Chapter 20: Hierarchy - 2
Chapter 20: Hierarchy - 2
Jiha's provocation sent the Commons into a fury.
"This son of a bitch...!"
"What now? You want me to be even more blunt next time?"
Jiha sneered.
"Hakal is dead, and all you can do is run your mouths at the wrong person?"
Boom!
The lion beastman Garaon leaped from the table, launching himself straight at Jiha.
Standing 190 centimeters tall and weighing 150 kilograms of solid muscle, Garaon could tear a human apart without effort.
It was a leaping strike meant to crush with his powerful body, and dodging would have been the smart move. Instead, Jiha reached out to meet him head-on.
Crash!!
He seized Garaon's head and slammed it straight down onto the table. The massive impact rattled every dish, spiderweb cracks splintering across the wooden surface.
"Grrk—gahk!!"
Garaon thrashed, his head pinned, but he couldn't pull free.
The Commons froze at the sight of the lion beastman—taller than Jiha—being smashed down like a child.
A human overpowering a beastman with sheer grip strength? Impossible.
But the bluish glow coiling around Jiha's arm was Mana. With Mana, it was possible.
"Mana..."
"Th-that's really Mana?"
The Commons had only heard rumors that Jiha possessed Mana. This was the first time they'd seen it with their own eyes.
And one thing was certain: subduing Garaon, one of Blue Seal's top Commons, in a single move proved Jiha had changed completely.
"Well? Who's next?"
With the lion pinned in one hand, Jiha swept his gaze across the room. No one moved.
Some among them believed themselves stronger than Garaon. But none were confident they could crush him in an instant. At this moment, Jiha was the strongest one present.
"Looks like you're finally in the mood to listen."
He pressed harder on the thrashing Garaon, and the struggle stopped. Even Garaon, pinned as he was, acknowledged it: Jiha was far, far stronger.
Into the silence, Jiha spoke calmly.
"Hakal is dead. He was a good friend. I regret it too. These aren't empty words."
He meant it. If Hakal had survived, he would have been a great asset.
"I understand your grief. Your anger. I get that you want to hold someone accountable."
"..."
"And pinning it on me isn't the most baffling logic in the world. It's exactly the level of thinking I'd expect when a bunch of morons put their idiot heads together."
The gargoyle Rugin shot back harshly.
"Watch your mouth, Jiha. You might be stronger now, but do you really want to turn all of us against you?"
"You should watch your heads. Every time you move them, they produce an empty rattling sound."
Jiha's cold retort made the Commons seethe inwardly. If Garaon hadn't been subdued right before their eyes—if they hadn't witnessed Jiha's strength directly—they would have mobbed him and torn him apart.
But Jiha's next words pierced straight through.
"Let's say you all jump me. Fine. You beat me to death, rip me apart, and cover it up among yourselves. Then what changes?"
"..."
The Commons had no answer.
"You'd kill one unlucky veteran with a big mouth, and then you'd all face collective punishment. Violence and murder among Commons is severely punished. Best you could manage is roughing me up and making sure word doesn't get out. And tomorrow? You'd be back in the Summoning War, fighting for your lives in the Colosseum while the crowd mocks you."
He glared at them.
"How many of you in this room will still be alive three months from now?"
"What's your point?"
The gargoyle Rugin's voice was rigid.
Jiha looked down on the creatures physically far superior to any human and snapped.
"Is this your life plan? To live like worthless scum and then die?"
"And you think you're any different?"
A skeleton sneered.
Jiha had been a Common here the longest. Twenty-eight consecutive losses meant he'd fought more than twenty-eight matches. But no one had ever respected him for that seniority. Among the males, he'd been beneath consideration.
Until now.
"Yeah, I'm not surprised you've all been looking down on me. A groveling human too busy just surviving, human trash not worth an ounce of respect. The kindest thing any of you ever felt toward me was probably pity."
"..."
No one denied Jiha's sharp words. A few even scoffed.
Jiha doused that laughter with ice water.
"You fucking morons! Has this place rotted you down to the bone?!"
"..."
"The weak deserve to die? Women over men? Did you actually believe that before you were dragged into this godforsaken Warsland? Did you live your whole lives believing it?!"
The Commons had been summoned from different worlds, forced to fight. Not a single one of them had chosen to be here.
