Chapter 2
Translator: True Detective
Chapter 2: Wasn't the Owner Supposed to Risk Their Life to Liberate the Slave?
“Waaaaaaah!”
An underground fighting arena filled with countless spectators.
The sandy floor of the arena vibrates minutely from the roar emitted by the crowd.
Thanks to their heated cheers and fervor, it’s sweltering rather than cool, despite being underground.
In the center of this stage filled with madness, there is me and five goblins.
“Kill him, kill!”
“Don’t kill them, just die quickly, you moron! I bet my entire fortune on you dying!”
Spectators who bet their money on my life or death spit as they pour out curses.
‘These crazy gambling addicts.’
I try to let their jeers flow out the other ear and focus on the goblins in front of me.
Commonly in fiction, goblins are precious benefactors who are responsible for the livelihood of low-level adventurers.
Except for a certain slayer universe where he rushes at them like a madman just by seeing a goblin.
At least, that’s how I know it to be.
But it wasn't.
“Ugh! Urk...!”
The goblins surround a man and excitedly beat him with clubs.
It’s a gladiator slave who entered with me. He rushed in confidently saying he could handle a sword, but now he’s learning the lesson with his body that there’s no beating a mob.
My eyes met with the bloodied man.
Eyes dyed with fear and despair. He desperately reached out his hand towards me.
“S-Save me...”
—Crack!
A goblin’s crude club struck the crown of the man’s head. With a sound like a watermelon bursting, his head was crushed.
With that, the man moved no more. The sand around him was dyed the color of fresh blood.
“Waaaaaaah!”
“You retard! You die because you fight like that!”
The spectators go wild once again at the stimulating sight.
—Thud! Thud-thud!
Even though he had already stopped breathing, the goblins didn’t stop their clubbing.
Only after the man became a lump of meat and even stopped twitching did their hands stop.
And then, they slowly turned their gaze to me.
“Kiek. Kikik.”
The bastards sneer, revealing yellow teeth as they look at me.
Since they handled the previous guy easily, they think I won’t be much either.
Compared to the man, my physique is much smaller, and holding a pickaxe instead of a sword, I must look like nothing but a good punching bag to hit.
To think goblins would dare see me as a punching bag.
‘You have an excellent eye.’
Did they notice I was extremely tense? My palms are already soaked with sweat.
If I slip while swinging, it’s an accident. I put more strength into the hand gripping the pickaxe handle.
‘Never, never panic.’
One slip and it’s straight to becoming minced meat. I’ll become pig feed together with that man.
I take a deep breath.
I aim the pickaxe at them.
—Beckon.
I tilt my head as if telling them to bring it on.
“Kieeeeeek!”
Falling for the simple provocation, one goblin rushed out screaming a bizarre shriek.
The slowly shrinking distance.
The moment the bastard rushed in raising its club, I struck down with the pickaxe.
The pickaxe drew a semicircle above my head. As if mining ore.
—Thwack!
A dull yet crisp rupture sound. The blade of the pickaxe pierced through the goblin’s thin skull like paper.
The deeply embedded blade doesn’t come out easily. Normally one would panic, but for me, this is a familiar task.
A pickaxe isn't a weapon for stabbing, but a tool for embedding and tearing out.
I twist my wrist.
Like widening a crack in a hard rock.
—Crunch! Crack!
The skull split and the goblin collapsed. I retrieved the pickaxe while dodging the spurting blood.
‘One.’
The remaining goblins’ panic at their comrade's instant death was brief; they became enraged and rushed in all at once.
Never panic.
I move while endlessly repeating those words like a spell.
I roughly scraped up the floor with the pickaxe. A handful of sand struck the face of the goblin in the lead.
“Kieeeek!”
The goblin, scrunching up its already ugly face, rubbed its eyes.
Not missing that opening, I raised the pickaxe once again.
Aiming for the bastard’s collarbone, a point strike.
—Crack!
“Kieeeek!”
Without fail, the blade dug into the bastard’s collarbone. The sensation of bone crushing was transmitted to my fingertips.
In that state, I swung the pickaxe sideways.
The goblin embedded on the blade was flung away and collided with the other goblins.
Taking advantage of the moment they were disoriented, I attacked. I ruthlessly struck down with the pickaxe.
—Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
After striking with the pickaxe over and over like that, only lumps of flesh that used to be goblins remained on the floor.
“Three.”
And two remained.
If I’ve done this much, the victory is decided.
Look.
The playfulness has vanished from the mouths of the remaining two bastards who were arrogant believing in their numerical superiority.
Instead, they looked at the pickaxe in my hand and backed away in fear.
They know. That next, their heads will become like that.
But there is nothing they can do.
Because this is the Coliseum, where you either kill to leave or die to leave.
—Thud! Thud!
After this, I disposed of the remaining goblins without expending much effort.
Before I knew it, I was the only one standing on the stage. I stared intently in the direction of the commentator.
Frowning deeply, he spoke into a magic tool with a voice amplification function.
“......The winner of this battle of life and death is the slave gladiator, Irion. He tenaciously prolongs his life.”
At the same time, I raised my pickaxe high into the sky.
“Boooooo!”
“Get lost, you unlucky bastard!”
Instead of cheers, trash and jeers poured out.
I finished the match and returned to the gladiator waiting room.
As soon as I entered, I grabbed the wooden bucket in the corner and poured it over my head.
—Splash!
Sweat and dust, and the dark green goblin blood washed away with the cold water.
Demon beast blood stings quite a bit when it touches the skin. If I don't wash it off right away like this, sleeping tonight is out of the question.
‘At first, I didn't know this and suffered like a dog.’
Still, having rolled in this hell-like place for two months, I’ve developed my own survival know-how.
