The crowd roared wildly at Baimart, who refused to yield even an inch against a monster with a dog’s head.
But it was not as fervent as before.
Anastasia noticed that the hearts of the people, once directed toward Baimart, had already shifted to someone else.
There was nothing to regret.
Ten victories.
Once he reached that, Baimart would finally become truly “free.”
But the contract did not think so.
“Why does the black magic still linger on Baimart and his children?”
Anastasia asked while watching Baimart’s two cubs scamper about the mansion garden.
The black mage who had served the previous Archduke Greenwood leaned on a staff taller than himself, looking like a withered corpse standing upright.
Whether the mage was male or female was impossible to tell.
This sinister figure was someone Anastasia had known long before she herself ascended to the position of Archduke.
At times, she had even cooperated with him.
The murky remnants of black magic wrapped around the hearts of Baimart’s children included a share that belonged to Anastasia herself.
“Your Grace.
The late Archduke set conditions for the freedom of Baimart and his children.”
“I know that too. But haven’t the conditions already been met? In this match, Baimart fought ten monsters and claimed victory. It was his tenth win. The requirements for the black magic to be lifted have already been satisfied.”
“With all due respect… Your Grace, that is not the case. For Baimart to become truly free, he must step into the colosseum one more time.”
“Explain.”
“Yes, at once…”
Anastasia looked at the black mage.
The mage had no eyes.
Whether it was the price for borrowing demonic power, or the very reason he had come to crave it, even Anastasia did not know.
His sockets were bottomless pits of darkness, as though they led straight to hell.
He had looked just as ancient when her father first introduced him long ago.
She could not even guess how many centuries he had lived.
Just sharing the same space with him made disgust surge through her; he was a servant of evil she wanted to behead immediately.
Yet Anastasia did not kill him.
This black mage bound to the Greenwood bloodline was the greatest card she held.
Especially because only he could remove the black magic that chained the souls of Baimart and his two children.
She would deal with him someday, but not today.
Not yet.
“The magic I wield borrows the power of demons and exercises it on their behalf.
Demons cannot easily manifest in the material world, so they exert influence through a medium—me.
This humble one can also use minor curses and black magic, but fundamentally, I am merely a proxy for their power.”
“You’re taking too long.”
Get to the point.
The mage’s hollow eye sockets looked like gateways to hell.
Every time she met him, Anastasia wanted to shudder from the revulsion that crawled over her skin.
But she could not show weakness.
That was the only lesson her father had ever taught her.
Never show weakness to anyone.
Otherwise… you will be torn apart.
“My apologies, Your Grace. The black magic binding the souls of Baimart and his cubs was indeed cast by this humble one, yet at the same time it borrows the power of That One. It is no ordinary black magic.”
There was no such thing as ordinary black magic.
All black magic was evil.
Still, the mage spoke as though belittling his own craft.
“I know that too.
He has ten victories in the colosseum—why has the black magic not vanished?
That is what I am asking.”
“Baimart made a pact with the late Archduke. It was a contract forged with That One’s power. Does Your Grace recall the exact terms?”
“The colosseum. Ten victories. And… oh. So that’s how it was…”
No further explanation was needed.
The black mage bowed deeply, as if overwhelmed with reverence.
Anastasia staggered.
Yes… that was it…
The shackles binding the souls of Baimart and his two children were rooted in demonic power.
And demons were exceedingly malicious.
One had to know every single letter, every single clause of the contract to stand against them.
Long ago, back when Baimart had not yet become the Baimart who belonged to Anastasia, she had stood close enough to the ominous altar to witness what words were exchanged and what powers moved.
The contract she thought she had forgotten rose to the surface.
“Monsters did not count as victories.
Only by offering the lives of his own kind ten times would Baimart earn freedom…”
“Precisely, Your Grace.”
Anastasia gazed down from her office at the scenery of the mansion grounds.
Heehee, over there!
The children were running freely in the garden without anyone watching over them, and Baimart was watching them.
Even though Baimart and his cubs roamed the garden with abandon, the human servants of the mansion did not dare chase them away or treat them roughly.
They looked happy; they were indeed enjoying moments of happiness they had never known before.
But they did not possess true freedom.
The moment the cubs even pretended to approach the main gate, they would collapse foaming at the mouth.
The demons held them bound.
“There is one thing I wish to confirm.”
“Speak, Your Grace.”
“…If Surabar is the opponent, if Baimart claims that final tenth victory by killing him—would that violate the contract with the demon? Can you guarantee that the demon you serve will not twist the terms or claim breach of contract?”
Anastasia, the new Archduke Greenwood, looked at the servant who had served her house for generations.
At those empty sockets like voids where a soul should be.
A sticky green light flickered in the holes that led to hell.
“No, Your Grace. It would not.”
The Archduke nodded.
She looked out the window.
Baimart was laughing brightly with his children, making up for all the time they had been apart.
And he would continue to do so.
For a long, long time.
Anastasia imagined the day when Baimart’s children, running and laughing in the garden, would one day call her “Mother.”
It was not a bad future at all.
Red gladly poured the wine.
“Drink comfortably.
To our victory.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
The clear clink of glasses had never sounded so pleasant.
