The Gladiator's Challenge
Muslan still had that lean frame, but no one would call him frail anymore. His body radiated a sense of solid, compressed power. The muscles were packed tight, giving him an even more imposing presence than before.
When he wore loose clothes, he still looked slender at first glance, partly because his face and head were smaller than most men’s.
Regardless, the group had been riding a wave of unbroken success for the past six months.
“So you’re actually thinking of accepting that offer?”
Obben asked. Their treatment had changed completely. Because of Wiris, they weren’t allowed in the dining hall, so meals were now delivered straight to their quarters.
Thanks to that, they sat around a wide table with proper chairs, several dishes spread out before them. The food was high quality—protein-heavy, yet balanced with other nutrients.
Once they had set their goal, Muslan had paid special attention to their diet. The cost was steep, but he didn’t mind. He knew it was an investment in the right direction.
“Still don’t trust me?”
Muslan spoke while eating stew made from simmered lamb bones. It tasted excellent.
“It’s not that… but the scheme is obvious.”
“If they hadn’t told us, it would’ve been a scheme. Since they did, it isn’t. Like you said, Liscal and Roccom aren’t the type to play dirty.”
“We don’t have to accept, you know. We’re doing fine as it is.”
This time it was Isaac. Muslan’s gaze didn’t waver in the slightest.
“What do you think of our current life?”
“?”
“?”
Isaac and Obben exchanged glances at the sudden question.
“Satisfied?”
Both nodded at Muslan’s words. The meals were more than satisfying, and ever since joining him, they had even been able to bathe regularly.
“It’s satisfying.”
Isaac scratched his head with his prosthetic arm, a fork attached to it.
“That’s the poison.”
“What do you mean, poison?”
“This comfortable life is poison. Roccom Arena is better than most places. That comfort makes gladiator slaves complacent. It stops them from even thinking about escaping their status.”
“……”
“You’re both thinking the same thing. This isn’t a bad life. We’re saving money, getting stronger, staying healthy. They don’t even force us into dangerous matches. But in the end, the arena is a place where you lose everything. Do you really think you can keep winning forever?”
“There’s no behind-the-scenes manipulation in Airs’ arenas.”
“They’re fair. The arena owners keep each other in check. That’s exactly why we can’t get comfortable. Because the matches are fair, death will come fairly too.”
“……”
“……”
Isaac and Obben fell silent.
“So don’t get too attached to this life. We already set our goal, didn’t we? To gain our freedom.”
“But fighting a real gladiator is too reckless.”
Their reaction was understandable. Roccom had arranged a special match between Muslan and a gladiator.
Of course, it wasn’t Roccom’s idea. Just as he had predicted, Muslan kept winning and had become not only the star of Roccom Arena but a rising name across all of Airs. Roccom had no reason to try killing him anymore—the contract was already broken.
“Refusing might be more dangerous.”
“What do you mean?”
“We can prepare for a fight against a gladiator.”
“Well… the fact that they’re going this far means that noble is obsessed with the captain.”
“Does he have some grudge against the Maran Kingdom?”
Isaac asked.
“Who knows. Maybe there’s no grudge at all.”
“Then why?”
“It’s just a twisted hobby. He might even think of it as art.”
“Art? I don’t know anything about art, but I’ve never heard of anything like that. Is it because we’re in the sticks?”
“What you see and how you’re raised shapes how you think. Look at Chira. Can you understand why he never speaks?”
“Chira’s under a curse.”
“He’s cursed, after all.”
Isaac and Obben spoke as if it were obvious.
But to Muslan, Chira’s silence was far more likely a matter of tribal belief than any curse. Explaining it in detail wouldn’t help them understand, so he didn’t bother arguing further.
“Still, it’s disgusting. Calling it art.”
Obben grimaced.
“You think he’s really that insane?”
“Probably. But that’s actually better for us.”
“How is having a madman targeting the captain better? Just thinking about it gives me chills.”
“People like that have clear desires. Clear desires make them easier to read. If he’s even crazier than I think, he’ll probably stop after this match. That’s why we should accept.”
His firm tone left Isaac and Obben with nothing more to say. He had already proven his strength through countless victories.
“You’re accepting the offer?”
Both Roccom and Liscal looked surprised. Muslan sat before them with calm confidence. Three teacups had been prepared.
