At Haral's talk of betting money, Riyan narrowed his eyes.
It wasn't hard to believe. With blood-soaked matches being held, there was no way gambling wasn't thriving in the shadows.
What caught Riyan's attention was not the match itself, but something else Haral had mentioned.
‘Money.......’
According to Director Berka, the monster he had killed was worth a hundred and fifty gold coins.
He didn't know what prices were like now, well over a century later, but the value of gold wouldn't have changed much. It was probably a huge sum.
Even so, he had no intention of giving up on a premature assumption. That sum was also the price of his freedom.
Nodding deliberately, Riyan asked Haral.
“Can I bet money too?”
Of course, all he got back was an incredulous laugh.
“Nothing stopping you. But where are you going to get the money, and where are you going to get the status? Slaves can't place bets, kid.”
He wasn't wrong. Riyan had only just opened his eyes as a slave.
But that didn't mean there was no way at all.
“Then, Instructor.”
“What.”
“How about a wager?”
“A wager?”
“Let me have a simple spar. I'd like you to choose my opponent, Instructor. If I win.......”
Haral was no fool. Grasping Riyan's intent, he let out an incredulous laugh.
“You want me to put up money and place a bet? On your behalf?”
“Yes.”
“That's no wager. Setting aside the risk if we get caught later, there's nothing for me to take from you if I win.”
“No. There's something you'd gain too, Instructor.”
“There is?”
“Isn't that why you approached me in the first place?”
It was a simple deduction.
For Haral, who made small bets for fun, the skill and physical condition of someone entering the next match would be very valuable information.
But Riyan currently had autonomy granted by Director Berka. Moreover, all he did was read books and sit still all day; he wasn't showing anything in particular.
Unless Haral intended to leave the outcome purely to luck, he would have felt the need to do some scouting.
When Riyan pointed out exactly that, Haral finally let out a wry laugh.
‘Would you look at the mouth on this bastard?’
But he wasn't wrong. That was exactly why Haral had approached him in the first place.
He had planned to coax the kid by offering to buy him some small outside goods if he won a decent amount, but in an instant, the stakes had grown.
As Haral rubbed his chin, deliberating, Riyan continued.
“I don't think it's a bad deal.”
“If I win.......”
“You'll walk away with the information and lose nothing. Besides, I believe I told you a moment ago. That I'd spar with whoever you want.”
It was favorable. So favorable that there was no reason not to do it. There was an inexplicable unease, but that could be solved by picking the right opponent.
‘Sure, he killed a monster, but.......’
In the first place, the monster Riyan had killed was one that had only just begun to grow.
That much was clear from the fact that it had been put into a match to one-sidedly slaughter slaves assigned as feed, rather than to face impressive gladiators.
Could Riyan really perform like that against a person?
‘No way.’
The instructors at this school might not know monsters, but they were seasoned veterans at tearing and breaking humans. That meant it was different from monsters, with their many variables.
In the end, Haral nodded.
“How much?”
“How about one silver coin?”
It was by no means a small sum. But he was confident he wouldn't lose.
Reaching into his coat, Haral soon produced a silver coin that gleamed in the sunlight.
“Fine. I accept.”
Then he raised his hand and let out a booming shout.
“Hey, Jackson!”
At Haral's shout, an instructor who had been drilling gladiators far off on the training grounds turned his head. When Haral beckoned him over, a tall man who looked to be a good two meters came striding over.
Soon, the man, covered in scars from head to toe, stood straight before Haral at attention.
“You called, Senior Instructor?”
“Yeah, Jackson. I wanted you to hear what this kid told me.”
“What.......”
At Jackson's question, Haral smirked.
“When I asked him why he's just sitting around instead of training, he said there's nothing to learn here since it's full of nothing but morons and dimwits.”
“.......”
Riyan let out a small sigh, but Jackson, who didn't see it, cocked an eyebrow sharply.
“This brat said that?”
“Yeah. So why don't you straighten him out a bit? Beating him down wouldn't look great, though, so keep it to a light spar.”
At Haral's sly words, the instructor called Jackson snorted and bellowed at Riyan.
“You whelp of a bastard, we left you alone because the Director said so, and now what? Dimwits?”
Explaining every little detail would have been ridiculous, and since Haral had set this up on purpose, Riyan simply nodded.
“That's how it turned out.”
“Get up and get out here right now, you bastard.”
As Jackson headed for the drill ground after that razor-edged remark, Riyan rose from his seat too.
Then, brushing the dirt off his backside, he looked at Haral.
“You'll need to keep your promise.”
“Sure. If you win, that is.”
Leaving Haral's words behind, Riyan slowly walked out of the shade.
Hot sunlight poured down. When he raised his head, he saw a clear sky with clouds drifting here and there across it.
The sensation of being alive welled up again. He might be a slave now, but what did that matter? He was alive. And a chance had come to wash away his stained name.
As Riyan gazed blankly at the sky, Jackson scowled.
“You bastard I ought to chew up. Where are you looking? Quit standing there like a fool and go get a wooden practice sword.”
“......A wooden practice sword?”
