Chapter 254
Chapter 254
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Translator: Vine
Chapter: 254
Chapter Title: One Empire, Three Legends (13)
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****
The sun had risen.
Thanks to the priest from the church posting a terrifying notice on the inn's door—something like [Saint residing. Heretics will be purged upon unauthorized entry]—not a single guest had shown up, and even the innkeeper had fled.
Aldrich and Ottoman's eyes were ringed with exhaustion after debating until dawn what would unfold today, and Lucilla was dozing off at the table with her head nodding.
"Today will be a ve~ry complicated day."
At Professor's words signaling the start, everyone's eyes lit up. The party had grown accustomed to this mad hero's antics, now able to face the impending trials with calm composure. Yggdrasil, who had borrowed the kitchen for a bit, brought out a simple breakfast, and the group reached eagerly for the food as if steeling themselves for the hardships ahead.
"Ah, of course, it's complicated overall, but on an individual level, it's simple—just do your assigned job well. Nothing big, nothing hard."
.
.
.
.
"Everyone except Borca."
"....Hm."
"You confident? I was worried when you just walked out without a word."
"I stepped out of the city for a moment and went to the forest."
The werewolf, who had finished his portion and closed his eyes, quietly lowered his gaze.
"Fifteen years ago, when I left the forest, I did so with the intent to die. When I signed the slave contract, I abandoned myself as a warrior, and over the next eight years, I abandoned even what remained of me as a human. As time passed, I grew accustomed only to discarding what was left of myself, but there was something I held onto without letting go all that time. Yesterday, I discarded it."
Scraaaape—
Borca rose from his seat and picked up the neatly arranged gladiator gear from the corner before turning around.
"If I can just return the forest to my children.... I won't mind never being called father again."
The werewolf had set down his final solace, his sole wish, from his heart. After a day-long meditation filling his spirit and body solely with one goal, his steps brimmed with resolute determination.
"I'm going."
Bang!
The inn door flew open, and the gladiator, once more donning Benad Pang's helmet, strode toward the waiting carriage.
"Waaaaaaah!"
Amid the cheers of people convinced that the second legend—of the one who had conquered a single arena long ago and vanished—was now unfolding, the ornate carriage began moving toward the Colosseum.
****
Borca departed amid thunderous cheers. From now on, he would fight alone. In that Colosseum full of unknown schemes, for the moment he had awaited for fifteen years.
The party's mission was to clear away all the behind-the-scenes machinations clinging to him so he could safely achieve his goal.
"....Borca, seriously. What's with that dramatic look saying 'I'm going'? There are better words like 'I'll be back' or 'See you later.' It's making me worry."
"Come on. Did you see that intense glance back at the end? Bet there's a suicide note in his room."
Professor chimed in with Lucilla's grumbling while watching Borca's back, which screamed 'I'm fully resolved~' at a glance.
The guy had been carrying paper and pen everywhere since Storm Hill. They hadn't even included him in the strategy meeting to focus solely on the finals, so it was obvious what he'd done with his spare time.
As if proving the prediction right, Yggdrasil pulled a letter from her bosom.
"Here. I found it."
"Ugh. Now you're spying on Borca too?"
"....The sound of him sharpening his claws at night was intriguing, so."
Professor, about to burn Borca's suicide note on the spot, suddenly grinned and stuffed it into his pocket. Lucilla, horrified, jabbed his side.
"You're really keeping that? They say as long as a suicide note remains in the world, death easily finds that person."
"Then with suicide notes 1 through 34 at home, did I die ages ago? I'll read this aloud in front of his kids after everything's done today. A suicide note is a letter summarizing one's life, right? Gotta properly introduce their father to the kids after fifteen years without it being awkward."
"Wow.... You're awful."
"But don't you wanna see it? That gruff werewolf turning beet red, flailing to get his note back?"
Lucilla imagined Borca chasing after Professor amid the kids, unsure what to do. Hm....
"About 500,000 sils worth of wanna see?"
"Right? So let's get moving. We can only see that if our Bohemian wolf buddy survives and his kids all come out safe."
Scraaaape!
At Professor rising from his seat as the signal, everyone began moving to their assigned tasks.
Notum and Aldrich teamed up for the city outskirts.
Ottoman, Yggdrasil, and Lucilla headed to the market district.
Borca to the arena.
And I....
Crack!
"Got an invitation, so time to pay a visit."
To the Marquis of Bildrant's domain, just as they had scripted.
The 'summoning rod' handed over by the High Priest. As Professor snapped it while perched on the door, a slender beam of light shot skyward, piercing the heavens and conveying its message to every priest and believer in the city.
'The Saint's event. God's will requires your hands.'
No need to explain further. A summons from one recognized as acting on God's will through church protocol.
From those controlling the inn's perimeter to the sounds of people rushing over gasping, a reverent smile formed on Professor's lips.
"Gasp, gasp! Ra...tu...ra!"
"Ratra, lower your pace. Plenty of time before the diocese folk arrive—no need to run like that."
"Gasp, whew.... I know, but ever since hearing the Saint had come to this city, my body reacted first to this moment I'd awaited."
