Chapter 247
Chapter 247
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 247
Chapter Title: One Empire, Three Legends (6)
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****
Borca had sharp ears.
Of course, most beastkin did, but he especially relied on his sense of smell and hearing over sight.
Beyond instinct as a species, it was a habit born from a wolfman who had seen far too much in the human world that he wished he hadn’t.
With his eyes closed, the world that rose in his mind was more vivid than one might expect.
Clunk. Screeech—!
Rustle.
The communal post office, thick with the heavy scent of paper like Storm Hill.
The sour heat of gambling dens wafting from the streets, the gamblers’ voices pounding signboards marked with fighters’ names as their “last chance,” the clink of silver coins spilling across old wooden tables.
The fishy stench from market goods handled by countless people—perfect as a gift for a mage munching on dried fish, envious eyes on the city’s exotic meals.
And then, as he took hold of five fish skewered on a long branch, the light footsteps rapidly approaching him. The elf’s scent, distinct as the animalistic aroma of the forest.
Borca, reveling in strolling through a crowded city after so long without restraint in his natural beastkin form, welcomed his elven companion gladly.
At the elf’s slightly breathless words, Borca felt a momentary dizziness.
“...., ......”
What was he saying? His ears heard it, but his mind couldn’t comprehend.
“A letter.... to deliver in person?”
“That’s what I heard. Tusan, Marca. Are they your lost children?”
.
.
.
.
Splash.
That was the sound of five skewered fish hitting the ground.
The wolfman’s hot breath swept past his eyes, and sharp claws dug into the earth.
The tattered door splintered apart. His stunned companion, and the yellowed paper in his hand.
The bold names written on the proffered paper. The names he had lost, the names he must reclaim.
Boom!
Crack!
What followed was the sound of the crumbling door falling from the howling wolfman charging out, and Professor’s body slamming him down onto the wooden floor.
“Calm down! Ow, damn it! Retract those claws!”
“Let go! My children, my children are in this city right now! Breathing the same air under the same sky!”
“That’s why just calm down for a sec.... Ugh! You bastard.... biting?”
Borca’s sharp fangs clamped onto the thick forearm choking his neck, and with just his waist and neck strength, he lifted and hurled his massive companion. The force was enough to shatter both the sturdy table and floor simultaneously, but the man clinging to his back showed no sign of falling, his thick forearm tightening even more around Borca’s throat.
“Grrrrr, grrrr!”
“Get a grip, you idiot! Don’t you know the first prelims are in a few hours? That’s not just a list—it’s the tournament participant roster! You too! Your kids too—all participants! If you charge in blindly now, it’ll look like you’re trying to sabotage an opponent before the match! It won’t be a touching reunion; your kids’ll claw your face instead! The arena isn’t going anywhere, so wait patiently and you’ll surely meet them in the fighters’ waiting room—”
“15... years.... Grrr, after waiting a full 15 years.... how can I wait more here!”
Crunch!
Slipping on the wet fur, Borca seized the chance to fling Professor off his back and howled.
“15 years! As a beastkin, as a man, as the leader of our pack! I abandoned everything to come this far! And now my children are in the arena! As arena slaves!”
Having shaken off Professor, Borca cried out desperately. Everywhere except where the two faced each other was sealed airtight by a water barrier, and the shaken-off Professor was brushing glass shards from his body with murderously gleaming eyes. He had to go.
Desperation crept into the wolfman’s voice, sensing he couldn’t break through by force.
“I don’t know how much you know about arenas! But I know them so well that if I dug out my bones, the pain and screams from that day would pour out! Fighters for money? Driving claws into the necks of those like me, dragged in just to survive?”
Boom!
“Not a chance! Even that blood-soaked slaughter is just the brightest side for arena slaves! They’re warriors and slaves! Forced into unwanted bloodbaths by day, toys for the masters and their kin by night! How do you think nobles excited by blood and slaughter vent that thrill?”
“....”
“If you can’t say, I will! A trained warrior’s body is prime plaything for nobles! No matter how great the warrior or bearer of the forest’s spirit, the moment the slave brand is seared, they’re nothing but a slave! Slave! Existing solely for others, the lowest of humans! I walked into that hell of my own will! Because they said those slave traders who massacred my tribe and took my children—they knew where they were! That was the last clue I had, with nothing else to my name!”
Even now, closing his eyes brought it vividly back. Three years chasing faint traces of blood and harvest scents like a madman. By the time his claw marks scarred every place rumors of the slavers reached, he finally met a human who knew of his children. A man who named them before Borca could even speak. He’d seen the two young wolfkin but hadn’t bought them—too expensive and tricky—and sent them back to the arena owner.
“What a tearjerker. Good story. Stories always sell. Here’s the deal: become our arena slave and work hard for me. Until when? Until you’re our star. Won’t take long. Looking at our kids carved up, maybe a year tops, two at most. Just two years?’
