Chapter 250
Chapter 250
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 14
Chapter Title: One Empire, Three Legends (9)
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Though heavily influenced by the Empire's colors, Hounuman was still a city that revered the traditions of the steppes and the great warrior Kun Tagiz.
As such, tribes that produced outstanding warriors were always granted favor and respect, and the path of a tribe's greatest warrior was always accompanied by splendid decorations and traditional music. A warrior's honor was the tribe's honor.
Naturally, this custom applied to the chariots of arena fighters as well, and now that the second preliminaries had ended and backers were making their full entrance, this was when the true spectacle of the Hounuman Arena Tournament truly began.
Around this time every year, people from Hounuman would gather in one particular spot.
The watchtowers built throughout the city for defense during the era when Kun Tagiz and the Empire clashed in bloody battles.
This place, usually buzzing with the fervor of arena gamblers, was unusually quiet today.
"What... what the hell is that..."
"If it's the Leather Workshop line, that's gotta be a great warrior from the Tuskclaw side..."
Over the past decade or so of watching gladiator tournaments, people had seen plenty of chariots ostentatiously displaying their backers' power—some majestic, others flashy.
Orc tribes arrived with their war drums and war cries, goblins scattered daily necessities and silver coins, human nobles rode in on horseback with their house banners and trumpets blaring, and beastkin and steppe nomads pulled up in chariots adorned with their tribe's traditional patterns and crafts.
But never had they seen a chariot quite this magnificent.
War drums? Orc battle cries? Scattering money?
This one rolled in with a choir of sixty from the church, majestic brass instruments from the grand temple, and metal bells unique to the Radiant Church said to clear the mind (or leave it utterly blank).
Steppe tribes' flashy leather crafts and traditional garb? A baptism of silver coins?
It paled in comparison to the flames and smoke billowing from twelve pyres, illuminated by a blinding holy light that gave it all tangible form.
As the spectators stood dumbfounded by this procession so grand it made every other arriving chariot look shabby,
"...Kee, keeeik! Gambler! Take my money! That one! The white, shiny chariot! Who's that!!"
The first goblin to snap out of it dumped the sack on his back onto the goblin gambler's signboard, then frantically stripped off his rings, necklace, and bracelets, pleading desperately.
The goblin from the Open Ribcage tribe, owners of the central colosseum, checked his parchment with a flustered look and replied.
"Uh, Professor of Tuskclaw and Benad Pang! The Leather Workshop line winners are those two!"
"Keeek! All in on Professor and Benad Pang's team! I'll go home and grab the rest! Wait! Wait!"
The goblin's eyes bloodshot, he snatched the wooden tally noting his deposit and payout odds, then rolled away on all fours.
The stunned crowd snapped back at the sight, alternating glances between the divinely glowing procession and the two fighters' odds.
[Human Professor / Beastman Benad Pang: 9.42]
At 9.42, they were one of the teams with absurdly high victory odds.
No need to wonder why. The dim-witted Tuskclaw tribe, knowing nothing but tradition, was one almost every gladiator avoided joining. They barely scraped together enough fighters each year, so no one bet on their great warriors, driving the odds sky-high.
This year was especially bad. The only reason Tuskclaw had clung on as one of Hounuman's eight tribes was their standout warrior Hookclaw, but the old orc had finally breathed his last in last year's tournament, denied even treatment between matches. Rumors were rampant that Tuskclaw would be expelled from Hounuman this year, naturally tanking their betting odds. The tribe was a sinking ship.
But.
What was this procession, majestic to the point of holiness? The banners and robes suggested Radiant Church priests—so why were priests doing that, and why were the Leather Workshop preliminary spectators ignoring this insane display to clutch their pocket change and trinkets, all rushing to the betting stands?
"Wait. Radiant Church and... human Professor? Professor of Light... B-Blood Saint? The one who turns heretics into bloody pulp with miracle after miracle wherever he goes?"
"Benad Pang... that sounds familiar... Nah, no way. Absolutely not... Beastman Benad Pang... If that's the gladiator teamed with the Blood Saint...!"
"Makes sense. Whatever they saw in the Leather Workshop prelims, they've got a sure thing if they're flocking like crazy!"
Flash!
