The Arena (4): The Arena’s Final Sixteen
Ubuna’s massive, headless body writhed. Was it trying to regenerate even after its head had been blown off? The jagged cross-section of its neck bubbled and churned, desperately trying to knit flesh back together. But it didn't matter.
Click—
Boom! Boom!
Hot blood splattered across my face. Click.Boom! Boom! A thick, viscous pool of blood soaked my boots. Click.Boom! Boom! It was a mechanical, emotionless execution. It was the most overwhelming and precise finishing blow, one that no regenerative ability could ever hope to outpace.
When I lowered the smoking shotgun, Ubuna had been reduced to nothing more than scattered chunks of meat. It was a fitting end for a monster that had developed a taste for hunting humans.
A deathly silence descended upon the arena. Then, a voice suddenly erupted from the high spectator stands.
“Sian! Sian! Sian!”
It was Flint. That absurd chant became the catalyst.
“Sian! Sian! Sian!”
Every spectator in the arena, drunk on the scent of blood, began to scream my alias. “Sian! He’s a god!”
I indifferently wiped my blood-streaked face.
— Sian! Sian! Sian!
“Wow, that’s brutal.”
It was the first time I’d ever seen someone shoot a shotgun with such ruthless efficiency.
“Hey there, friend. I’ve been looking all over for you. Haha.”
It was that masked man who had been loitering at the bar earlier. I wondered why he kept pestering me even after I’d made it painfully obvious I didn't want to talk to him.
“The thing that guy is using, it’s this, right?”
He pointed at my shotgun. With his middle finger, of all things. Middle finger? Did this bastard really want to die by flipping me off? But as I looked closer, I noticed his index finger was missing. Ah. It had been severed. Just now, it had been freshly cut.
Watching him try to stop the bleeding with a cloth soaked in blood, I magnanimously suppressed my anger.
“Yeah, so what?”
“Oh! Could you perhaps tell me where I can get one?”
“Go ask Lucius at the Holy See.”
If he actually went to ask, the sharp-witted Lucius would strip this guy’s identity bare in no time. Of course, I had no intention of ever selling the shotgun.
When he was rejected point-blank, I could clearly feel the man’s expression rotting behind his mask.
“Ugh. You’re really digging your heels in about not telling me, aren't you? Fine, fine. If I’d known it would be like this, I would’ve bet a finger on that friend you’re sponsoring, too.”
My gaze shifted to the two finger-ejection rings worn by the man.
“Don’t you value your fingers?”
“Kekeke. It doesn’t matter. They sell high-grade regenerative potions after the arena matches end anyway. That kind of thing isn't important.”
I see. So because he can just reattach them even if they get cut off, losing a few fingers is no big deal. Did he think I’d say that?
“You’re a lunatic. Shoo, shoo. Get lost.”
“A lunatic, you say? They say the darkest place is under the candlestick. Turn around and look.”
At the man’s words, I furrowed my brow and turned around. Since I was in the front row of the VIP seats, I had no reason to look behind me. But then.
“…….”
The twenty or so distinguished guests in the VIP section. Those elegantly dressed bastards all had blood-soaked bandages wrapped around one hand. It was a bizarre, incomprehensible sight. Moreover, these madmen had rings lined up on every remaining finger.
“Since you seem to be a newbie, I’ll let you in on a secret.”
The masked man giggled, waving his dripping hand.
“You’re the only one here wearing only one ring.”
Something to be proud of, you crazy bastard.
Just then, the announcer’s shout, loud enough to tear the speakers apart, drowned out the noise from the stands.
The final 16 have been decided!!! Participants, please lower the weapons pointed at each other!
The announcement, which came at the perfect time, sliced through our uncomfortable conversation. The long, chaotic brawl was over, and the preliminaries had ended.
I turned my gaze away from the masked man without a hint of regret and looked down at the arena below the railing. Thirteen survivors were standing in the mud, splattered with blood and entrails, gasping for air.
What about the remaining three, you ask? What do you mean, what about them? It’s exactly who you think: Sion with his double-barrel, Tangbun the romantic swordsman who had been drawing lines with blood, and the woman who looked like a noble, drowning people with water-attribute magic. Only those three were strangely unscathed.
“Kek. It’s a shame Ubuna fell, but I’m glad two of them survived.”
The man’s gaze was fixed on the woman using mana. “You. Do you know who that woman is?”
“Of course. She’s the one I’m sponsoring.”
What is this guy’s real identity? He’s sponsoring a woman who looks like a noble?
“She looks like a noble, so why is she playing around in a place like this?”
“Ah, that? Sometimes you get people whose brains are fried like that.”
Fried brains? Is she a dopamine addict? I scanned the woman standing alone in the arena again. Looking closely, the fingertips of the woman who had been casting magic were trembling minutely. Where had I seen that before? Right, it reminded me of a senior in the lab who used to tremble while chewing nicotine gum. It was withdrawal.
