Chapter 5
Translator: True Detective
Chapter 5: As Long As It's Not Me (2)
‘It makes no sense.’
Irion, who saw the slaves dying closer than anyone else, felt bitter.
It would be a lie to say he had expected it.
That there was a hidden master among the slaves, and with incredible, amazing performance, they would take down the Minotaur and save everyone.
The starting point of a heroic tale.
He had never even imagined such a thing. Just seeing them tremble was enough to know. Even the anticipation he had vanished completely.
However, he judged they would have at least minimal use.
Like draining the Minotaur's stamina by attacking together, or inflicting meaningful damage while being thrown as bait.
Then, even if they died, the probability of him winning would increase, even if just a little.
Even if called cowardly, it can’t be helped. To survive, Irion is willing to sell even his soul to the devil.
But they died meaninglessly without showing any use. They became a fleeting entertainment for the spectators and disappeared.
Thanks to that, a 1-on-1 guillotine match between Irion and the Minotaur was established. A situation emerged as if it had been just the two of them from the start.
—Wooooaaaaah!
The Minotaur roared as if to bring down the arena. The coercion of a monster that freezes the weak poured out.
The sight of spectators foaming at the mouth and fainting caught the corner of his eye, but Irion had no leeway to care about them.
“Kugh...”
He bit his lip to suppress the fear. The fishy taste of iron soaked the tip of his tongue.
The overwhelming violence of sound that would have made him sit down pissing himself long ago if not for the assistance of the status window.
If his legs stiffen here, it’s over. A moment of carelessness brings irreversible results.
—Grrr...
The Minotaur lowers its stance. Muscles tense tautly, signaling the precursor to a charge.
Irion’s instinctive leap without passing through thought. Immediately after, the spot where Irion had been exploded. Literally, the ground burst apart.
—Kaboom!
Wind pressure that seemed to tear the skin. Even though it missed by a hair’s breadth, Irion’s body drifted in the air like a fallen leaf.
Dust rose like a storm in the place where the terrifying mass passed, and the arena wall behind screamed as it spewed debris.
At the sight created by a reckless charge with no technique whatsoever, a wry smile formed on Irion’s lips.
‘This fucker, are you kidding me right now?’
Even if you’re thirsty for stimulation, there’s a limit. How am I supposed to win against this?
At this point, one might wonder if it’s match-fixing, but even if it were, the only person to have a complaint would be the party involved, Irion.
—Woooooah!
A slave was not even allowed the moment to dare have a complaint.
The Minotaur, having destroyed only the innocent wall, kicked off the ground again.
—Thud!
Irion’s reaction was a beat late. His body bounced into the air along with the dust, then rolled helplessly on the ground.
“......Cough, hack!”
Oxygen in his lungs escaped all at once. Severe pain assaulted his whole body like a wave.
On behalf of the brain whose thinking had stopped, the instinct to live forcibly moved his limbs.
—Roll, roll roll.
Irion rolls on the dirt floor in an unsightly evasion. Pababak, using all fours like a beast to get up.
If the Minotaur swings its arm, he throws his body as if planting his nose on the ground; if it stomps down, he crawls like a dog; and if he can’t crawl, he rolls again.
A struggle that couldn't be called a technique, appearing somewhat ridiculous at a glance.
That appearance was the perfect comedy for the spectators of the arena to watch.
“Puhahahaha! Look at that, he’s totally a rat!”
“Do you want to live so pathetically? Just get trampled and die!”
Laughter surged like a wave and hit the boy’s back.
Even that mockery didn't reach Irion’s ears. Only the sound of his own heartbeat rang out as if to burst his eardrums.
“Haa, haa, haa...”
Irion hurriedly inhales oxygen. His mouth is full of sand, but he doesn't even have the leeway to spit it out.
‘At this rate, getting caught is just a matter of time.’
It’s fine for now, but I can’t run away forever.
Engaging in a battle of attrition with a monster in this meager body that hasn't even had a proper meal is a foolish act.
The conclusion to survive in a gladiatorial match always comes down to one thing.
‘I have to kill the bastard. I have to settle this now while my stamina remains.’
If there is one thing Irion realized while running away, it is that his physical abilities do not lag completely behind the Minotaur.
It’s thanks to the skill [Spartacus]. Physical abilities increase significantly during combat in the arena.
Even so, it is true that he is at a disadvantage, but if he puts his all into running away, running away itself is possible.
‘But will there be an opening to attack?’
The Minotaur’s sturdy body. Without a one-hit kill, he has to attack until the bastard falls.
One slip in that process and it’s the end. He can’t risk his life on a vague possibility.
‘I have to find a way somehow......’
Irion, looking around for anything helpful, suddenly caught sight of his own upper body.
His clothes were wet red with blood flowing from the wound he got earlier. And in front of him is a bull that has lost its reason.
