Chapter 4
Translator: True Detective
Chapter 4: As Long As It's Not Me
I was about to make a big decision, but stopped.
Not just empty words, but for real.
Because there is no way out of here, and I realized that the person who has her eyes on me is none other than Renoa.
I understood very well how rational the conclusion of 'let's die comfortably' was.
But I didn't do it. Anyway, the immediate danger has disappeared.
‘I just have to get through this moment somehow, right?’
Won’t she just go back once the match viewing is over?
Sponsorship? Being a sponsor?
That’s an issue relevant only to gladiators, not me. There’s no way she would pay attention to a mere slave.
Those guys will do all the tanking.
‘I don’t know who it will be, but they are truly pitiful.’
I offer my condolences in advance to the future victim who, not knowing what kind of person Renoa is, will flatter her to get sponsored.
Pitiful human.
Thanks to them, I live.
“Hey, slaves! Next! Get ready!”
The previous matches ended one by one, and before I knew it, my turn was right in front of me.
I and three other slaves put on equipment.
Leather chest armor that is shabby beyond compare. It is permeated with the stinging smell of musty sweat and fishy blood.
It’s just for covering vital points. If you trust this and thrust your body forward, it’s a high-pass to the afterlife. Still, it was better than nothing.
Next is time to choose a weapon.
On the weapon rack, there are only rusty longswords, axes with chipped edges, bent spears, and other scrap metal in messy condition.
Anyone would think this is a junk collection site. It’s questionable if they will function properly as weapons.
‘Since we are slaves who will die soon anyway, there’s no need to support us, right?’
But we can’t go out empty-handed, so the slaves each pick one weapon.
Instead of a weapon, I grabbed a pickaxe lying carelessly in the corner.
Then, the guard snorted.
“You’re taking that out again? You must be the only bastard in the world who holds a pickaxe in an arena.”
I know too.
But this is my best.
Rather than awkwardly holding a sword when I don't know swordsmanship, a pickaxe I’ve swung thousands of times is much more familiar to my hand.
‘I have mining proficiency too.’
What I’m doing isn't mining, but it still helps in swinging the pickaxe.
I slung the pickaxe over my shoulder.
“I’m ready.”
“So arrogant. Well, try hard. Bardick’s eyes flipped over because of what happened earlier. It will be harder than usual.”
“When was it ever easy.”
I have never considered it easy, not even once.
I always crossed the threshold of life and death, and I struggled desperately every time.
And I survived every time.
It will be the same today.
“Now now, everyone! This match is a brief break time before the main event! Before the main dish comes out, shall we call it a light appetizer to whet your appetite? Hahaha!”
“Wahahahaha!”
“Yeah! Kill them quickly and clean it up!”
“Splash some blood so the booze tastes good!”
The atmosphere in the spectator seats was relaxed. Someone gulped down beer, someone giggled while chatting with the person next to them.
It was a world of difference from us who were about to go into battle soon.
“Here are today’s sacrifices! Please come out!”
—Creeeeaaak.
The heavy iron gate was lifted as the rusty chains screamed.
Pouring in through the gap was the yellow light of magic stones illuminating the underground.
And.
“Waaaaaaah!”
A wave of shouts bursting out as if to tear eardrums apart.
It’s a heat that makes you forget this is an underground arena.
I must not be daunted by it. I took one deep breath and stepped forward as if kicking away the darkness.
“Boooooo!”
“Is it that guy again!”
As I appeared, the cheers turned into jeers and poured out as if they had never cheered.
“Ugh......”
“N-No. I can’t fight.”
curses and jeers ringing loudly in the air. The three unaccustomed newcomers shrink back.
Sometimes there are skilled gladiator slaves, but most are people who have never fought in their lives.
They are nothing more than disposable slaves used and thrown away to give stimulation to the audience.
Just the slaves who died like that number over a dozen that I’ve seen.
That is a slave.
There are no human rights, and it is a fate of being used and discarded casually for the owner's purpose.
In my heart, I want to comfort them and cheer them up together. That would raise my survival rate too.
But unfortunately.
‘My situation isn’t easy either.’
My gaze was naturally drawn upward.
The VIP seats on the 3rd floor.
In the center of the fancy terrace, there was Renoa, a beautiful black-haired girl looking down with bored eyes, resting her chin on her hand.
Bardick is struggling next to her to raise the excitement, but her expression had cooled down coldly.
If it’s not fun, just go home, why sit there stubbornly like that? I’m worried to death because of her.
In my heart, I want to throw the match telling her to screw off, but I can’t do that.
Bardick is desperate for a connection with a high-ranking noble. Make Renoa Edelheid take an interest in gladiatorial combat to satisfy the owner.