The priest clasped his hands, catching his breath. Professor replied to his shining eyes with a gentle smile.
"So, what did you call us for...."
"Hahaha. Nothing major. Just things that must happen happening, and paths reaching where there's will."
At the holy light and clanking armored holy knights visible beyond the alley, Professor stood.
As the priest thought 'He's even more dashing than I imagined!', Professor—half in white robes tied at the waist, exposing his scarred upper body—finally uttered the response he desired.
The sacred event they hoped might occur now that he was here.
"The nobles here are breeding a massive evil. I summoned you all to expose its truth in broad daylight."
"M-Massive evil, you say...."
"One impure from birth. One who would dye the world in blood to kneel at its feet. Mutation Blood—that cursed whore's spawn—is hiding here."
At those words, the priest immediately scanned for something torch-worthy.
'If you want a holy war, you'll get one.'
The note that could only be called evil, and from morning the next day, gathering holy knights and priests. It must seem like everything was going their way. But....
'Life is the real deal, friends.'
[Giggle giggle]
Rest assured, what was about to unfold wouldn't match their expectations by a single inch.
****
"Screee! Wait here! Sleep if sleepy, say if hungry! Finals qualifier gets anything! Might be your last meal! Keeek! Kigigik!"
The goblin shuffled off with an obnoxious sneer. Borca wasn't tired or hungry. He just felt this place was chillingly familiar.
'Arena. Home of the slave gladiator.... and grave.'
He tried to ignore it, but his life permeated everything here.
The dry blood scent seeped into stone cracks.
Cool air and stifling helmet, breath beading on his brows.
Iron smell. Sweat smell. Sour tang of tense beasts.
And the crowd's murmurs anticipating the slaughter ahead. People who claimed to love and cheer him more than anyone, yet desired his stand at death's crossroads more than any.
Beyond them, his son waited. In the same room, same solitude.
The end approached. Like the bright light slicing through the dim waiting room door. Like fervent cheers devouring the silence.
The arena door opened, and the fully prepared werewolf stepped into the glow.
"Waaaaaaah!!!!"
Hundreds of torches flickering blindingly. Spectators chanting his name at the top of their lungs just from his entrance. And faintly visible through narrowed eyes, his opponent.
"....Tushan."
Seeing his son in identical gladiator garb, his molars clenched unconsciously.
Finally. Across those long years, finally facing him. My son, alive and breathing vividly!
Amid the two glaring werewolves in silence, the goblin's voice echoed via magic amplifier.
[The long-awaited finals! The two strongest, most honorable warriors of the plains are ready! On the left! The arena's champion everyone in Haunuman knows! Mocking the 2-man team rule by coming solo this far, challenging for the throne for the third time this year—a true warrior! Tushan-Dalun!]
"Waaaaaaah!!!"
Proving his popularity, cheers shook the arena. Werewolves, bears, rabbits, rats, tigers—beastmen all rose, roaring, some even plucking their fur to toss into the arena. An idol of Haunuman beastmen who endured the same wretched lives yet climbed upward unbowed.
Amid cheers chanting his name, Tushan strode to the arena center.
[Kiiiek! Arena's pride, great blue-maned Tushan! But his opponent is no slouch! On the right! None other than! The arena king who conquered Gantia Arena—the once largest in the east beyond those mountains! His fame undimmed, star of the massacre drama! Solo slaughterer of over a hundred gladiators, servants, and humans dwelling there! Blood-soaked—Benad Paaaang!]
And the name called after.
Feeling the cheers on his skin, Borca stepped toward his opponent.
He thought he'd never forgotten a moment, but fifteen years had weathered memory's edges.
The infant son now towered over him.
The small mouth that once babbled was sealed with a long vertical scar.
Unlike him, the eyes in the exposed-face helmet were closed, steeling resolve.
But.
"Tushan.... Dalun, is it."
"Benad Pang. Regrettable to spill kin's blood."
As his murmuring son opened his eyes, the soul of his wife in those deep blue depths nearly made Borca lunge forward; he gripped himself.
His son's scent matched that from fifteen years ago at the bedside. Similar nose bridge, mouth line, gray fur, blue eyes like his wife's.
Just that clumsy scar stitched over Tushan's left eye made him resent facing his wife's gaze as only one.
As cheers faded, knowing the moment, the one-eyed werewolf raised his blade.
"I've heard your story."
"....Mine?"
"Yes. The beastman gladiator who finally seized freedom. To face in the finals the protagonist of the tale that was my hope and despair. The gods love vile pranks."
Clank.
Borca raised his shield too. Shield forward, stance low. Short sword in hand pulled back like a coiled spring.
At that solid form, Tushan's sword-grip tightened.
"I'd rather not see kin's blood, so surrender. Benad Pang."
"....Nor yours. Tushan Dalun. Surrender without hesitation when death nears."
As the announcer held up name plaques, the one-eyed werewolf's lips twisted at his opponent urging the same.
『In Kun Tagiz's name, a battle without shame!』
Clack—!
"I.... misspoke!"
Kaaang!
Sparks flew between the two shields clashing at the start.
