The way back to the gladiator school was noisy.
In the carriage, Berka ranted all day long about how stupid a decision the slot Riyan had chosen was, and how unjust it was that he hadn't trusted and followed Berka's word as he rightly should have.
Of course, Riyan let it go in one ear and out the other.
But it wasn't that he had done it out of youthful bravado or recklessness. He had simply found a way to escape his status as a slave quickly.
Seeing Riyan's unbothered attitude, Berka let out a long sigh.
“......Are you really confident?”
Sensing that the brutal lecture had ended, Riyan withdrew his gaze from the window. Then he looked at Berka and spoke quietly.
“If anything, I'd like to ask you something.”
“You have something to ask?”
“You'll have heard too, Director. That I beat the instructors several times. Yet seeing you this worried, it must mean the opponent is no pushover.”
“.......”
“How strong is he?”
Berka chewed his lip.
“Remember when I explained Champions to you earlier?”
“Yes. I remember.”
“Yabrik the Human Butcher—that bastard already rose to the position of Champion once. He was even granted a Masterpiece. And yet he keeps on living as a gladiator.”
“Titles and Masterpieces—didn't you say you had to be sponsored or employed by the Empire?”
“Not everyone.”
“A propaganda tool?”
Berka crooked his brows.
“You catch on fast. Right. That bastard Yabrik's very existence is a great billboard. He makes every gladiator long to receive the same treatment from the Empire. So what does that mean?”
It was a simple question.
“That he's strong.”
“Strong? That's not something to brush off with one word. Sure, you beat five of our school's instructors. But why are instructors instructors? If they had what it took to be Champions, would they be living like they are now, rolling around with slaves? You greenhorn, you don't even know the weight of a Champion yet!”
Berka's worked-up words went on.
“Of course, the reason I wanted to put you in that match anyway was because the format was a Victory Streak Match. The winner stays in the Arena, and it goes on until only one person is left alive. So you can guess why I'm this angry, right? Don't tell me you don't know. I might actually kill you.”
Riyan didn't know whether Berka would really kill him, but it was too simple a question to test that.
“Because the winner of the first fight will be at an overwhelming disadvantage.”
“Exactly! Since Yabrik's that strong, the faster someone beats him, the more solid a future is guaranteed. Great fame, extraordinary treatment, gold and jewels, honor, and freedom. So fairly skilled gladiators would throw down challenges, and if they wore Yabrik down, I figured you'd have a chance going in later. But you want to go first?”
“If you're that unhappy with it, couldn't you just force me into a later slot, Director? I only said what I wanted because you asked me to.”
“You brat! The Supervisor already agreed! That pigheaded bastard would grab the devil's balls if it made a match entertaining!”
An unwholesome image came to mind, and Riyan lightly shook his head.
“You mean I'll be a draw?”
“Yeah. In a Victory Streak Match, the very first and the very last get the most spotlight. They'll probably put a rising star capable of finishing Yabrik off in the last slot. And you, going first.......”
“I'll be the headline that opens the match.”
The headline would probably be something like ‘The slave boy who cut down a monster—will he show another miracle?’
As if agreeing with Riyan's thought, Berka nodded.
“You know it well. That's the problem. Why would someone who knows it that well pick the first slot?”
As he spoke, Berka scratched furiously at the side of his head. Then, as if resigned, he let out a deep breath.
“The water's been spilled. Once the Supervisor decides something, he never changes it. It's hard to take it back now. Reputation matters in this business. If we went back on our word and refused the match, our school would go at least half a year with no matches and end up holding a beggar's gourd.”
Settling his gaze, Berka looked straight at Riyan.
“Tell me, Riyan. You must have had something in mind. Since it's come to this, I'll back you as far as I can. Besides, Yabrik isn't exactly in a welcome position with the Empire right now either. If we prepare well, it might be worth a shot.”
Something in mind.
Riyan slowly sank into thought.
‘Masterpieces. The mark of the redefined knights.’
If they were New Knights.
Then he would be an Old Knight.
He wanted to feel the difference.
Whether he was an outdated relic that had swum upstream against time, or a counterweight placed to correct a wrong direction.
Along with his curiosity about knights who used mana, which had been called the exclusive domain of mages.
Berka, unaware of his inner thoughts, waited quietly for him to speak, and Riyan opened his mouth.
“......You said you'd back me?”
“I said so! So, what do you need to beat that Human Butcher to death?”
Riyan smiled faintly.
“If this is the Empire's Imperial Capital, there must be a market befitting its stature.”
“......What?”
“I'd like to go there.”
Berka's face crumpled weakly.
***
Everyday life is precious.
That was a thought Riyan had long held.
Not that it carried some grand meaning like ‘don't live like a moth to the flame, blinded by wealth and glory.’ He was far removed from that kind of philosophical reflection to begin with.
It simply came from the life he had lived in his past life.
Before the war broke out.
Riyan had grown up in a single-mother household in a mountain valley, and before he had even become an adult, he was swept into the war and swung nothing but a sword until the day he died. A simple life, with nothing to add and nothing to take away.
‘So this is what it was like.’
Riyan, who had lived like that, was now feeling a small stir at the scene spread before him.
As if Eldred's words from long ago were being whispered into his ear.
‘When the war is over, if you get the chance, go to the capital. Especially to a market full of stalls. It is so crowded and dazzling that a country bumpkin like you would not notice if someone cut off your nose. If you are that scared, you may follow behind me later.’
His words had been right. The Imperial Capital's market spread before him felt to Riyan like another battlefield.
