Chapter 37: The Kingdom of Bers (14)

A rough roar.

A circular arena with nowhere to hide—front, back, left, or right.

Fine sand and, buried beneath it, the broken hooves of demonic beasts and blade-like fangs.

And… the blood of kin who had fallen before.

This was the colosseum as Baimart knew it.

Ever since becoming Archduke Greenwood’s champion, Baimart had never once watched another fighter’s match.

It was unfair.

Peeking at an opponent’s strength in advance to gain an even greater advantage on a scale already tilted in his favor.

It was natural intelligence-gathering that no one would complain about—except for Baimart.

Today was the only exception.

“How about a deal? I can give you what you want.”

Archduke Greenwood had proposed a transaction.

No—he had already done so.

“Become my champion and enter the colosseum. Defeat Red Stone’s champions there. Cut their throats. Not a single one must be left alive. I want the death of every opponent you face—a perfect victory that no one, not even the king, can deny.”

Ten consecutive victories in a colosseum where kin killed kin would grant freedom.

Not mere victory—completely severing the enemy’s breath was the condition.

“If you do, I will release the children you cherish as well.”

That freedom included the other tail-bearers owned by the archduke.

The children she had left behind.

“What will you do? The choice is yours.”

“…I will do it.”

“Swear it. Swear you will become Greenwood’s champion—in the name of the tribal god you believe in.”

“I swear. In the name of Barhan, I, Baimart, will become Archduke Greenwood’s champion.”

“Good.”

Ten wins.

Few if you called it few, many if you called it many.

Not every fight in the colosseum was against kin; sometimes monstrous beasts that even poor weapons struggled to fell stood on the opposite side.

Baimart crushed them all, severed their lives, and carved his name into the history of the Kingdom of Bers’ colosseum as the strongest, most terrifying gladiator.

His fame grew day by day until there was no one in the entire kingdom who did not know the name Baimart.

At least, that was what Anastasia said.

“How is he?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m talking about that one—Surabar. The gladiator you will fight, Baimart.”

“An enemy. One I must defeat.”

“Is that all?”

Like a duck quacking KWAK-KWAK—, thrusting out its beak and screaming curses and roars from the stands below.

In the underground waiting room where slave gladiators prepared for battle and steeled themselves for approaching death, Baimart looked at the woman standing right beside him—Archduke Greenwood’s subordinate.

Anastasia.

She was a very special human blessed by Hokhma, the archduke’s most trusted confidante, and the woman tasked with managing Baimart on the busy archduke’s behalf.

“Is that really all you feel after seeing the opponent you’ll fight?”

“What more do you want from me? I am a gladiator. The archduke’s champion. Have you forgotten that the master you serve is also my father? What you’re doing right now is behavior that could make one doubt your loyalty to the archduke. I thought you weren’t that kind of woman… And no matter who the opponent is, what I must do is already decided.”

Haa…

When Baimart simply kept staring at her with an indifferent expression, Anastasia’s face twisted into a strange mixture of irritation, discomfort, and worry.

Worry?

Who? Her?

For me?

An ill-fated connection.

An unwelcome meeting.

They had been uncomfortable and unwelcome to each other—until now.

But he could no longer deny it.

Though he was the archduke’s subordinate, Baimart now needed the help of this woman who quietly worked for him behind the scenes.

Hokhma’s blessing.

The power she possessed.

No—those sparkling eyes that looked as though stars had been embedded in them…

That bizarre ability to grasp an opponent’s true nature had allowed Baimart to achieve nine consecutive victories in the colosseum so far.

“You know that’s not what I’m asking, Baimart. What I mean is—”

“Whether I can win? I don’t know. That one is strong. Maybe this time it’ll be me who dies.”

“Weak words. They don’t suit you. That’s not like you.”

“You’re the one to talk. Weren’t you just supposed to carry out the archduke’s orders? Have you grown attached now?”

“…Maybe.”

“Are you serious?”

What kind of insane nonsense was this?

Baimart looked at Anastasia, who was deliberately turning her head away as if ignoring his gaze.

She obeyed anything the archduke commanded.

At first she had only acted according to orders, speaking like a machine.

If it came from the archduke’s mouth, she would have drawn a dagger and cut her own heart without pretending to die.

Her behavior had actually helped Baimart achieve his goals.

Yet little by little, Anastasia had increased the time she spent with him.

She avoided suspicion from the archduke by claiming it was to ensure perfect victories in the matches, and by the time Baimart realized it… it was already too late.

Baimart now cherished this strangely stiff, cold human woman almost as much as the children held captive by the archduke.

“That’s not even funny.”

It was because of this personality that formed attachments too easily.

Because of this soft nature…

Unknowingly, Baimart tried to cut away the emotions that had sprouted like weeds.

“Baimart. His Grace does not want you to become a free man.”

“That was always the case, wasn’t it? I’m just his performing bear, his money-making clown.”

It was a double entendre—comparing himself to a circus bear that did tricks, while also meaning a bear beastman.

“That’s not what I mean. You will lose. That is His Grace’s way…”

“Then I will surpass even that. I only need to win once more. No matter how strong that tiger over there is—”

Baimart could not finish his sentence.

“KIIYAAAAAAA—!!”

A scream of agony.

The two hurriedly looked at the arena.

The serpent tail of the cockatrice had been torn off and was rolling on the ground.

Separated from its body, the green snake dripped paralyzing neurotoxin from its mouth, thrashing and leaping madly across the sand stained with its own blood and fluids.

The main body that had lost its tail was no different.