The king and the prince from another land savored their wine.
“This match was magnificent as well.
Only your champion could put on such an overwhelming performance against twenty death-row criminals.”
“You honor me too much. I hardly know where to put myself.”
“Haha, such humility.”
The Garland who had come from Mosul was now an indispensable partner.
The young prince who had brought the powerful mercenary gladiator Surabar was now set to marry Red’s beloved daughter, Annabella.
How could a father-in-law not pour a drink for his future son-in-law?
In private, no less?
He could pour as much as he wished.
It was not difficult.
There was no need to even call a servant.
Thanks to the recent events at House Greenwood and the unusually obedient Cedmos, Red was in high spirits.
If things continued like this, he would want for nothing more.
“Only one match remains.
Once that beast is brought down, the colosseum championship is ours.”
“When you say ‘that beast’… you mean Baimart?”
“Yes.”
Red nodded, watching the wine ripple in his glass.
He might have drunk a bit too much already.
Before Garland even arrived at the office, Red had emptied several glasses alone.
But that was fine.
Was today not a joyous day?
With just two matches, Surabar had seized the attention of the audience; more precisely, of the kingdom’s most prominent nobles.
That meant sponsorship toward Red Stone and the royal family would return to normal.
Garland took his first sip and seemed lost in thought.
Was he worried?
It was understandable.
Declaring victory already would be premature; Baimart was no easy opponent.
A bear beastman.
The sight of him tearing apart ten dog-headed monsters with his bare hands, as if imitating Surabar’s debut match, had sent chills even down Red’s experienced spine.
But that was all.
Baimart was strong, yet he was no match for Surabar.
Victory was already assured.
“Are you worried about the next match? Or did something happen with my daughter? You haven’t seen her since that day. I heard it was because of training… but you are of marriageable age now. And she is already yours, is she not?”
Red knew that Annabella and Garland were in love, and that the hottest thing possible between a man and a woman had already occurred.
In the room within a room, the white sheet laid out in advance bore traces of destruction.
Red had a maid carefully store it in a box.
Normally the girl’s mother should have taken care of such things… but due to unfortunate circumstances, Annabella’s mother was dead.
What a troublesome daughter…
Still, Red believed this much was well within a father’s duty.
Garland was a walking fortune who had voluntarily come from Mosul.
This young and promising prince would become the cornerstone that solidified the alliance between Mosul and the Kingdom of Bers, along with Surabar.
“Princess Annabella is truly beautiful. That time felt like a dream.”
“I should have summoned her for you.”
“I am grateful for the thought, but please wait until Surabar defeats Baimart. I wish to offer that day’s victory to the princess.”
“So that’s what you were planning. A splendid idea. Do you have a ring prepared? If not, I have one…”
The mood between them was exceedingly warm.
Garland became thoroughly drunk and was only able to return to the mansion after the sun had completely set.
The King of Bers could hold his liquor well.
“Nine thousand nine hundred ninety-eight… nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine… ten thousand…! Done—!!”
Having finished basic training without mana and without relying on a swordmaster’s superior physique, I collapsed flat on the ground.
Normally I would still have to spar with Garland afterward, but His Highness the Prince had other business today.
As soon as Surabar’s match ended in victory, the King of Bers, in high spirits, immediately took our prince to the palace.
It was only natural for royal blood to have important discussions together.
Thanks to sweating buckets, the quarters were filled with steaming heat and the distinctive stench of men.
Ah, Sir Garland has it good.
He gets to drink expensive wine to his heart’s content.
I’m jealous.
So jealous…
“You stink. We should at least splash some water on you. And Sir Pamir, how about sparring with me today?”
Just because I couldn’t spar with Sir Garland didn’t mean today’s sparring schedule could be canceled.
Surabar gladly volunteered to take Garland’s place.
The corners of the captain’s mouth curled upward as he looked down at me lying exhausted.
Scary!
“Calling me Sir Pamir… you’re really going to keep that up?”
“There are ears listening.”
“Ugh”
I wanted to make an excuse and escape, but I couldn’t.
Since I couldn’t keep it a secret from Surabar forever, I had already reported in detail what happened on the day he first appeared in the colosseum.
About the one-eyed swordmaster.
The Guardian Deity of the Kingdom of Bers.
About how Cedmos Jaeger had gotten behind me and defeated me outright.
And that Jasmine was near that man.
After hearing everything, Surabar calmly calculated and said we should focus on what we could do right now.
That we should better embody Sir Garland’s teachings.
If we collapsed first from lack of strength when trying to rescue Jasmine, everything would be ruined; therefore, we had to become stronger.
The captain’s words were perfectly reasonable.
And the method?
What elegant method could a brute mercenary have?
Just roll our bodies until we dropped.
“Here I come.”
“W-wait! I haven’t even had water—”
“An enemy won’t wait. That bastard didn’t either.”
Pure truth.
A truth I could neither parry nor let slide past; it hurt just as much as the captain’s fists and kicks mercilessly pounding my exhausted body that could barely twitch a finger.
Wait, wait!
That hit bone, bone!
“Argh! Aaaagh!”
“Focus more! Pamir!”
Even after the sun set, the heat in the training ground showed no sign of dying down.