The people crowded on the watchtower's lookout platform exchanged glances, and soon they were all scrambling to the gamblers' stalls.
"2500 silvers on Tuskclaw's saint and gladiator!"
"Cash goods! You take 'em, right? Gold bracelet blessed by Shaman Shan-Mua of the Falling Dew tribe! Heirloom from great-grandpa's time!"
"Keeik! Take my money first!"
"Grrr! Outta the way, little goblin! I was here first!"
As humans, beastkin, and goblins threw money like it was trash,
At the top of the bet list shone the name Lucilla Aedran, and the goblin running the stand marveled at how this name—already claiming miraculous odds of 12.04 and 10.37 in the prior two matches—proved Gold Guide was in a league of her own.
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"You've done well, brothers. From here on, it's my path and my companion's. Let us part ways for now."
"Our hasty preparations left much to be desired in escorting you, Saint. We pray you fulfill the great will of Light."
"Ratura."
"Ratura, Ro-Haram."
Upon arriving at the third preliminary arena in the citizens' district, Professor stepped down from the chariot and exchanged greetings with the bishop. Outwardly a mundane conversation, but not really.
『So. How far has the Empire reached?』
『The current Hounuman power structure is so entangled it's beyond salvaging. To push out Empire forces, most orcs have tacitly collaborated, and Open Ribcage—the arena owners—have allied with Bildarant and Empire figures for their own expansion. The only tribe unentangled is Tuskclaw, who despise secret deals and political compromises. An excellent choice, Saint.』
『A bishop like you here. Ro-Haram's guidance. You've helped immensely.』
『Hohohoho. If my presence was part of His plan. I won't sleep tonight. Call anytime if needed. Break the 'summoning rod' I gave you—a pillar of light will rise anywhere in the city. Eighty holy knights await your signal.』
『Thanks. See you after the match. Ratura.』
『Ratura, Ro-Haram.』
『Oh, if you have time, say hi to Senadis.』
『Bishop Senadis. Most devoted of Light's shadows. Understood.』
The spoken words and mental transmission ended in sync, concluding the bishop's exchange.
Of course, he hadn't summoned the entire church just because it fit the vibe.
This was Empire territory, a city mostly of non-humans. Naturally, the Radiant Church would've had plenty of covert work here in the past, likely handled by the Archbishop's direct organization, dubbed the "Church's Shadow."
'So I casually asked the bishop... Who knew he was part of the Shadow himself.'
Thanks to that, they'd shared a lot in just over an hour. The holy radiance masked the bishop's sacred communication magic's glow, and the pyres' smoke shielded their exchanged glances and proximity from prying eyes.
Splash!
『Boss. You planned all that? The cold complaint, needing healing grace?』
『Multitasking. Like snowballing thoughts on a mind map. Can't go to temple? Call a priest. Shadows here probably. Bishop'd know. Rebellious vassal state in Empire lands? Empire spies everywhere. Mask it. Since we're calling, make it big for max impact. Roll thoughts like that, build 'em up. Habit makes it easy.』
『...If that became a habit for me, I'd have lost my mind ages ago.』
As the bishop and priests departed and they approached the arena entrance, explaining via message magic, Borka's face twisted in horror.
『So. What's the point?』
『I'll break it down.
First. Tournament host and arena owner, Open Ribcage goblins, allied with Marquis Bildarant house. Why? Empire muscle to crush rivals and claim this barbaric city.』
『Second. Bildarant marquisate deals in drug making and selling trash. Trash, but drugs make money, and those vast-steppe-grown narcotics aren't easy to offload, even for a marquis. Means they've cut a line into the underworld for steady trades. Got it?』
Borka nodded, strapping greaves to his shins.
『Mm. Makes sense. Hounuman's perfect criminal hideout.』
『Next, third. Empire wants to absorb Hounuman. Pushed citizen relocation policies and such, but slow going. Then marquis Bildarant wins tournament years back, duels a rep from one of the eight tribes and claims a seat? Keep stacking power like that, Hounuman folds into Empire, rootless steppe tribes seep in or scatter. Wow! Solves one of Empire's ancient grudges?』
『Uh... Boss? Jumping from two to three, kinda lost...』
『Listen. Fourth. In the brutal imperial throne war, princes and princesses desperately want flashy achievements. Not crumbs like border monster hunts or corrupt noble purges—big chunks, like resolving an imperial grudge. Getting it now?』
『Uh...』
Borka's face screamed total confusion. Frustrated, Professor squatted and started drawing in the dirt with his finger. Amid the thick finger plowing soil sounds came cheers twice as loud as the last match, plus the announcer's voice.