Flapping thick, bat-like membranous wings wildly, the cockatrice tried to stab Surabar with its large, hard golden beak.

Even though it was an all-out attack, even though it was movement fueled by explosive rage—it never landed.

Baimart watched his kin facing the tailless beast with a grave expression, as if he himself were in the arena.

Surabar.

The kin Anastasia had spoken of—the one who had entered the arena bare-handed without even his usual war hammer—was absurdly strong.

Absurdly.

“KIEEEEEE—!!”

“Yes! That’s it!”

“Hot damn!”

“Where the hell did they find a monster like that?!”

“Did you see him rip the snake tail off with raw strength? I saw it with my own eyes and still can’t believe it!”

The beast let out pained groans, while the crowd filling the stands screamed in astonishment at the sudden comet-like debut of the new gladiator.

Baimart unknowingly swallowed hard.

Surabar.

Tiger beastman.

A former mercenary captain of unprecedented strength.

Can I beat that one?

Can I win the final victory against him?

If I win just once—just one more time—I will be free again…

“You can win.”

Baimart looked down at the very thin, very small hand of Anastasia gripping his own.

Though he was chained, right now he could twist her neck and kill her in an instant.

Right now, when his last chance at freedom was effectively gone, this was the only way left to hurt Greenwood.

To kill the human woman the archduke cherished, trusted, and seemed to love.

…Baimart could not do it.

“Tell me.”

She lifted her head and looked at him.

Their eyes met, and she spoke.

Baimart now knew there was no turning back.

Forever.

***

It was merely the expected scene unfolding before his eyes.

Nothing was certain yet.

Yet Garland had to admit there was no method more perfect for making a man tremble and shake his spirit.

The simpler, the stronger the effect.

Even though the King of Bers had risen to greet him warmly, for a moment Garland could not see the foreign king at all.

It was as if he did not exist.

Annabella.

Annabella Stone.

Like a single rose, like a flower holding morning dew—Annabella.

She seemed a goddess descended to earth.

Black hair.

Peach-blushed cheeks.

Long, slender fingers and the white, graceful ankles that peeked from beneath her dress.

Good heavens.

Lord Elon, are You testing me…?

Garland’s mind reeled; he squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again.

Yet she was still there.

Annabella.

Her small, white face bowed shyly with flushed cheeks resembled a female spider that lured males.

A woman’s beauty is poison.

The most terrifying disease that leads a male to death…

“Your Highness? Are you all right?”

“…Ah, it is nothing. I am fine…”

He was not fine at all!

The King of Bers had deliberately created this moment, leaving with the excuse “Something urgent came up.”

It was an obvious ploy, plain to see.

Yet Garland had to accept that he had become prey caught in a spiderweb, unable to move.

Not a single soldier. Did he really leave only an old maid and walk out? He deliberately arranged this seat… no one… King of Bers.

There was not a single guarding soldier inside the VIP room.

The only other person besides her was a single blurry maid whose presence was barely felt, like a ghost.

Even that maid stood so far away that her voice would not reach, waiting quietly.

The King of Bers had blatantly left only his beloved princess and Garland behind.

Whatever happened in this room would never leak outside.

“Ahem, ahem…! Are you not interested in the match? Ah, it may be a little cruel for the princess to watch…”

“It’s all right. I… I’m fine. Really. Is Your Highness not worried about ‘that one’?”

‘That one’…

The heated excitement cooled rapidly.

Garland looked at Surabar entering the arena.

Even though she appeared beautiful and pure, was she still of the royal blood of Bers after all?

When he glanced sideways, Annabella was intently watching the demonic beast—a hybrid of chicken, bat, and snake—and Surabar facing it.

“Do not worry. Surabar is strong.”

“I see. Surabar… is that its name?”

“Yes. He was a mercenary from our Mosul who specialized in exterminating demonic beasts. Very strong.”

Soon the barrier separating the beast and Surabar vanished, and the fight began.

It was not a fight between humans.

It was a life-or-death struggle between a tail-bearer and a demonic beast.

For that reason there was no bell to signal the start, no referee.

The cockatrice charging across the fine sand toward Surabar possessed strength that could knock an ordinary person unconscious with a mere graze.

The crowd cheered at this unprecedented beast-versus-beast battle.

A living creature that made everything around it tremble in fear simply by existing.

But Surabar was the same.

Facing the golden beak and serpent head (should it be called a tail?) aiming for him, Surabar moved calmly.

For some reason he was not holding the war hammer he usually carried.

Garland watched the arena with slight worry and unease.

He trusted Surabar, but bare hands without a weapon made him anxious.

Surabar continuously dodged the cockatrice’s attacks, slipped away, rolled sideways or backward—sometimes even forward—displaying astonishingly agile movements that made one marvel he could evade so much.

“He’s really amazing. How can he move so quickly?”

“Well, tail-bearers are all like that, aren’t they?”

“Isn’t there some special reason? For example… coming to find a lost woman.”

“!!”

Forgetting even that a maid was watching from behind, Garland grabbed Annabella’s hand.

A soft “Ah!” escaped from the strength of a man’s grip, but that did not matter.

…Had he already been found out?

Was the king leaving him alone with the princess just to toy with him?

No soldiers burst through the door no matter how long he waited, no mage dispelled invisibility magic.

Meeting Garland’s panicked eyes, Annabella spoke.

“I heard it. That you are waiting for Surabar. That you called Surabar ‘that one’ in front of Jasmine… I’m sorry.”

Where was truth and where was lie?

Was there any truth at all?

Garland’s eyes lost their way.