The Arena (2)
We set off to enter the arena opening tonight. Dopang personally guided us on the way. You’d think a broker would be worried about a client dying in a brawl, but this woman seemed strangely excited. Then again, being a citizen of Salem isn't for just anyone.
"Sion. You can give up. There's no need to push yourself."
"Do you know who I am? Are you worried about losing your fingers?"
"Yeah. If I fought myself, the probability of losing would be close to zero, but you’re a total amateur who gets beaten even by people with no abilities. I’m just anxious about entrusting my pretty fingers to you."
Our bickering ended the moment Dopang stopped walking.
"Well, we’ve arrived! This is the pride of Salem, the main entrance to the underground arena."
I ignored Dopang’s stream of useless information—like how it was located in the center of Salem or how there were plenty of secret passages to escape through in an emergency—and stared at the entrance. I had imagined a bloody, filthy back-alley entrance, but it was surprisingly clean and orderly. I suppose that’s what it means to be a top-tier establishment in this city.
"Just show your identification tags here and go in. I’ll be heading back now. Handsome, please take care of your fingers. It would be a shame if you couldn't interlock them during a date later, wouldn't it? Haha."
"You have the nerve to say that after scamming me? Damn it. Hey, Sion, don't hold me back."
Of course, Sion didn't even grab my collar, but I gestured wildly at the air as if someone were desperately holding me back, making sure to convey the nuance of being forcibly restrained. Dopang giggled at my pathetic little drama and vanished into the darkness.
Sion jerked his chin toward the hulking guards checking IDs at the entrance and whispered low.
"The guys here aren't amateurs. Those gatekeepers are at least Silver-rank mercenaries."
"...Is that strong?"
I asked back, genuinely curious. What even is Silver-rank? I don't know that kind of stuff. It’s not like there were many scenes with mercenaries in the novel anyway. Sion stared at my face as if he were sick of my blatant ignorance. I had reached the level where I could perfectly grasp his emotions just by looking at those thin, slit eyes. It was a look that said, 'What kind of guy is this?' Sion really didn't deserve to be a 'slit-eyed' character. He didn't even hide his inner thoughts like one. You know, that mysterious, suspicious vibe? He was just transparent; there was no intimidation factor at all.
"*Sigh*, forget it. You’re hopeless. If they’re Silver-rank, just think of them as official knights who don't use aura."
"So, what I'm asking is, how strong is this 'official knight' guy?"
"..."
"..."
He fell silent, seemingly at a loss for words at my unwavering confidence. Soon, he began massaging his temples as if a headache were coming on. I could see him struggling to find an analogy that fit my level.
"You know that revolver you use? If someone can take a few shots from that and be fine, they're knight-level."
Ah, he should have said that sooner. I finally understood the power balance of this world perfectly and nodded.
"I understand completely. So Kyle is weaker than an official knight."
"...Kyle? Kyle von Leonhardt? What kind of nonsense is that?"
"There are things you don't know."
Sion seemed to be protesting in shock, but I ignored him and walked toward the entrance guarded by the bouncers.
"Here."
I showed them the wooden tag, and they opened the way immediately. They didn't even care that we had shotguns strapped to our backs. Is it because everyone carries weapons here anyway? Regardless, I followed the path down. I don't know if they dug a massive tunnel or renovated a sewer, but the entrance leading underground was overwhelmingly huge. As we descended deep underground along the endless stairs, a strange, pungent smell of sweat and perfume hit us. And then, a world completely different from before unfolded.
"Whoa, this is insane."
Flashy magic stone lights that could blind you, a massive space that looked like it could hold thousands of people. And the scorching heat that filled the room. To think such a magnificent colosseum was hidden in the bottom of a lawless city. I couldn't help but let out an exclamation.
It was then, while I was lost in the overwhelming scale of the arena, that a man in a neat suit appeared from behind me and bowed very politely.
"Sponsor, holder of the VIP pass, I shall escort you to the VIP waiting room."
I flashed a satisfied smile and waved at Sion, who was being shoved by hulking brutes toward the dingy participant waiting room.
"See you later, Sion. Make sure you win."
I cheered from behind Sion's back and followed the staff member with a light step. 'But how exactly are they going to cut off my finger?' My question didn't last long. The man in the suit standing in front of the VIP waiting room door very politely handed me a case. Inside lay a crude metal ring engraved with strange patterns.
"Which finger would you like to wear it on, Sponsor?"
The man's voice was as soft as a Sunday school teacher's, but the content was brutal. I suppose it's a lawless city for a reason; there's no way a normal human would be here. I stared down at my fingers seriously. The thumb is needed to hold the grip, and the index finger has to pull the trigger. The middle and ring fingers are essential for controlling recoil. In the end, only one was left.
"...The left pinky."
At the same time as my choice, the crude artifact was slipped onto my left pinky.
"What is this? It doesn't feel like much."
"It is structured to activate a magic seal if the Sponsor's champion is defeated. Please be aware that the seal is a cutting spell. Have a pleasant time."