“Ha, this cockroach-like bastard. He manages to come back alive again.”
“Tell me about it. What are the people who bet their entire fortune on you dying supposed to do? Are you telling them to starve to death?”
Two muscular men giggled as they approached.
It was Alex and Hugh.
They aren't disposable gladiator slaves like me, but official gladiators who are equipped with proper gear and treated well.
I am hated by them.
The reason is obvious.
‘It must be annoying that some slave bastard is running wild with a pickaxe.’
Is workplace bullying really a big deal when we’re fighting monsters with our lives on the line?
I shook my wet hair and duly ignored them.
At that moment, heavy footsteps echoed in the underground corridor. Bardick, the owner of the arena and my owner, strode over.
A man whose charming point is the lumps of fat all over his body that ripple like waves with every step.
“Irion! You won again!”
That wasn't a compliment like ‘Wow! Our cute Irion won again!’
“I clearly told you over and over to just do enough and die!”
It means ‘This disgusting bastard managed to win again!’
Bardick is one of the many, many people who want me to become minced meat, and an especially desperate one at that.
For the arena to be a hit, there need to be stimulating matches. Only then will the audience go wild.
In that sense, a helpless boy being miserably torn apart and killed is stimulating in various ways. That’s why he’s telling me to die.
‘Is the picture of killing a demon beast with a pickaxe not good?’
In my eyes, it’s fucking cool.
I can never understand the minds of the audience.
Anyway, since I’m supposed to die but come back after smashing goblin heads, the scenario gets twisted and he seems to be fuming.
“Just when on earth will you die!”
“I don’t really want to die. I’ll put on a fun match, so can’t you just support me instead? Give me some equipment too.”
“Invest in a mere slave? Do you think money springs from the ground? Every piece of bread that goes down your throat is all my money!”
“If it’s such a waste, why don’t you just release me?”
“Hmph! Am I crazy to release you? Keeping you alive costs feed money, killing you wastes what I’ve fed you so far.... Tsk! Next time I’ll prepare a stronger one, so you better be prepared!”
Bardick waddled away and disappeared.
Feeding me is a waste of money, releasing me is a waste of money, and killing me is a waste of money.
‘So what do you want me to do?’
He probably wants me to die while fighting a demon beast, but sorry, I have absolutely no intention of dying.
I’ll just live here forever for you.
Dinner time.
I visited the cafeteria to receive my meal.
Perhaps because I fought with my life on the line, the hunger is worse than when I was mining. My stomach is about to stick to my back.
Holding a bowl, I stand at the very back of the distribution line and stare blankly at the back of the person in front.
After waiting a bit, my turn came. The ration was slapped onto the bowl.
One ladle of watery barley gruel, and two lumps of black bread as hard as stone.
Rather than gruel... it’s on the level of muddy water with a few beans dropped in.
“Is this all?”
“If you don’t want to eat, starve. Though I don’t know if you’ll have the strength to fight tomorrow.”
“Please give me just a little more of the solids. I lack protein.”
“There’s no meat for a brat like you. If you really want to eat, take this at least.”
The server sneered and threw a piece of bone into the bowl.
A white bone with no flesh to be found, looking like the broth had been boiled out of it several times already.
Even a passing mutt would jump up on two feet and bark, ‘Eat it yourself, woof!’
“Hey, can’t you see the line behind you? If you got it, get lost quickly.”
At the stinging glares pouring from behind, I eventually shut my mouth and returned to a corner seat.
I scanned the barley gruel with cynical eyes.
I’m in my growth period where I should be eating a lot, but for the diet to be this meager.
I’m seriously worried I might be a midget when I become an adult later. For a man, height is life.
‘No, is this not the time to worry about that?’
I’m in a situation where I have to worry if my head will be attached tomorrow.
I managed to survive today somehow, but the next opponent will surely be stronger than today.
And the next.
And the next.
And the next.
Continually until the moment I die.
It was the common end of the slave gladiators dragged to this arena.
Even for me, who has a status window, the situation isn't exactly favorable.
The Coliseum is the gladiator's battlefield. Physical abilities are significantly improved during combat in the arena.
The change in the status window is visible at a glance.
[Mining] and [Point Strike] proficiencies disappeared. Fortunately, it wasn't a reset.
As I changed jobs from miner to gladiator, the unnecessary things were just pushed out of sight.
Similarly, [Basic Stamina] had disappeared, but it reappeared once I moved my body a bit.
Because both miners and gladiators need stamina equally.
‘If it had reset, I would have laid down demanding they patch the balance properly.’
Slave life in another world starting from zero. Just imagining it is terrible.
But that’s it. I’m not making meaningful growth like I did when I was a miner. Even though it’s already been two months since I became a gladiator slave.
‘It’s all because of that owner bastard.’
The reason is that the orders given by the owner, Bardick, are all ‘Go and die.’
Since I can’t carry out the orders, I can’t get rewards either.
‘If only I had met a good owner.’
I saw somewhere that an owner prepared a feast for the slave, let them sleep in a warm place, read them fairy tales, and even risked their life to liberate them.
My owner bastard, who isn't like an owner, only wishes for me to die.
‘My life.’
Chewing on the hard bread, I swallowed my sorrow.
Isn’t there a pretty master somewhere who will feed me, put me to sleep, and clothe me?
If they just get me out of here, I’m confident I could pledge loyalty like a cat.
One day, while sustaining myself day by day harboring such a lifelong wish that would never come true.
“Welcome, Duchess Edelheid. We sincerely welcome your visit to our arena.”
“Hmm.”
The savior I had longed for appeared.
But now, she’s a villainess famous for being a psychopath.
Why are you coming out here?