Chapter 248
Chapter 248
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 248
Chapter Title: One Empire, Three Legends (7)
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“What an odd setup for.... a martial arts tournament.”
“It’s devolved a lot into something more like a human gladiator contest these days, but at its core, it’s still a traditional event of the grassland tribes. If they tried to change even that to fit human ways, there’d be hell to pay, so they’ve kept some of the form.”
The Haunuman tournament was uniquely structured, true to its commemoration of the great warrior Kun Tagiz’s exploits.
The first preliminary round was held at the city’s outermost edge, in the slums.
This qualifier symbolized Kun Tagiz’s childhood after losing his tribe and surviving alone. Fighters got no support or gear—just rags barely qualifying as underwear—and battled bare-handed.
The 64 victors received roofless wagons, horses, and drivers, along with the shoddiest equipment.
Next came the leather and ore workshop district a bit further in. Then the food market, civilian housing, streets of jewelers and trinket sellers, past the eight tribal zones, and finally to the central colosseum. So explained a goblin vendor hawking roasted nuts beside the stands. It symbolized Kun Tagiz rising from bare fists through every hardship to become a grassland champion.
“Definitely a spectacle. Combat styles change up. Gear upgrades from filthy rags to better stuff, so when your pick wins, it hits home for the crowd.”
“That’s why the Haunuman tournament’s pretty famous. Couldn’t come this time with the throne war raging and assassination threats, but plenty of royals used to attend yearly. Local nobles go without saying.”
The group had claimed seats early in the rickety wooden stands of the shabby workshop district, filling up on street snacks while waiting for Professor and Borca.
“Ah, there they come.”
“Hm? Where. Ottoman, if you’ve got some far-sight spell, don’t hog the view.”
“No point—it’d be blocked by the crowd anyway. Cheers rolling in like waves from that alley and the opposite one.”
“Waaaaah!”
“Keeek keeek! Kiiik!”
“Grrooooar!!!!”
Just as Ottoman said, cheers from various races swelled closer. In moments, the makeshift wooden stands filled, and atop the high platform, two broad-shouldered orcs climbed up. The one with the huge drum beat it with a club-like stick, while the axe-wielder raised his gleaming blade high.
The crowd fell silent as if on cue. Torches around the shabby arena, snowflakes drifting down, all flared to life at once.
“Looks like it’s starting.”
“Mmm. Seems so. Kid, it might get brutal—are you okay with that?”
“Shhh! What do you take a merchant’s daughter for? I’ve wandered this harsh world as a trader for years! And no way a hero’s gonna just grab and rip apart some regular guy who’s not even a mutant, right?”
“....Depending on the case?”
“Uh, well....”
『Grooooaaaar-!!!!』
The group’s whispers drowned in the orc’s thunderous roar echoing across the square. Selected for his powerful voice, the orc commanded the arena without magic, bellowing loud enough for all.
“Rejoice, glorious children of the plains! Great warriors have arrived to honor the champion’s spirit!”
Dong-! Dong-!
“Light the fires! Raise your voices! Here, in this place of honor, they’ll prove themselves with each other’s blood! Until one cries defeat in misery, or can never speak again!”
“Waaaaaaaah!”
Fired up by the orc’s booming voice, the crowd went wild, their heat melting the falling snow.
The steady drumbeat stopped. The orc on the platform raised his axe, flipping wooden plaques from left to right, announcing names in a massive voice.
“Then, behold the warriors stepping forth for glory! Knight of the Bildrant Marquisate, human Benard! And his comrade, troll mercenary Pakaku!”
“Waaaaaaaah!!”
At the call, his sharp axe severed the rope. The wooden gate rose, revealing a knight in gleaming brass plate armor and a troll gripping round shields like gauntlets on both hands. The troll slammed his metal fists together in showmanship, and the crowd’s roar shook the square.
Amid the cheers, Lucilla spotted the knight’s shiny armor and shot to her feet.
“That—that’s within regs? Round two’s supposed to be [To honor the champion who fought imperial troops in scavenged armor from the battlefield and won, only the most worn-out gladiator gear is provided!] How’s that shiny thing—looks like it’d fetch 100,000 sil for used—worn-out?!”
“Seems.... problematic. Gladiators usually wear outfits exposing more skin, not full metal protection like that.”
“The exact rule states ‘Only equipment provided by the organizers may be used.’ For this leather workshop district round-two prelim, entrants are from the Bildrant Marquisate and Umni-Claw Tribe. Arena managed by the Open Ribcage.”
At Yggdrasil’s explanation, Aldrich scowled, catching on.
“Open Ribcage, goblins.... The type who’ll do anything for coin, so yeah, smells fishy. City-scale stakes mean backroom deals. First round must’ve been a sight—bare-knuckle with a troll merc....”
