Chapter 10
Translator: True Detective
Chapter 10: I Will Never Again
Gladiator slave life is more leisurely than expected.
Wake up early in the morning and do chores.
Enter a gladiatorial match and die.
If lucky enough to live, sleep soundly, wake up, and do chores and gladiator fighting again.
Infinitely repeat this, and that’s it.
Until death.
But who am I?
‘A slave sponsored by Renoa.’
Before that, I was burdened with all sorts of miscellaneous chores, but after Renoa became my sponsor, they completely disappeared.
It was thanks to Bardick’s consideration-that-is-not-consideration, telling me not to waste strength on useless things and focus on matches.
‘Nothing bad about it.’
Since now I just have to eat delicious food and train all day. Then just run a match once and it’s done.
For reference, gladiators stealing my food ended with just that one day. It seemed Bardick had strictly warned them.
‘That’s right.’
One must take care of one’s own slave.
Finally, the world is turning somewhat properly.
“Hey, get ready. It’s your turn soon.”
“Yes sir.”
Preparing for the match, I choose a weapon.
Without long hesitation, I gripped a small one-handed sword suitable for my physique.
“Why are you using a sword instead of a pickaxe for a change?”
“It broke in the last match so I can’t use it.”
The pickaxe only I used had its handle broken in two.
I did overwork it.
It wasn't like the quality was good either.
Above all, the reason for choosing a sword.
‘I have to build proficiency.’
I raised it to level 3 in just a week since unlocking Lowest Grade Swordsmanship proficiency.
It was thanks to the [Grace of Chains] skill I received recently doing its job properly.
And originally, making 1 from 0 is hard, but making 2 from 1 is easier than thought.
‘Or maybe it’s because the grade is low.’
It’s Lowest Grade.
Not just Low Grade, but Lowest Grade.
Which means.
‘Will it evolve if I build up all the proficiency?’
From Lowest Grade to Low Grade.
From Low Grade to Middle Grade.
From Middle Grade to High Grade.
It seems plausible.
And originally, it’s a national rule that leveling up is easy when you’re a low level.
I have to grow it quickly.
So that I can preserve my life.
—Clank.
The iron gate opened.
I walked out to the arena.
As the skill is applied, vitality springs up in my body as if I received a priest’s blessing.
It feels good to become healthy, but it’s not exactly a pleasant moment.
Because eventually, I’m being pushed into a place of death.
‘I hate the jeering too.’
When fighting, adrenaline pumps and I focus only on combat so I don't hear it well, but when entering, I have to hear it entirely.
Who in the world would like it when people curse at you to die.
I thought I should just let it flow past moderately this time too.
“It’s Irion!”
“Hey, Irion! We were waiting!”
Huh, it’s different from usual.
The spectators welcome me with cheers, not curses and criticism.
Did they take drugs as a group?
“Show us a heart-pounding match like last time again!”
Ah, is that it.
It seems there were many people who were impressed watching the match with the Minotaur last time. So-called fans have been created.
Suddenly, words said by another gladiator come to mind.
Cheers are the gladiator's food.
That there is no pleasure like everyone in the arena chanting one's name. That once addicted, you can never escape again.
They say it feels better than sex, and I think I know what feeling that is.
“It’s good?”
How good is it to be welcomed warmly. Like this, I want to repay them too.
‘Renoa is...’
She was sitting in the same seat as last time. With her chin resting on her hand and emotionless eyes.
I waved my hand, but there was no reaction.
‘I guess I have to roll my ass off again.’
Irion’s match opponent today was wolves.
A wolf pack composed of five. Not demonic beasts, but absolutely not opponents to be ignored.
Because the coordinated attack of hungry wolves is more organized than most adventurer parties. They are also called gladiator cutters.
But Irion. A man who defeated a Minotaur single-handedly. Even without using mana.
To such Irion, wolves were not a big threat. He subjugated them lightly even with a sword he was using in actual combat for the first time.
“Wooooaaaaah!”
“That guy, his skills improved a lot? It’s completely different from when we first saw him!”
“Tell me about it. There is a taste in watching him grow!”
The spectator seats were full of praise, enough that the recent past didn't come to mind. Irion also felt proud of himself and waved his hand.
Especially towards the seat where Renoa was sitting.
“How was it, Princess? Did you like today’s match?”
Bardick, hitching a ride on the good atmosphere, asked with inner expectation.
“It’s boring.”
However, the answer of the main person, Renoa, was cold.
Bardick was flustered.
“It is boring?”
“Yeah.”
“W-Which part didn't you like?”
“Everything.”
Renoa doesn't want to see Irion winning. Victory can be seen anywhere.
What she wants to see is a human standing on the precipice of life and death struggling uglily.
In that sense, today’s match was excessively bland.
“The opponent is nothing special. Don’t tell me you deliberately chose weak opponents just to get my sponsorship?”
“H-How could that be. I just, as always.......”
“Bring a stronger opponent next match. A guy where he could lose his life with one slip. Keep in mind that if the next one is like today, I won’t come anymore.”
“——Is what she said before leaving.”
Bardick, who called me separately after the match, conveyed Renoa’s words. The words to come out of my mouth were obvious.
“Wow, she’s out of her mind?”
