The colosseum was packed so tightly that there was literally no room to set a foot down.
Even the third-class stands, which always had empty seats, and the second-class stands that usually still had some breathing room, were completely full today.
The stairways, corridors, and even the area outside the colosseum were overflowing with people; it was impossible to keep one’s wits about one.
The only place where one could comfortably look down on the arena, far from the crowd, was, as always, the private boxes reserved for true nobles.
What on earth is the king thinking, gathering this many people?
The new Archduke Greenwood, Anastasia Greenwood, gazed down at the colosseum filled with unprecedented chaos from her family’s private box and pondered.
Yet even her father had never uncovered the true nature of King Red Stone’s colosseum “business.”
The King of Bers, who often appeared lax or vulnerable in other matters, had maintained ironclad security when it came to the colosseum alone.
It had been possible to plant spies like Billy, but no one knew why he had started the colosseum business in the first place, or why he was willing to sacrifice national strength and his own political gains for it.
…After today, she would no longer need to care.
Baimart would win today and stand proudly as the consort of the Archduke Greenwood.
The demonic contract that bound the hearts and souls of him and his children would end today.
“Are the preparations complete?”
“Perfect, Your Grace.”
Even at the black mage’s ever-courteous bow and reply, Anastasia did not lower her guard.
Surabar would fight and die.
Gloriously.
No matter why he had come to the Kingdom of Bers, today the colosseum would become his coffin.
Annabella and the black mage had prepared a poison that would weaken Surabar, hidden from the king’s eyes.
There had been no chance to administer the “poison” to Surabar’s body beforehand.
He was guarded too thoroughly.
But that did not mean there was no way.
Both Baimart and the mercenary-born Surabar from Mosul would eventually step into the arena.
Then all they had to do was deliver a fatal poison to him during the fight.
A poison that did not physically exist, could not be touched, and could not be detected even by mages.
The most covert poison in the world.
A demonic curse.
An intangible, invisible poison would weaken Surabar.
Anastasia and the black mage had secretly coated Baimart’s weapons with demonic power without even Baimart himself knowing.
The moment the tip of Baimart’s spear so much as grazed Surabar’s flesh, it would be over.
Surabar would weaken, and Baimart would claim both his long-awaited tenth victory and his freedom at the same time.
“You left nothing that could be caught during weapon inspection?”
“Yes. I would stake my soul on it.”
“Your soul already belongs to the demon you serve. Still, I will trust you. There is no turning back now…”
How viciously ironic for someone who had already sold his soul to a demon to swear on it.
But no matter how many times she asked, nothing would change.
“WAAAAAAAAA—!!”
“Baimart! Baimart! Baimart!”
“The Champion of the Colosseum!!”
To Anastasia, the roar filling the colosseum sounded like the howling of a monster awaiting a holy feast.
***
BOOM! A wall seemed to collapse.
It was not an actual wall.
It was the sound of Surabar punching the steel plate sandbag he had dragged all the way to the waiting room.
The human officials and soldiers waiting nearby wet themselves after he crushed more than ten such steel plates.
Huff, huff…!
Even though the air beneath the colosseum was cold and chilly even in summer, steaming heat rose from Surabar’s entire body, turning the waiting room into a sauna all by himself.
With bare fists, steel sandbags crumpled like paper; he even tore chunks apart with his hands.
The colosseum staff had to scramble to clear away the shredded metal.
Carrying in new steel sandbags and removing the wreckage left them drenched in sweat, glistening just like Surabar.
“S-Sir Pamir? We’ve run out of prepared steel plates…”
“I see. Clear these away and bring water and food.”
“Y-Yes, sir!”
Terrified soldiers hurriedly gathered the ruined steel plates and scraps torn like paper, then vanished from the waiting room as fast as they could.
There was no need to stand guard anyway; Surabar had nowhere to go.
Or rather, their honest feeling was that they would rather face punishment later than stay near this terrifying tiger beastman even a second longer.
Once everyone was gone, Paramir took out a clean cloth and water he had prepared.
“Captain. Isn’t this pushing too hard before the match even starts?”
“I’m fine.”
Paramir was worried, but Surabar shook his head.
An unprecedented power had awakened in him this late afternoon and was coursing through his whole body.
He still could not produce the blue aura that Paramir could, but he felt something had changed.
He himself did not understand exactly what.
Could this phenomenon be connected to discovering where Jasmine was?
Was his body craving even greater strength because the swordmaster of Bers, Cedmos Jaeger, had appeared?
It was incomprehensible, but Surabar simply focused on releasing the energy boiling inside him like water in a heated pot.
The power that knew no limit kept surging.
“Paramir.”
“…You told me to be careful how I address you here.”
“Today ends it. Our stay in this disgusting kingdom.
No matter what happens, think only of Jasmine.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Best is not enough…
He did not voice that.
Surabar was not unaware of why Paramir had come all the way to Bers to help him.
Jasmine had chosen him, and Paramir had accepted the outcome.
He had given up before the competition between males even began.