‘Grrrr.... I don’t have time to wait that long. Even now, my children....’
‘Those damn kids, kids, brats! Use your head! It’s not a bad deal! Look at you. No clothes, just matted wolf fur stinking of sweat and grease. How tough’s it been? Nothing harder than surviving the human world broke. Just two years—earn money, get back to looking human. Wolfkin don’t die easy even if pushed hard, so I guarantee your kids won’t die in two years. Become our star, throw one big match in a massive payout bout, and as reward for the huge profits, I’ll give you the info you want. Won’t ask you to trust me. We use magic contracts instead of shaky promises here. Heh heh heh....’
It took eight years to reach the arena’s peak. In that time, he learned to fight, to submit and compromise, and that magic contracts could be forged.
Eight years of meaningless agony, filled only with pain.
That day’s torment still vivid before his eyes.
“....All that suffering endured for one wish: my children’s safety. And now they stand where I did. The most horrific experiences of my life all happened there, etched into my flesh and soul without a single gap! How can you tell me to calm down and wait! Even you!!”
A blue-tinged white aura began seeping from Borca’s screaming body. The spirit energy of forest tribes. Until now mere thrashing; now, he was serious.
“....Eyes fully rolled back, huh. Was going easy on you before the big match for your condition.”
“I must go. Please don’t block me. Apologies after—I’ll fetch my children and beg forgiveness!”
“What apologies between us. No need to apologize or go anywhere, idiot. Sleep it off, wake up, gorge on Aldrich’s sedatives, and if you still wanna go, we’ll talk.”
“Grrrr.... Raaaaagh!!!”
Realizing words no longer worked, Borca’s body coiled like a spring, then shot toward Professor blocking his path like an arrow.
From the opposite side, a deep sigh escaped Professor as his two arms blackened.
“Such a pitiful dumbass.”
Borca was a warrior of immense strength and seasoned experience, but his current frenzy made him little more than a mindless beast charging ahead.
Claws and reinforced forearms grazed, sparks flying,
Thwack!
With a ruthlessly clean strike, the wolf’s howl echoing through the city since morning cut off.
****
Roar.
Eyes boiling with heat. The horrific stench of burning fur and flesh.
“Uahaha! Stupid beast bastards! Adults don’t listen anyway! Kill ‘em all and just drag back the pups!”
Vile laughter amid his tribesmen’s screams, but he couldn’t move.
‘A dream. It’s a dream.’
The spear piercing his chest from behind nailed him to the ground like a stake, leaving only the mounted brute’s halberd and greaves visible.
Leaving the helpless him behind, the world melted away.
Crack! Craaack!
Familiar pain. A whip, thick leather tipped with metal bits for subjugating demi-humans.
“How many times do I say throw the match, you beast! Warrior honor crap—you said you’d ditch it last time!”
“The opponent, tried, to kill me. I can’t die here.... ugh!”
‘Those damn pups, pups—who knows whose bastard spawn! Don’t wanna die? Listen! Big boss snaps fingers, your heart goes boom! Why won’t you, listen!’
Chained in thick iron, he was powerless once more.
‘....Hm?’
Borca endured the remembered torment with closed eyes, but this dream stretched longer than usual.
Two letters carried on the wind settled into someone’s hand. If alive, Tusan would be twenty, Marca eighteen. How had they grown? Still like their childhood selves?
In the vision of his unknown children unfolding the letters, a smile touched the lips of chained Borca.
And then. The hazy background sharpened. The two wolfkin’s smiles turned bitter, the place an all-too-familiar arena slave cell, bound by the same chains, room full of whips and branding irons, and as they took his place in the memory—
“No, no! No! Nooooo!!!”
A deathly scream tore from the wolfman’s mouth.
Savage lashes sprayed blood from the boys’ bodies, the scattered blood gathering into stark letters before his eyes.
=========
『Open Ribcage Tribe』
- 1. Blue Mane Tusan: Arena Affiliated.
- 3. Blue Mane Marca: Arena Affiliated.
=========
Not a dream. Reality. Borca, the wolfman, knew the gladiator slave life too well to deny it.
Amid the wolfman’s stifled groans, the whips and screams swelled endlessly.
‘Slave, arena. Tusan, Marca. Slave, arena, contract, mage....’
Amid the torturous scenes, Borca repeated endlessly. Must meet them. Somehow, free them. Even if no place for him beside them, return those boys to the forest.
In the endless nightmare, the wolfman closed his eyes. Too vivid.
****
“Haaah!”
Even after jolting awake from the intensely vivid dream, distinguishing reality from dream was hard.
His back ached against the hard, angular surface, and the high sun made the woken wolfman squint. Wet wood and manure smells. Rumbling. A cart and sky.
As his dazed vision shadowed, a massive head loomed before him. A grinning face with playful eyes.
“Hey you, you finally awake.”