[Open Ribcage goblins (affiliated) -> Bildarant + underworld (affiliated) -> Throne-needy royals]
『Conclusion. Throne war splashback hit this border backwater. We're slamming head-on into Second Prince's all-in event. Means Bildarant runs the arenas for him, as his puppet.』
Barbaric or vassal or not, orc warriors' prowess was the real deal among reals. The ferocity and battle spirit in their axes—proven by Kun Tagiz single-handedly blocking Empire's sword saints and guards. Empire quit conquest, settling for nominal vassal autonomy after Kun Tagiz shredded knights wreathed in red aura.
That was all Professor had pieced together solo, but Church Shadow intel filled the puzzle.
'Bildarant marquis isn't noble enough to sway hearts. No info on his house hiring a master knight as retainer during my Shadow tenure.'
'Capital salon spotted Bildarant marquis in secret meet with someone dressed as palace servant, heading to Second Prince's palace.'
'Second Prince rated lacking vs. First/Third Princes and First Princess, but wildly ambitious. Brutal temper, mistreats underlings... Plenty'd hate him as emperor, right?'
Capability lacking, but throne-hungry Second Prince eyes upset win.
Empire so vast and troubled, grudges fill books, but Hounuman absorption—practically an Empire defeat—was emperor-priority issue.
Annual tournament and governance prize.
Church Shadow intel plus chatroom folks and Dana's cross-analysis of 3rd World's Empire situation, sorted vast data in Hyde's head.
Sorry, but I digest group intelligence live. Compare to solo model, build up—easy.
『See now? Conclusion—Empire throne bloodbath ripples to Hounuman. We're crashing Second Prince's rigged show head-on.』
『...Knight from last match didn't seem that great a warrior.』
『Got a knight to make Bildarant win, no need for fancy rest. We'll meet him eventually. Can't sit back now. If I fight him, brace to lose half my limbs combined—seven, eight pieces?』
『...Someone'd think you're an insect. No impact on our goal?』
Giving up comprehension, Borka cut to the chase. He had zero intention of losing here. Empire giants drooling over throne war? Less important than his lost kids.
『Impact? Yeah. Not just win plain—we make losers' warrior honor and all crawl on bellies sobbing like girls. Especially knights—scandal Empire-wide, can't show face.』
『...Huh?』
『1st/3rd Princes and 1st Princess sent letters, Second didn't? Throne aspirant snubs us? Petty grudge~ Wreck his plans, others view us favorably? Gotta pick one for mutant invasion backup.』
"Ugh... Smash Empire prince's event frontally..."
"Meeting VIPs? Etiquette's fruit basket. No fruit, off one annoying brother? They'd love it. Plus gains: Church autonomous zone in Empire vassal Hounuman means big. Defend or yield for massive benefits, back one side in chaos for favor, solid support pledge..."
Borka shook his head at that point. More would just dizzy him.
"Enough. Stop there. Boss is... Urgh. Never mind. Win, that's it."
"Heh heh. Yeah, that works. You focus on winning."
Clank!
Still faintly glowing from holy healing, his body donned exposed armor, topped with gladiator's brass helmet.
[Third prelim match! From Tuskclaw tribe~ Legendary beastman gladiator! Troll-and-knight-slaying blood-mad killer! Blood-soaked 'Benad Pang'! His partner~ Paves paths with cultist blood everywhere~ Blood Saint 'Professor'!]
"Waaaaaaaaah!!!!!"
"Hey! Legend! Wife's undies all on youuuu!!"
"Ughhhu, tears at Saint's mighty form, teaaars!!!"
"Ratura! Ratura! Ratura! Ratura!"
[Opposing them~ Three Fingers goblin tribe great warrior~ Gray goblin murky-eyed 'Kakmanol'! His partner~ Five-time tournament survivor vet! Croc beastman merc 'Zakda'!]