“.......”
One thing came to mind.
A method to break through the absurdity.
This too is close to a gamble.
Whether it will work is unknown.
‘But is there anything else besides that?’
Even asking himself, the returning answer is ‘NO’. He has to do it. Hoping it works, he has to pull it off.
Otherwise, it’s death.
Irion staggered to his feet. His legs were trembling, but they were still usable enough to stand.
He roughly threw off the leather chest armor that had become a rag. It’s over anyway if he takes a direct hit from the Minotaur. It’s just cumbersome.
And even the top he was wearing. He hung the blood-dyed clothes on the head of the pickaxe.
And waved it like a flag, flutter flutter.
“Hey, bull head.”
Forcing the corners of his mouth up.
Towards the Minotaur.
“Come here (Irion).”
The VIP seats on the 3rd floor where the arena can be seen at a glance. Renoa watches the match with an emotionless gaze.
A chaotic mess where swords clash against swords, and flesh and skin are torn apart.
In this world where entertainment is woefully lacking, gladiatorial combat is the best entertainment that people of all ages and genders go crazy for.
But this is the first time Renoa is watching a gladiator match.
Just as a bird in a cage cannot go outside without permission, she too was born with such a fate.
Today was also an outing that might happen once a week if she’s lucky. She had dedicated such precious time to a gladiator match.
“I never knew the Lady had an interest in gladiatorial combat.”
The escort knight, Zain, opened his mouth as if surprised.
Because he wondered what was up with her, who had no interest in the social circles that young ladies go crazy for, nor in luxury goods.
“Not really.”
But Renoa’s answer was cold.
“Pardon?”
“I’m not interested. Did Sir Zain think I would like something like this?”
“If not that, then why...”
“Just. To kill time.”
She only came because it was said to be a popular spectacle among nobles recently. Though the result was below expectations.
It was far from enough to pique Renoa’s interest.
“Pouring money into such a laughable game. Everyone must have rotting money overflowing.”
At Renoa’s scathing criticism, Zain shut his mouth.
That figures. He wondered why she was taking an interest.
Soon, the players for the next match entered.
“It’s that boy from earlier.”
Among the players who entered the arena, Renoa caught the black-haired boy in her eyes.
A boy of her age with delicate features that didn't suit a gladiator.
Earlier, when he saw her, he trembled as if he had met a ghost.
She doesn't know the reason.
And isn't particularly curious either.
“Why is he holding something like that?”
What Renoa’s interest reached was the pickaxe Irion was holding. Others were holding weapons, but he alone had a pickaxe.
“That guy worked as a miner before becoming a gladiator slave. He said a pickaxe is more familiar to his hand than a weapon or something. He’s a strange guy.”
Bardick chimed in servilely from the side.
A pickaxe in an arena.
Thinking it was quite a funny sight, the match began.
But the match that followed was hard to call a gladiatorial combat.
It was a massacre.
The slaves succumbed before the Minotaur’s overwhelming violence. They fell like autumn leaves and became meat dough.
The boy named Irion, who managed to survive, ran away in a posture where dignity couldn't be found.
“Yeah! Kill him!”
“How refreshing!”
The spectators, drunk on that sadistic slaughter, shouted madly.
Renoa let out a short sigh and glared at Bardick. Even as his slaves were dying, he was grinning.
“I think you chose the wrong opponent. Are you killing them on purpose?”
“Haha, why would I do such a thing. That is all money too.”
“Is that so?”
“Of course. I only trusted them, but the results just aren't good. I guess I had too much expectation.”
“Hmm.”
One of the few advantages Renoa possesses. Her observation skills are quite good.
She often pierces through the other person’s hidden intentions with detailed elements like expression, tone, pitch, and breathing.
In Renoa’s view, those words of Bardick are a bright red lie with not a shred of sincerity.
He sent them out against the Minotaur knowing they would lose.
Does he have some personal grudge? Or maybe it’s simply to create a stimulating scene.
Whatever the internal circumstances were, it was irrelevant to Renoa. She stood up from her seat.
“Let’s go back. It’s a waste of time.”
“Yes? You are leaving already? The main event still remains, so if you watch until that...”
“Forget it.”
Such simple and sadistic slaughter, Renoa can create as much as she wants if she intends to.
It was the moment Renoa, having risen from her seat, was about to leave the arena just like that.
“......?”
The shouting that had been vibrating in the arena stopped in an instant. The spectators who were soaked in madness held their breath all at once.
“My Lady.”
Zain called Renoa and signaled to the arena with his eyes. Because his expression was quite serious, Renoa turned her head in puzzlement.
The middle of a battlefield where corpses were scattered.
Irion, who had been running away miserably until a moment ago, was waving his pickaxe and toying with the Minotaur.