If this naive-acting human swordmaster did not love Jasmine, would he have had any reason to stay with the Black Tail mercenaries?
No.
He had tried deceiving himself with respect for Surabar, with loyalty to the captain who led the band, and hiding his deepest, darkest feelings from others, but truth always reveals itself in the end.
Paramir loves Jasmine.
Even now.
That was why Surabar could trust this mischievous human swordmaster.
The fact that he loved her perhaps as much as, or even more than, Surabar himself built a tower of trust.
“If I die, or if things go wrong… don’t hesitate, just run.
Forget Cedmos, the King of Bers, the kingdom’s soldiers, the mages; everything.
If the situation turns bad, fleeing even toward the Demon King’s Army might be good.
That place might suit you and Jasmine better…”
Paramir wore a subtle expression.
It was understandable.
What he was saying now sounded like the words of someone charging straight toward death.
Of course, if they won the match, defeated Baimart (and cut off Cedmos’s head if he interfered), rescued Jasmine, and escaped to Mosul—or perhaps even to the Demon King’s Army territory that opposed the Human Empire—everything could still work out.
The outcome was not yet set.
If everything went as smoothly as a dream, today’s events might remain nothing more than an embarrassing memory.
But Surabar had seen Baimart, heard about Cedmos, and noticed the uneasy eyes of Garland, who was clearly hiding something.
Anything could happen.
Even if the end was his own death… his life was not what mattered.
Jasmine was.
If he could save her, even if it meant sacrificing himself, Surabar would gladly accept that fate.
“I’m counting on you, Paramir.”
“…Yes. Don’t worry, Captain.”
“Good.”
Surabar lightly tapped Paramir’s shoulder.
WAAAAAAAA—!!
As the portcullis rose with the sound of chains, the roar of the crowd filling the colosseum struck Surabar and his very soul.
Barhan, if you are watching over us now, if you protect your descendants…
Grant my wish. Save Jasmine.
Surabar, gripping his war hammer, stepped into the arena.
On the opposite side, another iron portcullis rose, revealing Baimart.
Long spear, round shield, a one-handed axe at his waist, and plenty of throwing daggers.
Surabar swung his war hammer toward Baimart.
***
The blood-stained cloth and sheet the King of Bers had taken were symbols that Annabella’s purity had been shattered.
But they were fabricated.
Fakes.
Chicken blood had been enough to convince the King of Bers that Garland and Annabella had crossed the line.
Annabella had escaped all suspicion simply by bowing her head and blushing before her father.
Perfect deception.
The shame itself was real, but beneath the truth lay falsehood.
In the room within a room, Garland had seen the entirely different being dwelling inside Annabella.
Nyx.
The goddess of night, shadows, and lies.
Annabella was neither a mere princess nor a puppet dancing to her father’s will.
From the goddess dwelling within Annabella, Garland learned what would happen in this colosseum and what horrors lay ahead.
It was a terrifying future; a chain of atrocities that must never come to pass.
In Nyx’s tale, the Kingdom of Bers burned, and the entire continent crumbled.
Everything collapsed; people, overwhelmed by the terror of encroaching death, bit off their own tongues and died.
Yet there was still time.
It had to be stopped.
…But how?
Garland recalled the day he had abducted Jasmine on his father Tolland Hamilton’s orders back in Mosul.
It had been terribly wrong; a crime that should never have been committed.
Of course, even if he had not done it, Jasmine’s fate would likely not have changed much…
But having someone else do it and dirtying his own hands were different things.
Jasmine’s abduction and the horrific “Bar hunt” carried out in Mosul had been meticulously planned.
He had merely been one cog in that machine.
Knowing that did not lessen the weight of his sin, but acknowledging it was important.
Garland, following the teachings of Elon, knew well how to distinguish true enemies from trustworthy allies.
Even if I hadn’t done it, Jasmine would still have been taken…
This was not a shallow attempt to lighten his guilt and feel better about himself.
He could not shake the feeling that everything until now had been walking a road someone else had laid out.
And that turned out to be true.
Annabella—no, the goddess Nyx—had proved it.
In the room within a room, beneath the blankets in the darkness and shadows, Garland finally understood what he had to do.
What is the role given to me?
He realized he had been granted a chance to undo his wrong.
“Your father has gone mad.”
Those were the words Annabella spoke as she grabbed Garland’s hand when he left after speaking with the goddess Nyx.
She had staked her life and soul to pull Garland to her side.
It had been a difficult gamble, but it worked.
Garland had not told Paramir or Surabar any of this.
Even if he did, they would never turn back where Jasmine was concerned.
Then, with the “fall of a god” now imminent, what was the only way to stop Red Stone’s plan?
“Annabella.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“I intend to kill your father. Will you permit it?”
“…Yes.”
Annabella nodded.
She reached into the shadows and drew out two swords.
Garland accepted them.
Third-floor private box.
Once again, the King of Bers had attached only the princess and himself to the box.
So they could enjoy some “quality” time together.
But neither Garland nor Annabella had any such intention.
Garland gripped the swords and prayed.
“Lord Elon… please save us.”
Light flared.