Under normal circumstances, such a meeting between slave and master would have felt strange. But this was Airs, and Muslan was a gladiator slave. Popular ones were never treated lightly. He had become a true star, and the bets placed on his matches were enormous.
Even though he only fought in hand-to-hand bouts, nobles loved watching him, so the stakes were always high. Lately, Roccom had been raking in money hand over fist. There was no reason to treat Muslan carelessly.
“Yes. I’ll do it.”
“I know your goal. You want your freedom. I won’t stop you. Having a gladiator slave like you emerge from my arena is an honor. It means I produced a truly exceptional fighter. That’s why I warned you in advance. Think it over carefully.”
“Are you under pressure?”
Roccom stared straight at him.
“I’ve been under pressure ever since I brought you in. But I told them it failed and returned the money.”
“Still, this opponent isn’t someone you can ignore.”
“True.”
“That’s why I’ll accept. I don’t want more trouble if I refuse.”
“More trouble…”
Roccom stroked his chin for a moment, then crossed his legs and leaned back.
“Yes. There could be other problems.”
“So I’ll accept.”
“It won’t be an easy fight. It’s a gladiator match, and the one they bring will likely be top-tier.”
“Probably. Someone they believe can beat me.”
“Yes. I’ve seen enough to know.”
Roccom’s expression wasn’t pleasant.
“Honestly, it feels like I’ve dodged one problem. I was worried about how to refuse. That’s how powerful the person behind this is. Still, I can’t just accept it blindly. Liscal.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Give him what we prepared.”
“?”
With that, Roccom pressed his fingers to his temples. The meeting was over.
As Muslan left with Liscal, he spoke.
“What exactly did you prepare?”
“The one targeting you is someone whose identity even the master can’t uncover. That means they’re powerful.”
“I expected as much.”
“Even if we don’t know their identity, we can still gather information.”
Muslan’s expression shifted slightly. He hadn’t expected Roccom to go that far.
“That’s unexpected.”
“What is?”
“I thought you’d just arrange the match.”
“There’s nothing more ridiculous than a slave trader being called ‘good,’ but the master is a decent owner. At least in Airs, you won’t find many like him.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Heard? It’s the truth. Don’t you agree?”
“Well, I’ve never been a gladiator slave under anyone else, so I can’t really say.”
“True… Sometimes I forget how recently you arrived. Your age, too. Watching you work, it’s hard to believe you’re that young. Is that the difference in background? The bloodline nobles always talk about?”
“You know that’s nonsense. I thought someone who’s seen as many people as you would understand that.”
Liscal chuckled. Muslan followed as Liscal led the way.
“You’re right. Even with the same blood, people are born with completely different temperaments. Look at Chira. Before he joined you, he was nothing but a coward. But now? He might not lose even against Isaac or Obben.”
“In training, maybe.”
“?”
Liscal turned to look at him.
“You’re saying that outside of training, Isaac or Obben would win?”
“At least the ones who survive would be those two. Isaac and Obben are willing to lose an arm or a leg if it means winning.”
“And Chira isn’t?”
“No. That kind of resolve can’t be taught in a short time. Even if you tell him, he won’t be able to use it. He has to realize it himself.”
“Well… Isaac and Obben have fought a lot. That’s a relief. It would’ve been a waste for them to die meaninglessly.”
“They won’t die. They’ll only get stronger.”
Instead of answering, Liscal gave Muslan’s shoulder a light pat.
“By the way, where are we going?”
“To see the taxidermist.”
Liscal answered briefly.
“We couldn’t identify the client. The person who came as their representative was of high enough status that no one dared question them.”
“Right. No one would call that hobby normal.”
“Exactly. It’s a grotesque, twisted taste.”
Muslan and Liscal had gone out. Armed men followed behind them. Muslan wore a robe that covered his face, so no one recognized him.
“Want one?”
Liscal pointed at a skewer of kuns meat.
“That’s kuns skewer, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It’s a delicacy. Especially here—the sauce is excellent.”
Liscal bought two skewers, and they ate as they walked.
“Anyway, we thought differently. A noble with such a bizarre hobby—I’ve never heard of one even here. And people with that kind of taste aren’t common.”
“So you went to the taxidermist.”
“Many people enjoy stuffing monsters or beasts. But your kind of hobby is extremely rare. When we looked into it, we found similar cases before.”