The Arena's Mockery – A Gladiator's First Step
The taunting voice cut through the clamor of the crowd, sharp and mocking, like a blade scraping across bone. “Hey, how about a little look at your real skills, new meat?”
…What ridiculous words are you spouting, human.
The centaur warrior’s brow furrowed deeply, his massive hooves shifting in the sand as if to crush it beneath his weight. Yet he held back any further display of emotion. It seemed he viewed the insult not as an affront, but merely as the babbling of some young child.
He had no idea who Vesta was or what kind of man he represented. To him, the boy with the sword felt no different from any other insignificant creature—weak, powerless, unworthy of consuming even a moment of his time.
He had never even considered the boy as a worthy opponent for a duel.
The centaurs gathered in the stands were of the same mind. They could not hide their astonishment.
—He’s not even on horseback, and he’s fighting bare-handed!
—He’s not even an elf, but a human?
Tsk. The opening was anything but smooth.
The centaur warrior shook his head, deciding in that instant that he would end the contest as quickly as possible and move on to the real fight ahead. The one that would bring him glory and fortune.
A real fight. The kind that could secure wealth and honor against a worthy adversary.
Try to surrender as fast as you can. Even if I hold back, that young human won’t be able to endure it.
Vesta let out a light, mocking chuckle at the warrior’s words. The centaur’s expression darkened once more, a deeper crease forming between his brows.
Let the match begin.
Following the referee’s signal, the fighters stepped back. Just as Bia had described, the distance seemed far enough to allow for a proper bout.
‘If I hadn’t practiced beforehand, this distance would feel far more unnatural.’
Looking at the open ground around him, Vesta understood that this was not a rule set for humans. It belonged to the centaurs alone: a tradition of racing on four powerful legs, building speed with each powerful stride.
Ready?
Yes—
Both Vesta and the centaur warrior nodded in agreement.
Hoo—
As Vesta exhaled deeply in preparation, the referee called out the starting signal.
Begin!
The match erupted into motion. At the same moment, the centaur warrior drove his hooves into the earth with explosive force.
BOOM—!
Vesta’s eyes narrowed, carefully assessing the speed. Objectively speaking, it was not slow. A heavy mass charging forward at terrifying velocity. It was beyond impressive.
But to Vesta, it was not enough. He could sense that the opponent was holding nothing back.
‘He’s not going all out.’
It was the same mistake that the gladiators of the Empire had repeatedly made. The centaur warrior was repeating it now.
The centaur warrior brought his fist down like a meteor, striking the ground with a thunderous boom. A vibration raced up through Vesta’s feet.
‘That vibration… that is the true power of my opponent.’
It was a force no human could possess.
When facing a centaur, there were several major obstacles. And among them—
BOOM—!
The shockwave made Vesta’s legs tremble with increasing tension. His pulse quickened.
‘That destructive power is the greatest obstacle.’
Even just the raw strength made a child versus an adult seem like a child’s toy. But the real problem came when that strength was combined with speed.
BOOM—! BOOM—! BOOM—!
The warrior carried the power to crush a human under his feet.
It was impossible to replicate with a human body.
Yet if a human could not fight against such power—if he were simply weak—he would have no reason to exist in the world as a bestiarius who hunted beasts.
Vesta had once fought bears. He had battled lions, tigers. Of course, a centaur was a far more dangerous foe; these creatures wielded blades and spears instead of claws.
‘Yes. No blades.’
That very difference gave Vesta a ray of hope for victory.
‘In the end, it will be a blade fight. And in a blade fight, weight classes do not exist. Even a giant dies if stabbed.’
No matter how powerful a centaur became his opponent, Vesta’s skill with a sword would never fall short.
—I must move now.
From this point forward, not a single mistake could be allowed.
‘Is the hand holding the weapon his right?’
Vesta shifted his stance to the opposite side of the hand the centaur warrior was using. That alone gave him a slight advantage.
Whether the centaur warrior switched hands or twisted his body made no difference. Either way, it favored Vesta.
The warrior did not switch hands. So how would he attack the enemy positioned on the opposite side?
Would he twist his body?
‘No.’
The warrior did not do that.
If neither hand nor body changed direction, it meant he intended to change his attacking method entirely.
The centaur warrior’s preferred attack involved building speed and swinging downward with devastating force. That style was wide and powerful, making it difficult to defend against.
