Redron folded his arms and openly expressed his discomfort.
“I don’t understand. Is there really a reason I have to be here as well?”
“My apologies, Your Highness the First Prince, but the royal guard merely follows His Majesty’s orders. If you find it inconvenient—”
“Yes, yes! I know! You lot have no choice but to obey our great father’s words! I get it! Just looking at you armored fools makes my heart feel like it’s going to stop, so get out of here already! If anything happens to Jasmine because of you, I swear I’ll cut off the head of whoever’s in charge, no matter what it takes! Father’s command can be followed from outside the door too!”
“…Please enjoy your time comfortably.”
Thud.
The door closed, and the royal guards withdrew.
However, they had not fully returned to their master, the King of Bers.
They would stand like wooden soldiers in front of the door and along the corridor of this very special ‘special room’ until today’s main event—the final match between Baimart and Surabar—concluded.
“Damn it!”
Redron knew he shouldn’t lose his temper, yet he couldn’t help it.
How could there be such insolent behavior!
Jasmine might be called a lowly “tail-chaser” Bar woman, but she was a heavily pregnant woman carrying a child soon to be born.
For that very reason, Redron had been waiting in the detached palace with Jasmine, the midwives, and the maids—yet an unbelievable order forced him here. With Jasmine as well.
He had tried to leave Jasmine, the midwives, and the maids in the detached palace, but even that was denied.
The royal guard, who followed only orders and thought nothing for themselves, had escorted not only the First Prince but also the tail-chaser woman he cherished all the way here.
It was truly outrageous and bewildering.
The only consolation was that the midwives and maids were still waiting by her side.
“Ha… How is Jasmine’s condition? Is her body alright? Is the room too cold? Do we have enough clean cloths and water? And, and…”
“There is no problem, Your Highness. Since Jasmine’s delivery is imminent, it is actually better for her to be apart from you in her current state. Please remain calm and composed.”
“Understood. I’ll stay still. Sorry for disturbing you.”
“Please trust us.”
Haa…
Carrying the unquenchable flame of anxiety in his chest, Redron walked to the window overlooking the colosseum.
The inner room was usually prepared for the typical intimate encounters between men and women, but not this time.
The birth was near. A child would soon be born.
All the sensual decorations meant to arouse a man’s desire—soft candlelight and the like—had been removed.
Under the protection of the midwives and maids, Jasmine was simply waiting for the child who would soon see the light of the world.
Today… or perhaps tomorrow… the child would be born.
“WAAAAAAAH—!!”
The colosseum was filled with roaring cheers.
Surabar and Baimart each gripped their weapons, standing face-to-face with only minimal leather guards over their half-naked bodies.
The fight had already begun.
But Redron paid no attention to the male tail-chasers trying to kill each other in the arena.
For Redron, only Jasmine and the child she would soon give birth to mattered.
Only that.
Surabar’s entire body was steaming with white vapor, looking far more terrifying than when they had first seen him in the fighter waiting room.
Baimart gripped the round shield and spear that had become as familiar as part of his own body.
Even now, Surabar still seemed like an insurmountable mountain.
But Baimart had witnessed the impossible becoming reality in this colosseum more times than he could count.
In a match, there is no such thing as “absolute.”
It was undeniable that Surabar, the tiger beastman mercenary from Mosul, was strong.
But that didn’t mean he could just drop his spear in fear and bare his throat.
Baimart tried to widen the distance and calmly observe Surabar’s movements.
“Hup!”
What the hell!
In that split second, Baimart saw his own death as the warhammer came flying straight at his head.
It wasn’t the kind of attack he could block with his shield or deflect.
Even a graze would result in a grievous wound.
The warhammer smashed into the arena floor where Baimart had stood moments before.
Sand exploded in all directions, and the broken fangs and claws of nameless gladiators flew up, slicing Baimart’s skin as they passed.
…Crazy!
Baimart huffed through his nose, staring at the warhammer wielded by the mad-eyed Surabar.
Before the scattered sand could even settle, the hammer was already swinging toward Baimart again.
“WAAAAA~!!”
“Fight! Fight!!”
“Baimart, you pathetic bastard! Are you just gonna keep running?!”
“You’re a disgrace to the champion’s title!!”
Damn spectators…
Only after running a full lap around the arena could Baimart finally regain his stance.
Even in Surabar’s seemingly endless barrage of warhammer strikes, there were openings.
The weapon was simply too large and heavy for one person to swing continuously.
When the relentless hammer attacks finally paused, Surabar stood panting, glaring at Baimart while keeping his distance.
So he’s going all-in from the start? Did he think I’d be slow because I’m a bear beastman? No chance!
Baimart knew exactly why he had survived in this colosseum until now.
The impression that he was slow like a bear was an illusion.
His fighting style, which appeared to crush opponents with raw power, was fake.
A deception tactic to fool his enemies.
Without full-plate armor like knights, any gladiator who fought that way would disappear as a sacrifice to the colosseum and its audience before even reaching three victories.
Baimart dodged the now noticeably slower warhammer.