When Riyan tilted his head, Jackson's face contorted.
“What?”
“Hm. Couldn't we use real swords?”
“You.......”
“I see you have a sword as well, Instructor. We can each face off with our own weapons.”
Riyan gripped the hilt of the sword at his waist. The wrapped leather clung snugly to his hand. It steadied his body and mind. Set this aside and swing some clunky wooden sword? Absurd.
When Riyan smiled faintly, Jackson went past anger and began to laugh in disbelief.
“This bastard grabs a real sword and smiles? He's smiling? All right, you picked the wrong day. I'll paint a picture on that pasty mug of yours.”
SHING!
As Jackson, misunderstanding Riyan, drew his sword, a chill settled over them.
At the same time, Riyan could feel it. The world that had been blazing under the hot sun looked different.
Hssssss—
A circle was drawn.
And at the center of that circle stood Jackson.
The circle was Jackson's domain.
The factors that determined the circle were many. The spacing of his planted feet, the length of his stride, the angle of his arms, the bend of his knees, the strength of the hand gripping his sword, the movement of his eyes, his breathing, and more.
He had never examined it closely since it couldn't be explained in theory, but all of that, condensed into something he could feel, was the opponent's circle.
And Riyan defined it as red and engraved it into himself.
SHRING—!
Then Riyan slowly drew his sword as well.
At the same time, his own circle began to unfold.
Riyan defined it as white.
Immediately after, the red that had covered everything was pushed back by the white and began to vanish without a trace. Like flames swallowed by a wave.
It was a sensation that couldn't be explained any other way.
What Eldred had said after hearing about it and feeling it firsthand was still vivid in his memory.
‘You monstrous bastard.’
Knight Eldred.
Thinking of him, his teacher and something like a father to him, Riyan reminded himself once more why he had to hold the sword.
Then he slowly steadied his breathing.
But Jackson, sensing none of these signs, charged straight in, swinging his sword sharply.
At the same moment, Riyan's unfolded white circle condensed in an instant. Then that aura, rising like a heat haze, clung to the opponent's sword and drew a single line.
After that, only one thing remained.
To cut the line.
And that was the end of it.
Riyan's sword, swung horizontally, left a blue afterimage.
CLANG—!
Immediately after, a blade split in half shot up into the sky, reflecting the blazing sunlight in every direction.
Haral, who had been watching, went wide-eyed.
Meanwhile, the corners of Riyan's mouth drew a subtle curve. The ten-odd years he had spent rolling around on battlefields flashed through his mind.
The sense from back then was still the same. It was his second test, after the brawl with the slave gladiators.
At last, Riyan could be sure.
He had not lost his power.
***
Late afternoon.
In a room where silence hung heavy, Berka, drumming his fingers on the table, glared sidelong at Haral, who stood stock-still before him.
“Haral.”
“Yes, Director.”
“You know why I put you in the Senior Instructor's seat, don't you?”
“Yes, I do.”
In the office, where the yellow light of the moments before sunset streamed in, Berka let out a deep sigh. As if he were holding back only because it was Haral, whom he had always favored.
“And I clearly told you to leave that kid alone.”
“......You did.”
“And yet you went and caused a mess anyway? In front of the gladiators, no less? You're a smart guy. Why'd you do it?”
At Berka's question, Haral bit his lip.
It had started with Jackson.
A man who had started as a slave gladiator and, though he'd earned enough to become free, had willingly chosen to live as an instructor at the school.
For gladiators, at least, having survived was proof of strength.
And that veteran gladiator had been defeated in a single exchange. With his sword split in two, at that.
Back then, as Haral stood with his mouth hanging open in disbelief, Riyan had whispered to him indifferently.
‘Shall we go again? This time, I'll bet the silver coin I'm about to win, too.’
He should have stopped then.
Of course, it was a regret that came far, far too late.
By the time he came to his senses, the number of instructors with split swords had already grown to five, and the silver coins he owed had passed ten.
‘I'll take the last one myself.’
Grinding his teeth, Haral had been about to step in himself when a roar from Berka, who had come out upon sensing the commotion, belatedly brought him to his senses.
Of course, as said before, it was a belated regret.
When he came to and looked around, things were more serious than he'd thought. Gladiators watching with horrified expressions, and defeated instructors looking utterly dazed.
Carefully organizing his thoughts, Haral spoke calmly.
“At first, it was simple curiosity. I wondered what kind of guy had caught your eye, Director, and I wanted to see his skills because of the betting on the upcoming match.”
Nothing good would come of lying.
Berka's means and methods were rather violent, but the way he reached conclusions was reasonable in its own way. There was no need to anger him with a pointless lie.
As expected. Berka nodded without any visible change.
“I knew you gambled for fun. I've got no intention of stopping you. Without even that bit of fun, a free mercenary like you would never have signed on as an instructor. Yeah, that doesn't matter. But I told you not to touch that kid. That's what matters.”
“.......”
“Goddamn it. At this point, I feel like a moron. I thought you'd be able to see what I saw, but maybe that was my mistake.”
Only then did Haral find the bone hidden in his words.