But if she was experiencing symptoms like that despite being able to get cigarettes or cigars whenever she wanted, then could it be…?
“You’re thinking the right thing. I told her I’d give her a few if she won here.”
The masked man giggled vilely, as if he were incredibly proud of his toy. A sponsor who gets a noble mage hooked on drugs and uses her as a fighting dog in the arena. That must be why he was so desperate to hide behind a mask and avoid revealing his identity. He was a malicious piece of work, on a different level even among the crazies.
— The tournament bracket has just been finalized. The brackets will be distributed to the spectator stands by the guides, so please wait a moment.
Before the echoes of the speaker had even faded, large agents moved through the VIP section, handing out a single sheet of paper each. It was the bracket for the round of 16. I quickly scanned it with my eyes. As expected, the board had been rigged.
Three favorites to win that would draw the interest of the VIPs: Sion, the drug-addicted mage, and the Eastern swordsman. The three who would catch the audience’s eyes were set up so they would never face each other in the round of 16 or the quarterfinals. If things went according to the bracket, Sion would meet that woman in the semifinals and Tangbun in the finals.
“My, my. This bracket is set up quite interestingly, isn't it?”
The masked man next to me giggled and glanced my way. “The friend you’re pushing and my toy are set to meet in the semifinals, aren't they? I’m already looking forward to this.”
I ignored the masked man’s words and headed to the betting counter. The counter clerk calculated the four gold coins I’d bet earlier and handed them over. The odds had paid off well, and the four gold coins had grown to twelve. Instead of taking the pile of gold the clerk offered, I pushed it right back into the counter.
“All-in on Sian.”
“Are you betting the full 12 gold on contestant Sian?”
“Yeah. I’m not going to bet anywhere else until the finals, so just keep betting it all-in every round.”
The matches proceeded in a flash. Sion comfortably secured his spot in the semifinals without even needing to fire his shotgun. The match between the favorite Tangbun and the drug-addicted mage was also so overwhelming it was yawn-inducing. What actually caught my eye were the matches between unknown, nameless fighters. It was a true bottom-of-the-barrel dogfight, where they poked eyes, kicked groins, and bit each other’s ears off.
“That’s it! No, not that! Dodge it!”
As I found myself clutching popcorn and shouting, leaning against the railing, the masked man next to me looked at me with a strange expression.
“……Friend, you have quite a unique taste. Is a pathetic fight like that fun?”
“Shut your mouth. These kinds of brawls are always the most thrilling.”
It was 100 times more fun than acting noble and casting magic. It stimulated the shallowest instincts of humanity, you could say. Honestly, I couldn't help but find myself cheering for them more than Sion.
After the match that made me clench my fists ended, the announcer’s voice immediately rang through the arena.
— From now on, the real fight begins!! First match of the semifinals! Sian vs. Brulli!
“Waaaaah!!!”
“Brulli! Brulli!”
“Sian! Sian!”
“Oh! Friend, it’s starting.”
The masked man leaned against the railing, chattering in an excited voice. I looked down at the arena without answering. Sion and the masked man’s drug-addicted mage stood facing each other at opposite ends of the blood-stained arena.
Click—
That single, clunky sound of Sion’s reloading was enough to light the fuse for the entire arena.
“Hey, hey! Is he finally going to fire that?!”
“That’s the weapon that blew Ubuna’s head off!!”
“Sian! Sian! Sian!”
The spectators began to stomp their feet as if they’d made a pact, chanting Sian’s name like fanatics. The insane fervor of those who had witnessed the destructive power of that hunk of iron shook the arena violently.
Seeing the weapon I had carved and polished being praised so fervently sent a strange, exhilarating sensation down my spine.
The atmosphere on the opposite side of Sion was quite different. Brulli, the drug-addicted mage, was calmly observing Sion’s hand movements even amidst the audience’s insane cheers.
“Is she timing the reload?”
“Hm? What was that, friend?”
“Just talking to myself.”
I thought her brain would have melted from the drugs, but it seemed that wasn't the case. She still had enough tactical reason left to aim for the split-second opening after a shot was fired. Sion had better not let his guard down.
— Now, I won’t talk for long! Tear them apart! Kill them! Survive! Staaaaart!!!
Boom—!!
It was before the announcer’s shout had even dissipated into the air. Without a moment to gauge distance or engage in a battle of nerves, a ruthless gunshot tore through the stadium the moment it began. Unlike magic, which requires chanting, a gun only requires a flick of a finger. Proving that cruel truth, Sion pulled the trigger without a single shred of hesitation.
A preemptive strike that threw reconnaissance out the window. It was a magnificent shot that perfectly suited my taste.