Chapter 5: To Live, You Must Win - 3
Chapter 5: To Live, You Must Win - 3
Blue Seal and Purple Liberation.
The two factions that divided Warsland.
Commonly referred to as Blue and Purple.
The two sides, after a war that brought countless sacrifices—the Thousand-Year War—had finally reached an armistice.
But political opposition, disputes over resources, and long-held grudges remained unresolved, leaving the embers of conflict smoldering.
So the leaders of Blue and Purple decided to avoid direct combat and instead settle their power struggle through a proxy war of sorts.
They agreed to bring the participants for this proxy war from a world outside of Warsland.
This was the reason for the existence of Common—slaves forcibly summoned from another world and made to fight.
"Goddamn lunatics, the lot of them."
Walking down the dark, narrow passage, Jiha grumbled.
They don't want to settle it themselves, so they drag in other people to fight for them?
It was an incredibly selfish line of thinking.
Though Jiha grumbled freely, his guide—a Normal Grade man walking ahead—didn't look back.
Looking at the man's small, frail back, Jiha swallowed his words.
Men did exist in Warsland, a world of female supremacy and male inferiority.
Only the vast majority couldn't handle Mana and thus were never treated properly.
Trying to fight without Mana in Warsland was like charging a machine gun with your bare fists.
"Anyway......"
But things were different now.
Jiha looked down at his hand and focused his Mana.
Red Mana coiled around his arm, then soon shifted to blue.
Just as he could retract his fangs, he could change the color of his Mana through sheer will.
Mana of a completely different color—it would be better to hide it for now.
At the end of the passage, light began to show.
Before today, this had only brought on bleak thoughts, but now his heart was pounding with excitement.
Because today, he was going to win.
"This fighter isn't really worth explaining. From Korea, 28 battles, 28 losses! The man who's here to lose again today—Jiha!"
Along with the rabbit beastman announcer's spiel, Jiha entered the circular arena.
The thousands of spectators, overwhelmingly women, simply regarded him with cold indifference.
Utter disregard, without even a jeer.
Jiha ignored them as well and scanned the VIP seats.
In the VIP section, where only Uniques and above could sit, he found two familiar faces.
The succubus Yura, and the dark elf he had a bet with, Enril.
When their eyes met, Enril sniffed and turned her head.
Incredibly haughty.
The rabbit woman's commentary continued.
"And the opponent he will face is a brutal tyrant! No one who's faced him has survived! A beast forever thirsting for blood! 6 fights, 6 wins...... The Alligator! Zrambul!!"
"Waaaaaah!!"
"Bite him to death today too!!!"
A unified cheer erupted from the crowd, and Jiha was taken aback.
His opponent was a Common who had been making a name for himself recently in Purple.
Strange.
If Jiha was the opponent, the weakest Common from Purple's side should have been fielded.
Wasting a strong fighter on Jiha, who was on a 28-loss streak, made no sense.
"Could it be......."
Under Jiha's gaze, Enril smiled coldly and pointed her thumb downward.
A hollow laugh escaped him.
"That two-faced bitch really......."
This bizarre matchup was a trap set by Enril.
A lowly creature dared to make a demand of her? This was payback.
The anger was fleeting; Jiha turned his eyes toward the opposite entrance.
A 2-meter-20-centimeter green alligator-human was lumbering out.
"Zrambul! Chew him up again today!!"
"Tear that pathetic human to pieces!!"
"Kill him! Kill him!!"
As Zrambul raised both arms high and roared, the shouts grew louder.
The excitement was for the spectacle of carnage to come, the anticipation of flying blood.
"Hoo......."
Jiha calmly reined in his emotions.
Facing an alligator monster on a hot streak was an unexpected curveball, but this wasn't the time to whine.
He would win.
He absolutely had to win.
Win, and from today, he'd turn this shitty world upside down.
The moment Jiha clenched his fist, the announcer shouted loudly.
"Winner take Freedom!!"
With that cry, the match began.
Once the match started, Jiha began to slowly circle the arena.
His movements stirred a commotion in the stands.
"He's not surrendering?"
"Is he actually planning to fight? Against Zrambul of all people?"
"He'll die today!"
The stands quickly boiled over, anticipating the blood about to be spilled.
Jiha coolly observed Zrambul.
In his hands: a sword and a shield. If caught in that massive mouth, Jiha's body would be torn to pieces. On top of that, he had a thick, powerful tail.
In contrast, Jiha, without the money to buy equipment, was bare-handed.
He expected the beast to underestimate him and charge right in, but Zrambul was cautiously watching Jiha's movements.
His neck rotated a full 360 degrees—Jiha had no clue how those joints were built.
"A surprise attack is out of the question......."
The alligator-human, on a winning streak, was a cautious type despite his reputation as a bloodthirsty madman.
Only when Jiha stopped did Zrambul begin to move slowly.
He covered his body with his shield and edged closer. Steady and solid.
"Hm."
Jiha retreated, step by step—a cowed reaction. Zrambul's eyes narrowed, and he gripped his sword tightly.
He sensed his advantage, realizing he could seize an easy victory.
The shield came down slightly as he prepared to shift to the offensive.
'This guy doesn't know me. But I know him.......'
Jiha had never fought properly, so there was no information on him.
On the other hand, Jiha had investigated the Purple fighters scheduled for today as thoroughly as he could.
Jiha's back hit the wall as he retreated.
Zrambul lowered his shield completely and strode in.
"In a single strike......."
In that instant, Jiha unleashed his Mana and drove off the ground, his body lunging forward explosively.