Because a quest popped up.
And a reward of A-rank at that.
It was the first proper order since I became a gladiator slave. Before that, it was always just to die.
It’s an order Bardick gave to the gladiators, but seeing as it applies to me too, it seems it doesn't matter who it is as long as they can attract Renoa’s attention.
‘That means he’s that desperate.’
Anyway, a valuable opportunity has come to me.
I don’t know when an opportunity like this will come again. I have to grab it when it’s here.
If I receive a meaningful reward, it will be a great help to my future gladiator slave life.
The problem is that the opponent is that Renoa....
‘Will that woman be interested if I win?’
She is a woman who treats everyone other than herself as moving dolls. There is no way she would give a glance to a slave’s talent show.
If she was a woman to be interested just because someone won a match, she would have sponsored someone after seeing the previous gladiators' matches.
‘No, let’s discard useless thoughts.’
I shake my head to shake off the distracting thoughts.
This isn't what’s important right now. If I lose, I die. I do the best I can.
Let’s prioritize surviving.
“Who is the opponent who will miserably crush such slaves!”
The commentator’s voice is excited. The spectator seats buzzed as if oil had been poured.
There are three types of opponents for gladiators here.
One is fellow gladiators.
One is wild beasts.
One is demonic beasts.
If you ask who is easier to deal with, there isn't really one. They are all just hard.
Still, if I had to choose, I wish it wasn't a human. Because I don’t want to commit murder anymore.
I’d rather have an animal, or a demonic beast like the goblin from last time.
Whatever it is, I hope something I can win against comes out.
—Hiss!
White fog spewed out from the iron cage on the opposite side. It’s an entrance effect to pique the audience's interest.
A silhouette was visible in the fog.
Two legs, two arms.
A human-like silhouette.
—Clank.
When the iron gate fully opened, the bastard walked out cutting through the fog.
Yellow skin like ocher.
A thick and muscular body.
A body perfect for being a gladiator, but the problem was this guy's head.
Not a human, but a bull's head.
“The opponent is none other than—— Minotaur!”
I thought I wished it wasn't a human, and it really isn't a human.
I said I wished it was an animal or a demonic beast, and a demonic beast with only the head of an animal came out.
How did the opponent I exactly wanted come out?
‘Bullshit.’
He is twice my height, and his whole body is packed with muscles. Every time he exhales, breath shoots out like a steam locomotive.
How am I supposed to beat that?
“Will the slaves be able to survive even against a Minotaur! The match will start right noooow!”
—Ding—!
But regrettably.
A bell sound like a death sentence rang out, not considering the slaves' circumstances at all.
The match began.
A fight between four gladiator slaves including me, and a Minotaur.
We confronted it holding our respective weapons.
Small physiques, meager armament.
Slaves who have never even fought before are trembling like aspen trees even with the enemy right in front of them.
Enough to look quite pitiful.
“Hey! Don’t wet your pants!”
“Hahahaha!”
But there is no one here who pities them. Instead, they drink alcohol with the terrified slaves as a side dish.
‘What should I do?’
I shouldn't stay still.
Somehow I have to cooperate with them to break through this situation.......
“Hraaaaaaaah!”
At that moment, unable to endure the pressure created by the situation, one man rushed out suppressing his fear with a shout.
“Wait...!”
There was no time to hold him back.
The man who rushed out holding a rusty longsword thrust his sword aiming for the Minotaur’s abdomen.
—Ting!
A cheerful, so cheerful that it was rather despairing metallic sound rang out. Far from embedding, the blade bounced off.
“Uh......?”
The man’s face turned white. That was his last moment.
—Thud!
The Minotaur’s huge arm swung lightly. With a dull impact sound, the man’s body crumpled in half.
The man, flying like a blood-soaked rag, slammed into the wall and stopped moving just like that.
Just 3 seconds.
It was the time it took for one life to be extinguished.
“Ah... Aaaah....”
The other two slaves screamed and backed away.
The will to fight had already evaporated. They threw down their weapons and started to run away.
But showing your back in front of a predator was no different from begging to be killed.
The excited Minotaur snorted and pounced on the backs of the fleeing slaves.
“Aaaaaaack!”
“S-Save me...!”
Trampled, torn, crushed.
An extremely one-sided aspect. A sight worthy of being called a massacre.
It was instantaneous.
In less than a minute since the match started, every gladiator slave except for me retired.
Miserably enough that it was hard to recognize their original forms.
Before I knew it, only I remained in the arena. The Minotaur glares at me left alone.
“...I’m fucked.”
Irion exercises a lot.
He must be getting seriously stressed.
He’ll remember this before he dies.