"Wooooah!"
"Crush fake priest warrior! Zakda!"
"Keeik! Show goblin battle, Kakmanol!"
Wooden gates rose, revealing gladiators. Goblin tougher-built than average, cloak pockets galore; croc beastman head-and-shoulders taller than Professor, pure muscle.
As both sides appeared and crowd heated up, eyes naturally locked on the unopened gate.
"You might've noticed—but it doesn't end here~! Third round! For the wanderer to prove worthy warrior to Kun Tagiz—another foe prepared! Infamous steppe tribes' biggest headache! Called 'Galvano'! Three steppe lions~!]
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"Waaaaaaaaaah!!!!"
Arena-shaking roar as final gate opened to three massive lions squeezing through. Chained by necks, starved mad—chains creaked, drool flying as they yanked.
"Steppe lions. Beasts in name, monsters really. Swallow sheep whole, claws harder than steel."
"Huh. Arena twice size, three gates. Environmental gimmick? Fight foes plus beasts?"
"...Just in case—arena drugs include beast-calming ones."
"Figures. Look that grinning goblin punk. Three Fingers infamous for usury, theft? Filthy rich—rigged match content. Plan? You take glads, I clean rest?"
"Mm... No. I'll take lions. If they do 'goblin-style fight,' drags boring."
"Okay. I take two, you three."
Professor eyed wolf and goblin; Borka watched lions carving stone like tofu. Announcer held wooden tallies with four names.
"Same rules! Defeat all foes, last survivor wins! Fight worthy of great warrior Kun Tagiz's eyes!"
Whoosh!
Tally signaled start, lion chains released.
Professor ignored Borka surrounded by house-sized lions, bolting straight to arena's outer circular wall.
Upgraded to stone walls for third round, not wood.
"Hup!"
Jam hands deep underneath, Professor grunted lightly, powering thighs and waist.
Rumble rumble grind—
"Wha, wh-what's that. That...."
Wall bigger buried than exposed, arena-fighter consideration. Monstrous strength uprooted quarter-circle, casting sudden shadow over field.
"Smooth finish too—liked it on entry."
As croc beastman gritted teeth dual-wielding huge maces, goblin hurled daggers and throws blurring hands,
Professor, taking all blades on body, basked in frozen crowd vibe and spoke.
"As the word says. Cultists never escape shadow eternal."
Rooooar—
Incongruously pious prayer, massive stone wall sliced snow, smashed ground.
Boom!
"Uahaha! Ratura!"
Crack!
"Raturaaa! Surrender, scum! No surrender—"
Whoosh!
"This holy shadow crashes your skulls! Wahahaha!!!"
Thud thud boom crunch smash crack boooom!
Stone wall plowing arena like dough-beating, two gladiators desperately countered.
"Uwoooah!"
"Earthquake! Ground shaking!"
"Stands collapsingggg!!!!"
No mercy—Professor hammered wall wildly, shock crumbling surrounding wooden stands, people locust-leaping away.
Foes fought well. Goblin dodged nimbly, endless throws; croc beastman smashed descending wall with twin maces.
Dust of falling chunks—wall shortened door-sized. Professor hurled remnant; goblin and croc smirked at surviving onslaught.
Grind rumble!
Rooooar—
"No... No! That's not right! Repentance or no salvation from sin!!! Again! Agaiiin!"
Remaining wall yanked up once more, shadow looming anew—gloom on goblin and beastman's faces.
"Plague of steppes" three lions already clawed shut their entry, huddled trembling in pens.
"Praise himmmm!"
Boom!
Soon, vibrations rocked evacuated arena again.
Announcer—staked life on platform—declared Professor's team victory after third wall lift; croc, wielding dented mace with burst grip, cried surrender.
"Ratura, Ro-Haram. Glad you forsook cultist seat, late as it is."
"...Grrrk. Thanks...."
"Lasted longer, real bloody pulp. Hahaha."
"...Hah. Khm, cough!"
'Crazy bastard.'
'Keeik! Mad human!'
'Light, what were they thinking with this one....'
All there—croc, goblin, announcer—eyed brightly praying Professor, guts-relieved smiles, same thought.
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