“Th-these shameless bastards! You think we’re broke and can’t pull strings like that?! C’mon, Aldrich, Ottoman! Let’s not sit here—go talk to someone!”
“Hmm.... For now, watching’s best.”
Ottoman pointed to the platform beside the fuming Lucilla. The visibly annoyed orc glared back and forth between the knight and a goblin by the platform.
“....Groh! Challenger to the Bildrant Marquisate! Human Professor of the Umni-Claw Tribe and—?! Grah, ngh! *Cough*!”
The last plaque on the platform. The orc’s eyes caught the hastily chiseled name, choking unexpectedly.
Thanks to sharp eyes and a booming voice, he’d hosted for over ten years and knew the name that once shook the gladiator world.
A last-minute name swap. Questionable enough to halt the match, but seeing the knight’s gleaming armor, the orc grinned fangily and cut the rope.
“Groh! Human Professor of the Umni-Claw Tribe and.... the king of arenas beyond those mountains! Legendary beastman gladiator and criminal who slew every fighter alone, even their master! Tyrant of the eastern pits! Bloodied Benad Pang!”
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.
.
.
Clunk! Rumble—
Instead of cheers, murmurs of doubt and confusion filled the air. The gate’s rope snapped, and the arena door ground upward.
Rustle. Rustle. Rustle.
Their outfits were pitiful compared to the grandiose intro. The two gladiators, faces hidden by brass gladiator helms, made no gestures or greetings.
“Those guys....”
“Heavens, just how much....”
Like “battle-hardened” sculpted in flesh: hulking gladiators with bursting muscles and scar-riddled torsos.
One exposed the beastman’s furry chest and spine, scars from whips and brands too numerous to hide—even crossed by deeper gashes.
In the swirling snow and flickering torchlight, their bodies told more stories than words could. The crowd was awestruck.
The beastman especially screamed true gladiator life.
As murmurs grew at the orc’s intro, a human spectator spotted the faded brand between the beastman’s shoulder blades and leaped up.
“It’s real.... That’s the Gentia Arena owner’s brand! Only one survivor bore it! He killed the rest!”
“I heard too. Slave gladiator razed the arena, murdered his noble owner, escaped.”
“So.... it’s true? That’s really Bloodied Benad Pang? The fugitive the orphaned Gentia family bountied at 5 million sil?!”
The Haunuman tournament drew empire-wide tourists, as seen entering the city. Any noble into pits knew the legend of the slave who slew his lord for freedom.
As murmurs turned to uproar, Professor nudged Borca’s side.
“Five million.... Quite the figure.”
“Past I’d rather forget. Flash it, and the boss might sell me out for the cash.”
“True. Should’ve handed you to that family for the bounty if we knew.”
“No need. Gentia lands are mutant hives by now.”
“Shame.”
Borca raised a hand, casual chit-chat easing tension. As planned, Professor stepped back.
‘Shabby old armor, shield ready to shatter, net and short sword for the gladiators. Versus a tricked-out full plate knight and trained troll merc. Stark contrast.’
Professor watched Borca stroll forward relaxedly, glancing at the now-buzzing chat.
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- Heung An Mandu: Don’t overplay and die, right? Wolf boy’s a legend, but I never heard of this NPC?
- Speed Wagon: Searched—few rumors. “Pit killer....” something. One vet who grinded gladiator content for years mentioned it with an abandoned arena. No other info.
- professor: Family shame. Noble ran illegal slave pits, got his knights and self butchered by slaves. They’d bury it. Bounty leaker’s probably some info guild hack. Goblins running bets everywhere with their human pals.
- Jokasss: So, sticking to the plan? Winnable? Marquisate knight’s aura user for sure? That alone’s tough, toothpick sword won’t pierce troll blubber.
- professor: If it’s do-or-die, I’d jump in. But.... no need?
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Truth was, Borca’s style wasn’t flashy.
A wolfman who should embody savagery, yet utterly static and defensive—sold his wild side somewhere.
From first meeting, sturdy build and long claws used as shield and blade: classic gladiator or light infantry.
Versatile in solo and group fights, he stayed guarding mages instead of charging like me.
In black mage fights, he shielded Ottoman’s green 2-3rd circle casters from undead waves. Blue Line, border marches, Storm Hill, rocky wastes—always.
While I split off unavoidably, he guarded the mages exposed in melee.
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- professor: Solid as country stew. Trust him at my back. Just stays off-camera, out of spotlight.
- Deer Drug Please: High praise.
- professor: He is. Not hero-unit battlefield-flipper, but without him, my combat radius halves instantly. Like a cabinet’s drawer—unseen outside, but house crumbles without.
- Deer Drug Please: So, sending him solo?