"Let's say you did. Then why are you still here? You're strong. You've got the power to rip apart anything in your way. So why not band together and break out right now?"
Even the Garaon pinned under Jiha's hand could kill a hundred ordinary humans. The Commons lacked Mana, but they had specialized physical abilities and the experience of fighting to the death.
Jiha pressed them harder.
"Why are warriors who can each fight a hundred men still chained down like slaves?"
"Because we'd all die in the end."
Rugin shook his head stiffly.
"I could probably take out a few dozen Normal Grade fighters myself. But against Rare Grade? Three or four at once would already be a struggle. And above that..."
Despair crept over the Commons' faces.
Enril, a Unique, could slaughter everyone in this room on her own.
"And let's say we miraculously escape this city, Waris. Then what? Everyone in Warsland would hunt us down. We'd eventually be caught and killed."
"So you'd rather give up?"
Jiha laughed scornfully.
"Ah, I see. You were raised by loving parents. Fought alongside like-minded friends. Married the love of your life, built a happy home. Then one day, no consent at all, you get dragged into a forced summons, and you blindly trust their one promise: win thirty times, go home. Clinging to that hope, you threw yourself into every fight—only to die in a colosseum packed with jeering onlookers."
"..."
Into that suffocating silence, Jiha posed his question.
"You'll never go home. Never see the wife or kids you left behind. Never keep the promises you made to your friends. You'll be discarded with no grave to call your own, left as nothing but a meal for the flies."
His low voice cut into their chests.
"Is that your dream? Your life's goal? Is this really what you wanted?"
"..."
Some bit their lips. Others stared up at the ceiling. Garaon, still pinned under Jiha's hand, released a groan of anguish.
Into that silence swirling with bitterness and rage, Jiha asked again.
"Do you really want it to end like this?"
"...Then are you saying there's another way?"
Someone threw the question back, voice heavy with pain.
They were all suffering, all in the same miserable position. Who among them didn't long to return?
Jiha shifted his tone.
"Our enemy isn't each other."
He wasn't trying to tell them Blue Seal's Commons needed to unite. He was looking much further.
"The ones we need to defeat aren't Purple either."
"Then..."
What followed shattered everyone's expectations.
"What we have to fight, what we have to beat—is this fucked-up world. The bastards who invented these ranks and crammed us at the very bottom just to watch us fight for sport. The bastards who pass the time betting on which fighting dog will win."
"..."
"We all came from different worlds. Different species. Of course we think and act differently."
Jiha looked at each of them as he spoke.
"But one thing is the same. We are not livestock."
"..."
"We may have lived as slaves until yesterday. But we cannot keep doing that. I don't want to wake up tomorrow still a slave."
Jiha's words drove straight into their hearts. It was the truth they had willfully ignored ever since they accepted their status as Commons and started risking their lives in the arena.
He made his vow.
"We will seize our own freedom."
"...How?"
Jiha raised his fist. Deep-blue Mana shimmered around the tightly clenched hand.
The first Common to possess Mana. Everyone swallowed hard.
Lowering his fist, Jiha spoke cynically.
"Of course, just saying it won't make you believe me. So I will prove myself. I'll show you I'm a leader worth trusting and following. The detailed plans come after that, one step at a time."
"What are you going to do?"
At the question filled with expectation, Jiha answered.
"First, I'm going to avenge Hakal."
A sigh rippled through the room at his declaration. Jiha's fierce speech had struck a chord in every man present. He was finally saying the words they'd been desperate to hear.
"After that—follow me and fight."
His speech over, Jiha released his grip. Garaon finally lifted his head and rose.
"..."
As proud as lion beastmen usually were, Garaon showed no sign of challenging Jiha again. The expression on his face as he looked at Jiha was filled with powerful expectation.
Noticing the blood trickling down the lion's face, Jiha gave an order to the other Commons.
"Take Garaon to the infirmary and get him treated. If anyone asks, use my name."
The other Commons quickly moved to support Garaon.
As the situation settled, Jiha grabbed a piece of bread and walked out of the mess hall. No one spoke. They simply watched him go with expectant eyes.
Out in the quiet corridor, Jiha stopped walking. Two sets of footsteps had followed him.
"Okram, give us a moment."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah."
At Jiha's word, Okram silently stepped away.
The one who remained was the wolf beastman Uben.