Right now, more than the commotion itself, Berka was dismayed that his assessment of Haral as a person had been wrong.
Growing anxious, Haral spoke.
“I'm sorry. But.......”
“You've got more to say?”
“I'll admit he's strong. But our instructors were careless, too, and his appearance alone.......”
Haral trailed off and finally clamped his mouth shut. Because even as he spoke, he knew it was nonsense.
Careless? Five instructors had lost. If they hadn't sensed anything off after watching their fellow instructors lose before them, that was a clear problem in itself.
The same went for appearance. One of the things the instructors always told the gladiators was never to let their guard down, no matter how wounded and bloodied the opponent was.
“No. I'm sorry. If you discipline me, I'll accept it willingly.”
“No, I can't discipline you. The situation's turned out that way.”
“The situation, sir.......”
BANG!
Berka slammed the table. Then he furrowed his brows in irritation.
“Because gladiators are no different from wild dogs! They're beasts, the bastards most faithful to the logic of force! You showed those wild dogs their instructors getting smashed one after another by a whelp! And in that situation, what if you, the most senior of the lot, go missing because you've been disciplined?!”
“Ah, yes. I see. That's right. They could become hard to control.”
“Clean up the mess. And from now on, you personally take full charge of Riyan. And I was originally planning to take more time with him, but...... it can't be helped. Book a major match coming up soon. Leave at least enough time for the kid to get his body in order.”
“Sir? A major match? Wouldn't it be better to build him up step by step from the bottom.......”
“You halfwit bastard. No matter how tightly you keep your mouth shut, rumors spread! In this business, reputation is everything! Especially to the noble lords who sponsor us!”
“.......”
“Before mockery spreads that Rhodus Gladiator School instructors can't beat a single slave gladiator even as a pack, the story has to be that a monster has been born that even the instructors can't handle. Don't be stupid, Haral. Are you planning to disappoint me even more?”
Haral, whose head had been a jumbled mess of confusion, finally grasped the situation clearly.
Then he immediately began making plans. He had already lost no small amount of trust, and if he kept acting stupid, not even he could be sure he'd be safe.
“We'll rule out a standard debut. Considering what you said and the impact, I'm thinking the annual Victory Streak Match coming up soon might work. The timing's right, too.”
“Yeah? Who's in it this time?”
Haral racked his brain. Administrative information like this wasn't his area, but he couldn't afford to be glib in a situation like this.
“Bilders, from the Bilders Gladiator School...... the axe, yes, it should be the axe-wielding Human Butcher, Yabrik.”
Berka's eyebrow twitched.
Yabrik. A man who could easily have earned his freedom with the record he had already built, yet chose not to leave the arena and to live on as a gladiator.
Wielding a huge battle-axe as his main weapon, he enjoyed hacking his opponents' limbs into pieces and finishing by splitting their skulls in half—a madman who lived up to the name of butcher, quite literally.
Of course, when he first appeared, he had been quite popular.
But as time went on, he grew more and more drunk on blood and showed nothing but excessive cruelty, stirring growing resentment. Even so, lacking any worthy rival, he remained one of the old guard reigning over the arena.
Berka rubbed his chin and tilted his head.
“Major match or not, isn't that bastard too strong? Can the kid do it?”
Haral felt uneasy about saying it couldn't be done at this point.
Besides, in a corner of his mind, the sum of ten-odd silver coins he had to hand over to Riyan still lingered.
It was a fortune his wages couldn't come close to covering. If the opponent was one even Berka had doubts about, the payout would be high too. If things went well, he could make it all back in one shot.
“Riyan broke the swords of five instructors. You know how skilled they are, Director. Yabrik or not, his reputation has completely collapsed lately. The arena side probably wants to get rid of him soon, too. There's a good chance the battlefield will be set up in the challenger's favor.”
“Hmm, so we aim for a later slot?”
“Won't there be plenty of guys rushing at him? Since it's a Victory Streak Match, it's worth a shot if we get a good slot.”
Haral nodded, making his bold promise.
To regain the trust he had lost.
And for the sake of his own pocket.
Having finally made his decision, Berka nodded.
“Good. You handle the preparations personally, and get that kid Riyan cleaned up and ready by noon tomorrow. I'll take him to the arena myself.”
“You, personally, Director?”
“Then do you want to go, you bastard?”
Realizing belatedly, Haral shook his head. Slipping a new gladiator into a match whose schedule had already been set naturally required some carefully worked-out lobbying.
“No, of course not. I'll do as you say.”
“Good.”
Then Berka added.
“Maybe this is for the better.”
“......Sir?”
“There have been plenty of monsters who showed up in the arena. And no matter how hard anyone tried to hide and conceal them, guys like that always poked through sharply. Maybe that kid's the same case.”
Perhaps the idea of raising a wolf like a hunting dog had been wrong from the start. A wolf is a wolf precisely because it cannot be tamed.
At the same time, he had a hunch.
That rather than controlling him, it might be better to just let things take their course.
In the end, Berka let out a low sigh.
“Let's wait and see. How it turns out.”