- professor: He wants to. I did round one solo, so he takes two. We watch.
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Unlike forward-striding Borca, Professor turned back, plopping down at the stands’ edge by the circular arena rim. As crowd and fighters puzzled over the chaos, lone Borca reached center and spoke.
“Benad Pang. On my name and worn honor, I enter for a head I must claim here in Haunuman. A fight befitting gladiator, warrior, man.”
His calm voice ended all doubt; the crowd held breath, riveted.
Anyone knowing Gentia incident grasped it.
The Gentia patriarch found as skeleton—thumbs and mouth spared—in his own arena banquet hall. To nobles: don’t trust slaves. To gladiator fans: slayer claimed victor’s right.
The corpse steeped in hate showed the survivor’s loathing.
If that gladiator joined Haunuman to kill, even fools knew the target.
“Ch-challenge issued....”
“Bloodied Benad Pang challenges Haunuman pits!”
Swift goblins dashed off as the square erupted at the legend invoking legend.
Orcs revering deathmatches, humans and beastmen craving gore, goblins dreaming of scraps from fallen powers—all enthralled by the gladiator’s declaration.
Knight, displeased at all eyes on Borca, waved the troll back, drew sword pointing at the helm.
“Absurd. Leaning on old fame for cheers. Eastern pit tyrant, Bloodied Benad Pang.... Hope it’s no lie. Gentia’s gone, but lopping a slave-killer’s head salvages some honor.”
Whumm—
Eager to end it quick, the knight’s blade quivered with faint glow.
“I’ll spare your big hide. Know your place—cowering before start. Not for you, of course. Left the tourney curious: is that helm’s head truly the slave guilty of noble-murder, or fool braggart? Cut and check.”
“You wield tongue like sword.”
“Arrogant....!”
Borca raised shield; enraged knight assumed stance. Regaining wits, the orc bellowed.
“Kun Tagiz watches! Fight without regret!”
Whoosh!
Per tradition, the orc hurled the four name-plaques into the arena.
....Clatter
They hit the hard-packed dirt.
Instantly, knight’s charging blade clashed with gladiator’s shield.
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Thwack!
Splaash!
.
.
.
.
“Waaaaaaaah!!!!”
Upset! Reversal!
Crowd expecting beastman’s head rolling saw knight’s body and head skid apart instead. Leather district roared till it shook.
Crunch!
“....Damn. Thought we lost—scared shitless.”
Professor realized he’d crushed the brick in his grip, laughing hollowly as he brushed off shards. Even knowing Borca’s plan, it gripped him.
Snagging a tossed excited fruit, Professor bit deep, grinning.
Knight’s aura output lacked, but swordplay solid: stable base, no openings in swings or recoveries.
No complacency, whirlwind assault pushed Borca back endlessly. Defense airtight, but aura was issue. Metal shield couldn’t deflect—shaved like firewood. Edges gone, barely covered hand; then tattered armor and bloody arm took over.
More cat-and-mouse than duel. As Professor tensed gripping another stone—
Fwoosh!
Endlessly retreating Borca flung his shoulder-net. Knight sneered at the desperate ploy, slashing it apart....
Plop-
Roll roll.
Suddenly, knight’s head tumbled.
Unthinkable for the ragdoll gladiator: lightning counter-draw.
Ultra-counter-focused swordplay. Dirty tricks galore to force that split-second gap.
‘No wonder he kept scavenging en route.’
Borca’s net: capture type with barbs between knots. Aura user shreds it easy—thus laden with fine ash pouches.
Professor chuckled seeing Borca’s ripped rags match the ash-bag hue.
Charging knight scoffed at crude net, swung—and ash fogged nose and eyes for a blink.
Borca seized his sole chance.
[All talk? Could take him 1v1 straight-up, no? Used some aura-like inner energy.]
‘His words: gladiators are clowns. Not win, but bait them to overextend. Entertainer.’
Eight years unknown, but mastered crowd psychology.
Flashy knight vs shabby gladiator.
No fancy techniques or poses—just chop the blinded foe’s neck on breath falter.
No rock-cleaving beams or invisible strikes, so raw, relatable—anyone imagines themselves there. Thus projecting onto the gladiator.
Raising foe’s head on shredded arm: ultimate underdog.
I requested the knight’s death. Not “drug-lord knights deserve it,” but my own scheme.
To shake Haunuman differently than Borca.
“For now, just watch.”
Crunch!
Tasty fruit unknown. Hesitant troll rose as Borca swiftly unlinked knight’s armor, hefting widest chest plate as shield, charging.
Thud-
“Waaaaaaaah!!!!”
“Benad Pang! Benad Pang! Benad Pang!”
Soon, massive crash joined fresh cheers—not mere roar, but chanting the star gladiator.
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