And then—
‘Now!’
TUNG—!!
The sound of metal clashing against metal rang out.
The dull, heavy impact swallowed the entire colosseum’s cheers in an instant.
The spectators stared blankly, as if their own heads had been struck by the warhammer, before erupting into an even greater roar.
“WAAAAA—!!”
Baimart had begun his counterattack!
The bear beastman, who had only been dodging and getting covered in sand, finally blocked the powerful warhammer with his shield and thrust his spear forward.
Puk…!
The sound of soft flesh and muscle being pierced rang clearly in his ears.
It was a spine-chilling moment.
The first blood of today’s main event had been drawn.
Even the nobles in the highest special seats forgot their dignity and cheered wildly.
“That’s it! Baimart! Show them the power of the champion!”
“I believed in you, champion!!”
The cheers that had once been for Surabar now turned toward Baimart.
To spectators, encouragement might seem trivial.
But for gladiators standing on the sand, it was something special.
It was like inhaling hallucinogenic dust or getting drunk on liquor—it could sometimes feel even better than that.
Baimart looked at Surabar, whose left shoulder had been pierced by the spear.
The wound wasn’t deep.
Incredibly, Surabar had pulled his body back the moment the spear tip touched him, minimizing the injury.
It was an unbelievable reflex.
Surabar was panting heavily.
Uneven breathing meant that instinct, not reason, had taken control of the fight.
Baimart drove the visibly shaken Surabar into a corner using his spear and shield.
Tung, tung…!
The force behind the warhammer was no longer what it had been.
It bounced weakly off the shield.
Because of its weight and size, the warhammer required both hands to wield.
At this moment, it had become poison to its own master.
It might have been better to discard the weapon and fight bare-handed—
“He grabbed the spear with his bare hand?!”
“Grit your teeth, bear bastard.”
Baimart saw the fist flying straight toward his face.
This… I can’t dodge…
The sky and earth flipped.
The audience’s ceaseless cheers fell silent.
Piiii…
An unfamiliar ringing coursed through his entire body.
Baimart was sent flying from one end of the arena to the other by the punch.
Sand sprayed everywhere.
A tooth knocked loose by the blow clattered and finally fell onto the sand.
Huff, huff…!
Dazed and barely able to breathe, Baimart rolled his body to avoid Surabar, who was already closing the distance in an instant.
DOOOONG!
The arena rang like a giant bell.
An unbelievable sound.
The audience, drunk on liquor, the fight, and the blood-and-life gamble, could only gape at what had happened before their eyes.
Even the triple-layered, magically hardened steel wall of the arena now bore a crack.
“Madman.”
“You dodged that? You’re no pushover either.”
Baimart pulled out the loose tooth.
Blood gushed, but he felt no pain.
It was a miracle he hadn’t passed out after taking that punch.
His spear lay shattered in half, scattering sharp fragments across the arena floor like hidden traps or spikes.
Baimart swung the shield he had refused to let go of even while flying through the air.
Though the edge wasn’t sharpened, it was still threatening enough.
With the force, weight, and blunt edge of the shield, if it struck true anywhere, even the mighty Surabar would be knocked unconscious.
Whooong!
The shield grazed Surabar’s right shoulder instead of his head.
“WAAAAA!”
Another massive cheer.
Baimart and Surabar moved their hands and feet as if the filled colosseum didn’t exist, aiming only at each other.
Subtle shoulder movements.
Heads dodging fists by a hair’s breadth.
Their bodies moved without a single moment to catch their breath, solely to bring the other down and kill.
“Now… just… fall already!!”
TUNG—!!
Surabar caught the downward-swinging shield edge with his forehead.
Blood flowed from the torn skin, but he didn’t retreat an inch.
Stubborn bastard…
Baimart discarded the now completely deformed shield.
Surabar quickly backed away, creating distance.
The blood flowing from his forehead was blocking one of the tiger beastman’s eyes.
Haa, haa…!
Huff, huff…!
Baimart clenched his fists and moved diagonally toward Surabar.
The blood from the torn forehead was covering one eye.
This was his chance.
He had deliberately broken the shield head-on to remove the nuisance, but that had backfired.
Yes… I admit it…
Baimart gazed at Surabar, who was still glaring at him with ragged breaths, and silently offered his respect.
‘But I won’t lose either.’
Baimart had seen Surabar fight monsters—how incredible the strength of a tiger beastman born closest to Barhan could be.
But his ferocity, his movements, his reflexes—they were all based on fighting beasts, not people.
Even on this sand floor, in the colosseum where gladiators fought, Surabar still fought as if facing monsters.
With raw power.
With overwhelming strength.
In a short, decisive style.
‘This is why you lose, Surabar.’
Baimart gripped a handful of arena sand in one hand and the broken spear shaft in the other.
Call it cowardly.
Call it dirty.
For this tenth victory, Baimart was prepared to do anything.
“Do not forgive me.”
The sand and the broken spear shaft flew toward the exhausted Surabar like a hail of arrows.