Borca's gray eyes met Tushan's sole blue one.
Fifteen years' longing, atonement, reunion's joy.
Words aplenty, but not the time yet. Not while his children remained gladiators' slaves—no right to beg forgiveness.
-Kaaang!
"So you mean to see blood after all!"
"....If needed!"
Not as Borca Dalun hidden in the helm, but as gladiator Benad Pang, he swung without hesitation.
****
"Hah, hah! Here, is this it?"
"Two more blocks, then right. Lucille, Ottoman—just a bit more. The Colosseum cheers are growing louder."
As Professor headed to the marquis and Borca to the Colosseum.
Thud thud thud thud!
Rattle! Rattle!
Lucilla, Ottoman, and Yggdrasil hauled a cart loaded with cloth-covered cargo toward their destination. With Yggdrasil's wind spirit making it race like the breeze, it was more clinging for dear life than pulling, but steering required gripping the handles, so the old man and girl chased after the cart.
"Gasp, hugh! I think, we messed up the team assignments! Making an old man, girl, young elf pull this heavy cart and run!"
"Ughhh! Idi! Helping would kill you?!"
"My task is guiding the fastest path. Right, straight ahead. Second tent from the left."
Lucilla ground her teeth at the elf's voice directing from rooftop to rooftop, gasping for breath.
"If my legs bulk up.... I swear on Aedran's name, I'll make that girl pay for ruining my life!!!"
"Kid, kid! Slow down or—"
"We're late!"
The large tent now before them. At the Open Ribcage Tribe's tent—ribs agape with a silver coin for a heart—Lucilla shoved the running cart right in.
Market district, Open Ribcage Tribe's operations tent.
Goblins counting coins instead of watching the finals screamed as the sudden windborne cart crashed in, chaos ensuing as panting Lucilla and Ottoman entered.
Psh psh psh!
A goblin's poison dart flew wordlessly, blocked by a water veil. Barely catching breath, Lucilla dragged the cornered cart forward and yelled.
"Richest goblin here! Come out! Here to deal!"
"Kiiiek! Don't make me laugh! Mage, human woman, elf! Attack! Here to steal tribe's silver!"
"Eek, no time—come out quick!"
Whoosh!
No one came; armed goblins swarmed. Lucilla yanked off the cart's cover, then irritably kicked open the half-broken chest lid.
Clunk!
Clatter clatter—!
"Attack! Atta—?! Kiiieeeek!"
"Kyaaak!"
"Kiek! Kiik! Kiiieeeek!"
"Kiiiiiiek!!!"
The chest toppled by Lucilla's kick, spilling silver coins everywhere.
Goblins more excited than facing foes; a short, monocled goblin stepped forward. Sensing he was top dog here, Lucilla advanced.
"Kiik. Deal, trust. Tons of money! Big deal! Buying what, human?"
"The most expensive thing here, duh!"
At Lucilla's glance, alert Ottoman snapped fingers; a water droplet burst, flipping the cart fully.
"Kii.... Kiiiiieeee...."
Nine large chests tumbled, piling into a mountain of silver. As all goblins gawked, Lucilla approached their representative.
"Lies are their tongue, they say of goblin truth! This more than covers it! You! Specs! Ever seen this much silver in life? Not a fleeting glimpse, but enough to pave under your bed and swim in daily forever!"
The dazed goblin seemed to process her words, then shuffled blankly to the pile.
A race defined by greed, instinctively coveting wealth—goblins. Intelligent enough to plan futures, know dos and don'ts....
"Me, sell to me.... All this.... mine?"
"Right here, right now! All of it! Cash!"
"Ke, keheeeeee—!!!"
Wealth overwhelming reason erases lifelong rationality.
Faced with dreamed riches, rationale snapped— that's when goblins speak the 'Goblin Truth,' the one phrase from their mouths deemed trustworthy.
"Keeeee.... Kaayiii....!"
Lucilla barked at the goblin fondling the mountain dazedly.
"You Open Ribcage Tribe run the arena! You hold the slaves' contracts?"
"No.... Chieftain's precious papers.... Handed to human noble.... Shiny.... Kaayiii...."
"Human noble? Who?"
"One of eight tribes.... Bildrant.... We just manage for coin, real owner that bearded guy...."
"Ottoman! Got it!"
With the answer wanted, Ottoman and Lucilla exited, reaching skyward.
Finals of a tournament rife with interests—Open Ribcage chieftain and heads mostly at arena.
Left in market: veterans of this post but lower rank. Trusted enough for coin hub.
'Chieftain level no, but mid-manager falls to that cash!'
Fwoooosh!
Ottoman's prepped fountain jetted upward; Yggdrasil's water spirit merged, painting a sudden double rainbow midday.
One: yes. Two: no— their signal.
"....Not the goblins after all."
"Saint. What do you mean?"
"Nothing, Bishop. Proceed as planned."
Professor, confirming from afar, led holy knights to marquis's domain.
"Two it is. Shall we move?"
"Gruk."
City outskirts' shabby slums. Notum and Aldrich, scouring darkest alleys with black magic and shamanism, moved at the signal.
****