.
“Got kidnapped and drifted down to Kormo, did you? Well, how it happened doesn't matter. It's not like slaves pick out a plot of land to be born on.”
At the laughing Berka's words, Riyan smiled back at him.
Of course, it was the same smile, but its meaning was the complete opposite.
‘That the blood on his crown...... will never be washed away.’
His own last words.
It was laughable to speak of last words when he had been given a new life, but Riyan was satisfied that he had gained a chance to fulfill those last words with his own hands.
Unaware of what Riyan was truly thinking, Berka seemed instead to rate his bold attitude highly, and let out a satisfied laugh.
“Good, good. I can tell a few things. Killing that monster wasn't luck. It was skill. And you'd been hiding that skill.”
“.......”
“I won't consider it the instructors' fault. I'm the one who taught them not to believe what slaves say. And I've no intention of blaming you, either. I won't even ask why someone with that kind of skill became a slave. It's all because I didn't ask, so you didn't answer, and by my standards, that isn't a big offense.”
“.......”
“What really matters is that you and I want to go in a similar direction right now. That's what's important.”
“A similar direction?”
“You want freedom, and I want my school to flourish. The harder you fight for your freedom, the closer I'll get to what I want. How about we try being loyal to each other? I swear to God, I don't think there's a fairer offer than this.”
“.......”
With a slimy grin, Berka rubbed his chin for a moment, lost in thought.
Then he spoke again.
“A hundred and fifty gold coins.”
“.......”
“That's the price of the monster you killed.”
The price of a monster.......
Riyan felt dizzy. Is this a world where monsters are bought and sold?
Who? And why on earth?
Riyan recalled the place where he had killed the monster. And the cheers of the crowd applauding him.
It was a hard scene to believe. In truth, he half wondered even now if he was dreaming.
But Berka's words made him certain. It had been real.
In that case, fitting the pieces together wasn't hard now.
Nor was figuring out what the man in front of him wanted from him.
Riyan opened his mouth.
His voice was cracked and hoarse.
“Water.”
“......?”
“Clean water, food, and a sword. Any food is fine. But the sword matters. I want to see it and choose it myself.”
The sword he had used to kill the monster earlier had broken after a single cut. And with such a defective piece, his ways of fighting were limited.
Of everything he had learned in his past life, the only thing he could put to use right away was swordsmanship. To make use of it, he needed a good weapon.
“I'm not asking for anything very special. I'd just like a weapon made of tough steel.”
“.......”
“I'll ask for the rest in due time. You'll need time to test me anyway.”
“Hah, unbelievable. Are you a mouthy little shit, or do you just have a lot of nerve? For all I know, you're scheming something, so why should I give you everything you ask for?”
CLANK!
The shackles binding Riyan's wrists fell to the floor.
Berka saw Riyan's dislocated left wrist, and in his freed right hand, he was holding a stone. Who knew how long he had ground it against the prison wall, but its tip had been honed to a point.
Berka's hand moved to his scabbard. At the same time, he looked at his opponent. Intending to cut him down in one stroke.
But soon, that hand relaxed.
It wasn't merely because this was someone who had cut down a monster with a single sword.
Berka had seen all manner of monsters and gladiators throughout his involvement with the Colosseum. And their eyes had always been full of rage.
Blind, and blazing.
The eyes of the slave before him were the same. But the way that rage expressed itself was quite different from theirs.
Composed, and so cold it seemed to sting.
“.......”
A brief silence.
That stillness was broken when Riyan bowed his head.
“I look forward to working with you, Director Berka.”
“Hahahah!”
Berka's laughter echoed through the underground prison. It was far from simple delight at being shown courtesy.
It was pure elation.
A wolf. And a very clever wolf at that.
His skill was proven. He was quick-witted. They shared a common goal.
A trade of riches for freedom.
That was reason enough to be loyal to one another.
Nor was he hard to handle. Knowing the hierarchy was the first step in any organization.
Berka's eyes glinted.
Like a man who had picked up a jewel while walking down the street, his gaze rippled with greed.
“Riyan, Riyan, huh....... Same name as the worst traitor in the Empire. So much the better. An unusual background draws a crowd. Do you have a surname, by any chance?”
“.......”
Traitor.
Once again, Riyan's eyebrow twitched. Though Berka didn't notice.
Without showing anything more, Riyan answered briefly.
“I don't.”
“Is that so? Good.”
Nodding, Berka let out a sinister laugh and exclaimed.
“Once again, welcome to the Rhodus Gladiator School, Gladiator Riyan!”