Uben grinned oddly. Jiha lifted the bread to his mouth. Chewing the soft bread, he spoke.
"I'll let it slide this once, Uben."
"...Slide what?"
"I know you deliberately turned a blind eye. Or maybe you were the one who stirred up that whole atmosphere in the first place."
The mood that had turned their anger over Hakal's death toward Jiha—Uben had either been involved or had chosen to look the other way.
"Aren't you going to consider that I simply couldn't calm them down, given my limited influence?"
"Does a guy with fourteen wins and six losses honestly expect me to buy that?"
It was a detail Jiha had intentionally let slide when he'd made his request earlier.
"I've been here the longest. No one takes six losses and survives. Not unless they surrender every time, like me."
"..."
"But you? You win by a hair, lose by a hair. Your opponents from Purple always let you live. I heard you've even built up a record of three wins, three losses against that minotaur named Calon—a nice, tight rivalry."
Uben let out an impressed sigh.
"You know more than I expected."
"I had time on my hands."
While racking up twenty-eight straight losses, Jiha hadn't been wasting time. He had been collecting every scrap of information, searching for a better path. He'd simply never had a chance to reveal what he knew—until now.
"So what's your point?"
"You've been rigging matches."
Match-fixing. Uben was arranging fixed matches with the Purple side.
Uben didn't flinch. Or maybe he did, but the wolf's head made it hard to read his expression.
"Based on what?"
Instinct. Just as Jiha had desperately sought a way to survive, he'd sensed Uben was doing the same.
"When two evenly matched rivals fight, no one gets suspicious over who wins or loses. And no one has to die. The crowd always wants to see another high-level bout between worthy opponents."
"..."
"Slowly stacking up wins doesn't attract much attention either."
Uben studied Jiha without a word. A wolf beastman could normally tear an ordinary human apart in seconds. But hadn't Garaon just been crushed in a single move?
"And?"
If Jiha's words reached the ears of the higher ranks, Uben would be dead. Match-fixing was never tolerated, no matter where you were.
"I have no intention of spreading this around. And I'm not trying to blackmail you."
"..."
"I told you. I'm letting it slide this once."
Uben exhaled heavily.
"So, what? You want me to get in touch with the Purple side and arrange for Hakal's killer to throw a match against you?"
"Make contact. But we won't need to script the outcome. Just arrange the fight."
Jiha's voice was calm.
"I'll be in the lineup next week. Tell that bastard to come out the same day. We settle it straight up. I'll kill him and put this matter to rest."
"...Are you serious?"
Uben looked like he couldn't believe the declaration. Even knowing match-fixing was possible, Jiha only wanted the schedule aligned?
Hakal had been strong. Commons from the same faction couldn't directly test each other's limits, but the general consensus placed Hakal among the top five in Blue. Which meant the Purple Common who killed him, Quadoran, must be a monster.
"At the very least, if I want to earn your respect."
"..."
Jiha intended to bring Uben under his control as well. Winning through fixed matches would only give Uben leverage over him, and false authority never lasted. Beyond that, he needed to eventually pull in the Purple Commons—fighters in the same wretched position. For any of that, he had to demonstrate his true strength, and demonstrate it clearly.
Uben gave a low groan.
"You're really going to do it...?"
"This is the only free pass you get. Don't test me again, Uben."
The tone was pure command, speaking to a subordinate, yet Uben didn't bristle. Jiha knew exactly why, too.
"When I ordered you to manage the other Commons, it must have blindsided you. You wanted to see my capabilities, my skill with your own eyes. You were curious whether I'm a man worth following. So you let the stage play out."
"..."
Uben considered for a moment, then let out a toothy grin.
"Fine. If you pull off what you just said, I'll follow you sincerely. And if I turn my back on you after that—kill me. I won't complain."
"Good."
Jiha turned away. Behind him, Uben spoke in a low voice.
"Win, Jiha."
It wasn't flattery.
"Win, and show me—show all of us—some hope."
"Count on it."
Jiha walked forward without hesitation.
In terms of pure physical ability, the Commons were warriors who could each fight a hundred men. Once they became his subordinates, they'd be invaluable when the time came to overturn and conquer this world.
"I'd better prepare thoroughly..."
Avenging Hakal would bring Blue Seal's Commons to his side. But Jiha had no intention of stopping there.
"Just wait."
The real work starts now.