Zrambul's horrified face rushed closer, and Jiha drove a Mana-charged fist forward.
Craaash!!
Jiha's fist struck Zrambul squarely in the face, sending him flying back three meters.
Zrambul teetered backward as if to fall, but managed to hold his ground, gasping for breath.
Blood streamed from his nose, which had taken a direct hit.
But he was still standing.
"......It's not over?"
The surprise attack had failed, and the enemy was on the defensive, but Jiha didn't pursue.
Zrambul had his body covered as best he could with his shield.
And the strain of suddenly channeling his Mana left Jiha's chest feeling tight and painful.
Increasing his vampiric Mana output beyond a certain threshold put a strain on his body.
"Tougher than I expected......."
Like most Common, Zrambul was a physical powerhouse.
Against a human, that attack would have shattered a skull, but he had endured it, and Jiha needed a short breather.
Protecting his head with his shield, Zrambul was closing in, slowly.
A surprise attack was no longer viable.
Jiha kept his attention on Zrambul's sword and began to measure the distance.
Standing over 2 meters tall and wielding a thick broadsword, Zrambul had far greater reach. But Jiha possessed Mana that could momentarily enhance his body.
As the two stood poised for a single decisive blow, a hush fell over the stands.
They realized the match would be decided in a flash.
"Hoo......."
The moment the distance seemed right, Zrambul swiftly brought his sword down.
Jiha hastily dodged to the side, kicked off the ground, and thrust out a fist filled with Mana.
Clang!!
Zrambul's body, having blocked with his shield, was pushed back considerably.
Using more than a certain amount of Mana at once—say, seven out of ten points—caused aftereffects, so this time he'd struck with five.
The iron shield was scarred, but not broken.
"......."
Zrambul, his face tense, cautiously approached again.
His shield prevented Jiha from attacking recklessly. But without attacking, he couldn't win.
The sparring for distance resumed. Zrambul swung his sword down again.
Jiha again dodged to the side and was about to counter when he saw Zrambul twisting and his eyes went wide.
A heavy tail was sweeping toward Jiha's side.
"Kuhuck!!"
Hit by the tail, Jiha's body staggered and was knocked backward.
Reinforced by Mana, he had endured it, but his ribs ached.
A direct hit without that would have shattered every rib, leaving him unable to fight.
Seizing the opportunity, Zrambul closed in quickly. Seeing the enemy raise his sword high, Jiha opened his mouth.
In the past, he would have surrendered and begged for his life. But not anymore.
"It's over!"
Recklessly, Jiha threw himself at Zrambul.
Zrambul looked surprised but didn't pull back his attack.
No one survives having a sword cleave into their skull.
Claaang!!
But the sword that struck Jiha's head emitted a metallic clang and bounced off.
The request he'd made to Okram had just paid off!
Faced with an impossible situation, Zrambul was shocked and tried to attack with his tail, but Jiha's fist was already driving forward.
"H'yaaaap!!!"
A fist loaded with the full ten points of Mana slammed into Zrambul's jaw.
The sensation of shattering bone and pulverizing flesh.
Zrambul's body went flying through the air.
"......."
As the fallen Zrambul didn't move, silence settled over the stands.
The rabbit beastman announcer, snapping out of her shock, raised her voice.
"What's this, what is this!! An upset! A massive upset!! Zrambul, on his winning streak, has lost, and the human on his losing streak has won! A victory no one expected, a victory no one bet on!!"
The excited announcer poured out words in a rapid-fire torrent and then declared loudly.
"The winner is...... Jiha!!!"
With that declaration, the silence of the crowd shattered.
"Waaaaaah!!"
"Kill him!!"
"Kill hiiiim!!"
The crowd went wild for the rise of a new victor, crying out for blood.
The winner of the Summoning War had the right to kill the loser.
And the dead fighter's equipment became the winner's by right.
Zrambul tried to push himself up somehow, but his head was still rattled and he couldn't control his limbs.
Approaching Zrambul, Jiha looked at the scattered weapons.
Sword and shield. Sturdy armaments, but too large for Jiha to wield.
They were weapons made for a non-human species in the first place.
"......."
Having made up his mind, Jiha took Zrambul's flailing hand and pulled him up.
The struggling Zrambul looked at him with a stunned expression, then bowed his head deeply.
Because Jiha had spared him.
"Ooooooh!!"
"Booooo!!"
Instead of snuffing out Zrambul's life, Jiha helped him up, and a chorus of jeers erupted from the stands.
No wonder they were furious—they'd come for blood and got none.
In place of words, Jiha raised his middle finger toward the stands.
The Warsland natives likely had never seen the gesture before, but they seemed to get the idea, as they all started throwing various objects at him.
Standing before a rain of filth and garbage, Jiha muttered.
"That's right, bark for now. I'll smash it all to pieces soon enough."
Jiha was determined to overturn this world of female dominance and male subjugation.
As the victor, he had absolutely no intention of entertaining the crowd.
Just then, Zrambul placed himself in front of Jiha.
"You......."
His body still broken, Zrambul shielded Jiha from the oncoming garbage. Watching his back, Jiha started to speak but stopped.
The intent was being conveyed clearly enough.
"Well, then......."
Jiha looked up at the VIP seats.
Enril's face was twisted as if she'd just bitten into a bug.
Jiha pointed a finger at her and spoke.
She wouldn't hear him at this distance, but the meaning would carry.
"Now it's my turn, you bitch."
His first victory.
Now it was time to collect his prize.