“Watch your mouth, mouth! What if someone hears!”
“Whether getting executed or dying to a demon beast, if I’m going to die anyway, I should at least say what I want before going.”
I must have gone crazy for a moment.
‘That figures. What kind of person is she.’
What? She’s still young so it’s okay?
Renoa-noona?
Renoa is God?
There is no bullshit like that bullshit. Which guy in the world is spouting such crazy sounds.
If you wag your tail just because she gave you a meal, is that a beast or a human?
‘Those kinds of guys should be deprived of freedom.’
For reference, that doesn't apply to me.
Since I’m a slave anyway, I have no freedom.
In the end, the existence called me was nothing more than a toy good for playing with to Renoa.
‘I will never trust you again.’
Then do I have to pretend to be weak on purpose even if I can win? Since the goal is to cater to Renoa’s mood.
Even people good at Go sometimes entertain by winning narrowly by half a point.
But that too is a technique possible only if you have the ability. The current me doesn't have the skill to gauge by eye.
Whatever alternative I agonized over, ultimately it had to boil down to the conclusion of raising my skills one way or another.
I went to find Doban immediately.
Stance taking ended on the first day. [Lowest Grade Swordsmanship] proficiency even corrected my posture. My body knew what the correct posture was.
Doban who taught me seemed inwardly surprised too. As if he didn't expect me to learn this quickly.
Thanks to that, I could move on to the next stage. It was time to train swinging the sword... or so I thought, but it wasn't.
“The essence of fighting is breathing. People usually breathe with their lungs. But a guy who fights must be different.”
Today’s subject was breathing techniques. Something about swordsmanship being worlds apart depending on how you breathe.
It’s not like I don't understand at all. It appears often in fiction too, right?
‘Wow! Total Concentration Breathing!’
Not only that, even in reality, the way of breathing differs between marathons and short-distance sprints.
So I recognize the necessity. Since every single one of these trivial internal stats will become great strength someday.
I am doing my best diligently without fooling around.
‘The problem is there is no progress.’
I think I’m doing as ordered, but it doesn't work well.
“Relax your shoulders. Don’t keep the breath in your chest, lower it further down.”
“Uuuuhm.......”
“Don’t pant like a dog, breathe through your nose!”
Doban explains diligently, but I simply don't know.
I want to ask him to demonstrate, but since it’s not something visible like a stance, I can’t do that.
‘If I do this well, will it count as proficiency too?’
Breathing Proficiency?
But is it right to attach the expression proficiency to breathing?
—Poke!
“Keugh!”
When Doban poked my solar plexus with his cane, the breath I had gathered with difficulty flowed back up.
“Are you not concentrating? Should I just quit?”
“I’m doing it. I am.”
I closed my eyes.
Suddenly, a sense of unfairness surged.
‘Why do I have to suffer like this.’
If this is a game, there should be hidden pieces too.
Wouldn't it be okay for me to snatch just one or two things that were originally the protagonist's?
I’ll carry for you!
But my status is a slave who can’t take a single step out of the arena.
‘Is being a slave still good?’
It would have been better if I didn't know, but knowing the information and not being able to use it only doubles the sadness.
In the end, I have no choice but to build up solidly one by one.
—Poke!
“Cough!”
“Thinking distracting thoughts again?”
Ghost-like old man. It must have been only a few seconds at best, but he struck my abdomen immediately without missing the gap.
“Since you can’t concentrate properly, that’s it for today.”
“Yes? I have my next match soon though? That crazy woman told them to send out an opponent who can kill me like a bug.”
“So.”
“What do you mean 'so'. There might not be a next time. I have to learn it now.”
“Hmm, I see.”
Doban nodding as if convinced.
However.
“But that’s none of my business.”
He spat out such words with a truly indifferent expression.
“None of your business? Where are such irresponsible words. We are a community of destiny.”
“Why am I a community of destiny with you? You said with your own mouth that if you die, it’s just a pity? If you die, it’s just a pity.”
“No....”
“Who told you to get marked? There are so many kind nobles in the world. It’s your fault for getting marked by such a kid.”
It’s so absurd that a hollow laugh comes out. Now I’m even being treated as the perpetrator.
She is a high-ranking Duke’s daughter, and I’m just a lowly slave, is that it.
Even if Renoa accidentally stabs me to death with a knife, it’s my fault for not dodging.
‘The scariest thing here is not a mistake, but that she can stab with a knife just because she’s bored.’
What’s scarier is that dying in one hit would be a peaceful death.
‘Should I disappoint her even now so she withdraws the sponsorship?’
I shook my head immediately.
‘No. She said she would give me freedom if I meet her expectations.’
Let’s endure with my eyes closed until then.
Me, Irion. I am a man who can make that much effort for a happy ending.
I firmed my resolve over and over and entered the next match.
“Irion! The opponeeeent is! Ogre!”
An Ogre holding a huge axe came out. A force comparable to the Minotaur.
Just looking at it, it’s not an easy opponent.
But there was a bigger problem.
“Where did this woman go?”
The very person who set up the fight didn't come. Because of whom am I suffering like this right now.
“Kwuoooooo!”
“Ah.”
You really have a talent for tormenting people.
Just you wait later.