“....What’s that mean?”
“Just something you gotta say to folks coming to in a cart. Calmed down a bit? Need more, just say. On the house.”
The man grinned, waggling a fist.
The very one who’d knocked him out. Companion and leader, Professor.
Seeing his face brought memories flooding back. Baring fangs and claws at his comrade in blind rage, other companions’ anxious stares, and.... the paper with his children’s names.
Wobble!
“Whoa whoa, don’t move. Took a solid hit to the jaw; your skull’s ringing.”
“Ugh.... Where are we.”
Feeling his whole body throb, Borca slumped to the cart floor. The cart cautiously crossed the snow-blanketed city, roadside citizens waving or cheering at them. The oddly shabby open-top cart, even amid snowfall, seemed meant to display them to the crowd.
“This? Cart.... courtesy of the arena. They load your personal gear or baggage for arena use here. No horse or driver before one win; beat one bout, and they send ‘em over.”
“A cart from the arena.... the matches have already started?”
“Yeah, you idiot. You were out four hours from that smack. Had to do the prelim solo. Even carried your passed-out ass, thanks to the two-man teams rule. One more prelim, then mains inside that arena. Heading to the prelim site now.”
Professor waved to the cheering crowds, pointing behind them with a finger. Cheers echoing from the alley a block away.
In an identical open cart rode a massive troll and a knight. Same direction—likely their next foes.
“Hey. Think you can fight? Went kinda serious since you came at me for real.”
“....No problem.”
So much he wanted to say. Apologies for nearly ruining the party’s plans with personal emotions, thanks for reining in his berserk self, and more....
But his mind was filled only with the arena and his children, so he shelved apologies, focusing on the enemy.
Must win. Win and win again to meet them. Win everything to the top. Then grant freedom to his children, bound by that cursed magic contract.
****
[....Why’s he acting like that?]
‘Dunno. Hit him too hard?’
Professor watched Borca strip on the open cart, wondering if he’d been too rough, as if the wolfman had resolved something.
Amid women cheering Borca’s beastkin fur barely covering essentials, he donned familiar gladiator garb from the cart corner and tossed me a set, gesturing to wear it.
As expected of gladiator gear, it barely qualified as armor. Chainmail from wrists to shoulders only. Leather pauldrons atop, small iron plate over the heart linked to a leather belt.
Everything else bare flesh. Arms, shoulders, heart covered; rest exposed.
“Hm.... Might be easier fighting buck naked. I can sprout outer skin everywhere anyway. Tougher than this junk by a hundredfold.”
“Please wear it. Arenas have their own rules.”
“....For the kids?”
Borca nodded firmly, resolve set.
“Shamelessly asking. Slave brands aren’t easily removed. Contract holder must void it directly, or slave fulfills original terms. Illegally acquired slaves usually have brutal, impossible conditions.”
“How’d you escape.”
“....The day I reached arena peak and learned the contract wouldn’t end, I killed every human at the celebration feast. Then, before the eyes of the bastard who bound me, I carved and chewed him bit by bit. Left only his thumbs for seals and mouth to end the contract intact. Sliced with a steak knife till he listened. If I could do that here.... but arena owners hide from outsiders, and if threatened, they’ll hold the contract hostage—nothing I can do. Must play their game.”
Click!
Donning the last piece—a battered, hole-riddled brass helm—Borca’s voice echoed oddly through it.
“A warrior’s weapon isn’t just what’s in his hands. The crowd’s cheers are the shiniest shield, the spear felling even invincible foes.”
“Gonna win popularity.... as an arena gladiator?”
“Their way: make the whole city chant my name till the arena boss has no choice but to show.”
Not a bad plan. Popularity meant money, and a seasoned gladiator who knew arenas inside-out could land bigger matches.
But....
“Won’t go that easy, will it? Even a quick glance shows the Empire’s hands everywhere in Haunu. City symbolizing conquest of countless plains tribes. The tournament itself—greenskin tradition, yet reeks of human polish. Tournament format, tying to festival for cash flow. Original tribe battles were just torchlit sand pits, everyone piles in till last man standing, right?”
If the Empire’s involved, different story. A eighth of the city’s drug farms means major underworld ties. Marquis-level nobles too. No regular money-maker would make the arena boss stick his neck out for newbie duo gladiators....
“No, plenty possible. Still prelims, so name changes feasible. Arenas usually allow pre-fight aliases.”
“Name?”
“Yes. Name. Not the one shaming my ancestors, but my fighter name from Lordric’s arenas.”
Borca equipped net, round shield, broadsword in order.
“Benard Pang. Warrior of Lordric East, Gentia Arena. Sole survivor who slew all rivals and escaped—the East’s gladiator champion returns. That’ll draw nobles from nearby cities at least.”
Borca thought: A name he wanted to claw from memory. But if those eight years of agony could save his boys, it wasn’t wholly wasted.
****