The moment Sion is judged to have lost, this devious ring will 'snip' my finger off. Sion won't lose. I even gave him the double-barrel; it would be harder to lose. Yeah. That's right. Probably. Yeah. I tried to force my brain to stay positive, but the thought that the ring on my left pinky could turn me into an amputee in the blink of an eye made me shudder.
To shake off this damn anxiety, I leaned casually against the bar counter and gestured to the bartender with a flourish.
"A cocktail."
"What would you like me to prepare?"
"The weakest one you have."
For a moment, a strange silence fell. I could feel the bartender scanning me up and down as if I were a terrifying lunatic for sitting in the VIP section of an underground arena—a place overflowing with blood and money—and asking for the 'weakest alcohol' available. What are you looking at? Ever seen someone who can't drink?
"...Understood."
He turned away with a less-than-pleased response.
"Haha! This friend is something else. To drink something like water in a place like this. You must be out of your mind."
A man wearing a flashy mask approached, laughing heartily. The moment I saw the hand he thrust out, I almost let out a scoff. The fingers of this madman were covered in scars like medals, as if they had been severed by sharp blades and forcibly reattached multiple times. Even worse, his right hand was adorned with three of those bizarre joint-guarantee rings, identical to the one strangling my pinky.
"Looking at the state of your fingers, I think I'm the one who's perfectly sane here."
"Hahaha! Is that so?"
The man didn't care about my sarcasm and naturally squeezed his butt into the seat next to me.
"Hey, bartender. Give me the strongest thing you've got."
"Understood."
Glancing sideways at the man confidently ordering hard liquor, I drew a cold line.
"I don't have a hobby of drinking with grown men I don't know."
"I do. Anyway, which family are you from? To crawl into a blood-soaked place like this at such a young age... You don't seem like an amateur."
The man rested his chin on his hand and tried to fish for information. But I scoffed and cut him off sharply.
"If you want to dig into someone else's identity, it's polite to reveal your own first. Why don't you take off that cumbersome mask before we talk?"
"Haha, my, my. You're quite the prickly friend. Heh. Well, fine. Forget it."
The man didn't seem affected at all by my sharp response, waving his hand lightly and backing off.
"Your beer and Salem liquor."
Salem liquor? The naming sense of just slapping the town name on it is truly trash. No, wait. Beer? I lost my mind looking at the cool, golden barley tea placed in front of me. Hey, you unscrupulous bartender. I clearly asked for the weakest cocktail, who told you to just shove a beer at me? How can you call yourself a VIP-only bar in an underground arena and serve beer just because you're too lazy to make a cocktail? This sewer of a lawless city has absolutely no business ethics; I can't let my guard down for even a second.
"..."
I glared at the bartender as if I were going to kill him while holding the sloshing beer glass. But he ignored my burning gaze and just kept wiping a glass indifferently. Should I just shoot him once? My hand went to my waist before I knew it. It's not like the revolver is a shrimp cracker, either.
Oblivious to my inner turmoil, the masked man next to me was gulping down his Salem liquor—or whatever it was—with gusto.
"Phew...! This stuff is the best. Everything else outside doesn't even taste like alcohol. Hey, bartender. Can't you just slip me a hint on where you get this stuff?"
"I apologize, customer. Due to our arena's business policy, I cannot disclose that."
"I know. That's the fourth time I've heard that. A pity."
Just then, an announcement echoed through the arena.
[In 30 minutes, the main event of the arena will begin.]
They managed to implement speakers? Magic is omnipotent. That's why engineering is ruined. I left the seat without even touching the beer.
"Hmm? Young friend, where are you going? If you wait a little longer, the match will start; why don't you watch it leisurely with me?"
"Forget it. I prefer being alone."
I cut off the masked man's suggestion and walked toward the spectator sets. Since there was a betting window on the way, I naturally bet 4 gold coins on Sion. It was blood money I had extorted—no, received as a fair settlement—from that half-demon guy last time. For the record, I used a pseudonym for the fighter's name. It's 'Sian', not Sion. My sponsor name is also a pseudonym, of course. It's 'Plant'. Perfect disguise.
Looking at the betting board, there were only two names with the lowest odds. 'Tangbun', whom I had to catch, and 'Ubuna Furak Mura', who was the current champion. Judging by the name, the champion didn't look like a human, but what can you do? Sion will figure it out. There aren't even any churches in this neighborhood to begin with. ThSt must be why demons and the like can openly run criminal organizations and rule the roost. One more monster isn't going to be anything new.
A while later, the emcee standing in the center of the arena raised a megaphone.
"Now, the match begins! Spectators, please shout for the fighter you have bet on!!"
Waaaaaaaah—!!!!
With a scream that tore through my eardrums, the tightly closed iron gate opened. Dozens of people poured out at once. Among them, Sion walked out holding the double-barrel shotgun.
"The rules are simple, as always! From now on, kill or be killed; only the last 16 survivors will advance to the finals. Now, now, now!! Start!!"
A brutal, massive brawl began. I clenched my fists in the VIP seat. Go, Sion! Shotgun blast! The crazy match that my finger was staked on had begun.