But it was not suitable for attacking an opponent on the opposite side. He would likely attempt something else.
Vesta had a good idea of what was coming.
—Not a downward swing, but a full overhead strike.
If that was the case, he would only need to move his arm and shoulder to change the direction of attack, without shifting his entire body.
Whoosh—
Vesta’s prediction was perfect.
The centaur warrior brought his blade down in a straight vertical strike, aiming to crack Vesta’s helmet and subdue him.
He had no intention of blocking it. Doing so would only result in being crushed by the weapon itself.
Vesta pushed his body even farther toward the opposite side of the centaur warrior’s sword hand. Because he had predicted every movement of his opponent, he dodged the lightning-fast descending blade with perfect timing.
—What do you think a human can—
While evading, Vesta imagined driving his head between the opponent’s legs. That would tangle the centaur’s limbs and deliver a crushing blow.
But winning in that manner would not earn him fame. He needed recognition, not just any victory.
‘What I need is not an ordinary win. I must obtain a victory that will be remembered by everyone.’
For Arin’s sake, he had to raise his name’s value. And to do that, he needed the audience’s cheers to rise.
Fortunately, Vesta knew exactly how to fight for such a victory.
He was a boy born in the arena.
Remember this, little one. What matters most is victory and your own life. But do not forget that we are fighters who exist for the sake of others.
Do you remember my words?
You. What?
The challenger is you, isn’t it?
Vesta smiled mockingly and lowered his sword. He deliberately left his guard wide open. The crowd in the stands froze in shock.
The centaur warrior exploded with rage, as if insulted to the face.
A downward slashing strike aimed from below.
SWISH—
Vesta tilted his head slightly, evading the blade tip as if performing a death-defying stunt.
Like a rat—!
The centaur warrior planted his feet firmly and prepared to fight. Vesta’s eyes gleamed with anticipation.
Only the moment when the opponent’s rear hooves were planted and his full weight transferred, locking his body in place. He had been waiting for that exact instant.
The descending blade, cracking like a helmet, carried the centaur’s unique strength—too fast and too powerful.
But from the stance, Vesta could see exactly how far the blade tip would reach. His eyes were unmatched in reading that distance.
Vesta’s foot pushed smoothly against the ground. Thousands, perhaps millions, of repetitions of a natural footwork that had become instinctive.
Vesta’s body shot backward like an arrow.
‘Now I’ve tied down his feet.’
In swordsmanship, footwork was the most important element. Good footwork allowed you to close the distance, and bad footwork kept you from being closed upon.
‘That’s why you were just waiting for me to plant my feet.’
If you don’t use your lower body to step, the attack becomes far too simple. Distance becomes easy to control. The centaur warrior’s attack range had fallen perfectly into his own.
The blade tip grazed Vesta’s nose.
—Ah!
A collective gasp or cry of alarm rose from the stands. A reaction all too familiar to Vesta.
KU—WHAM.
The wooden hilt slammed into the ground.
—Hah!
Vesta stomped the hilt’s end. The centaur warrior pulled his blade back, retreating as his body moved away.
Can a human press down on my blade like this—!
The force was enormous; it pulled Vesta’s body forward. But he never lost his balance.
Do you still need to press it down?
He thrust his left leg forward to regain balance. The centaur warrior’s thumb was crushed beneath Vesta’s iron heel.
One step forward. He planted his foot on the forearm.
At the same time, he shortened his grip on the sword.
Since you’ve already given up the distance—?
The centaur warrior’s eyes widened in pure shock.
Vesta swung the underside of the short grip—specifically the hilt’s leather wrapping—with lightning speed.
—!
The centaur warrior’s eyes rolled back from the impact on his jaw. A blow aimed at the ultimate weakness, one that even his centaur durability could not endure.
—What… what is this… I can’t…
The staggering warrior. Vesta did not press the attack and retreated instead.
Before the opponent could even fall, he raised one hand high.
BOOM—!
The centaur warrior collapsed.
—!
Cheers erupted across the entire arena, drowning out everything else.
Among all those present, the one who was most overjoyed was Ashtien, though no explanation was needed for that obvious truth.
If Ahor had been beside her, she would have quietly tried to stop the Khan. Khan… it is still too early to show such emotion…
Although Ahor was absent, the role fell to Arin to fulfill.
—WAAAAAHHHHHHH—!
She, too, let out an equally fierce cheer.