Only, instead of the stench of blood, thick spices stung his nose, and instead of the metallic clash of spears and blades, he heard the sound of spilling coins.
Instead of the legion's fluttering banners, silks were lined up in rows, and the merchants' voices sounded like the shouts centurions bellowed out.
“.......”
But here there was no flash of blades, no screams of death.
Instead, life, breath, and laughter surged and moved like a raging sea.
“What'd you come here for?”
When Riyan suddenly stopped walking and stood still, Haral, who had been following behind, frowned.
Berka had said he had no interest in markets, called Haral out to take charge of Riyan, and gone back to the school first.
And that was only after stressing several times that this was the Imperial Capital, and that there was no way he could escape no matter what he tried.
‘I'm not even planning to escape.’
Riyan looked at the bracelet fastened around his wrist.
It was an item with an unusual aura. He didn't know exactly what it was, of course. He could only guess it was some kind of restraint connected to magic.
Letting out a faint smile, Riyan soon began to walk slowly.
Into the hotly surging life.
That Haral and the instructors, who had been grumbling with their arms crossed, suddenly got busy was a bonus.
“Sightseeing? Well, I guess it'd be fascinating if you came from the frontier, but look around a bit and let's head back. This isn't a place to walk around with a sword on your hip.”
Riyan's eyes turned to Haral and the instructors.
Perhaps because the swords at their waists stood out, he could see the crowds parting to either side as they passed.
“I'd be fine going around alone.”
“You think that'd fly?”
At Haral's incredulous words, Riyan shrugged. Then he decided to find the place he had originally been aiming for.
It was true he had wanted to see the market.
But the market wasn't his only goal. If the opponent was strong enough for Berka to make such a fuss, it was only human nature to bring along some insurance.
Nodding, Riyan looked at Haral.
“Do you know your way around the market?”
“Me? I don't know the roads. But that doesn't matter. Where do you want to go?”
“I'd like to go to an herbalist's.”
“An herbalist's? Why, are you sick? We've got most of the common medicines at the school.”
Tilting his head all the while, Haral nevertheless went over to one of the stalls. It was one selling grilled skewers.
A moment later, Haral came back and held out one of the skewers in his hand to Riyan.
“They say the herbalist's five minutes from here. Take it. Since we're at the market anyway, let's have a taste. We're all doing this so we can eat and live. With your money, of course.”
Haral laughed.
Realizing he meant the silver coins he owed him, Riyan chuckled as well and took the skewer.
The taste was excellent. Savoring the smoky aroma, Riyan casually tossed Haral a question.
“By the way, can you pay all of that back right away?”
“You think I can? Damn it, why else would I be stuck with market tour-guide duty that was never in my stars? Go easy on me.”
“Well, it doesn't matter. I don't need all that money right away. But.......”
“But?”
“Just prepare that betting thing properly.”
“Hold on.”
Holding his words for a moment, Haral looked back. Seeing his subordinate instructors trudging along behind them, he tossed them a coin and waved his hand.
“Go get yourselves a drink somewhere. We'll be right back.”
“But Senior Instructor, the Director told us to keep a close watch on Riyan.......”
“You bastard, you think he can escape from the Imperial Capital? He'd become monster feed if he got caught. Besides, he's got a restraint on, and I'm right here with him, so what's the worry?”
“Well, then.......”
After confirming that his subordinates were heading for the pub with gleeful faces, Haral looked at Riyan again.
“Watch your mouth. If word gets out that an instructor's gambling in cahoots with a slave, neither of us will come out of it looking good.”
“I'll be careful.”
“By the way, when you say to prepare the betting, you mean your match?”
“Yes.”
“I heard from Director Berka. You're going first against Yabrik?”
“That's how it turned out.”
“You lunatic.”
Saying it in a deflated voice, Haral chewed his meat and sank into thought. Then he soon held up a few fingers.
“I'll place the bet for you. But I'd like a commission taken off the top. About thirty percent. You couldn't bet at all without me anyway, right?”
“You say something so underhanded so confidently.”
“I'm doing this to pay back what I owe you, aren't I? And while I'm at it, if things go well, I'd like to make a little too.”
Riyan was dumbfounded.
Thirty percent didn't particularly offend him. It couldn't be done without a proxy in the first place. But the man's face was thicker than it looked.
Feeling Riyan's gaze, Haral ground his teeth.
“You brat, if you croak at Yabrik's hands, I won't even need to pay that debt. I could lie that I placed the bet and just wipe my mouth clean. But I'm saying I'll believe you'll win. That was a hard decision for me in its own way. Anyway, if I'm going to believe in you, I've got to put money down, even if I have to borrow it from somewhere, and if things go wrong, it'll all be blown into thin air.”
“Aren't you ashamed even as you say it?”
At Riyan's words, Haral sneered.
“I'm ashamed. I'm trying to fleece a slave, so of course I should be ashamed. But pride doesn't put food on the table, does it?”
“You're not wrong.”
Shameless, but strangely not detestable.
If anything, it was a more trustworthy way of dealing with people than that of those who acted as if they'd hand over their liver and gallbladder. It might be a bit low-class, but it also meant he intended to keep faith in his own way.
“Let's do that.”
At Riyan's consent, Haral began ranting about how dangerous it was to bet against Yabrik, and what a huge decision he had made.
‘They say people who stay close start to resemble each other.’
The Director and the Senior Instructor are two of a kind.
Of course, Riyan simply let it go in one ear and out the other.