The Arena (3)
A few hours earlier.
The arena’s manager, Don Quixote, could hardly believe his ears.
“What? Who’s here?”
“L-Lord Alcarte’s second son… has arrived.”
Cold sweat beaded on Don Quixote’s forehead.
“Is that true?”
“Y-yes! The captain of the guard confirmed it himself!”
“We’re fucked.”
In the Kingdom of Demacia, there was scarcely a soul who did not know the name of House Alcarte. The “auction house” and “gambling dens” the arena ran had been the very models for the underworld’s black market—operated by House Alcarte itself. Compared to that, this place was still nothing more than a drop in the ocean, whether in scale of operations or the astronomical sums that changed hands. The real problem was that one of the family’s own blood had come in person.
Even at the fastest, the journey from the Empire took two weeks. Far too long a road for someone of such high station to travel lightly. And if luck turned sour, it could take longer still. Outside the stable seasons the desert was no different from a demon realm. Yet the information had come straight from the captain of the guard; its credibility was almost too high. Even the visitor’s appearance backed it up—black hair, golden eyes, features of flawless refinement, and a chill so profound it made the desert itself feel cold. Anyone could see he was the spitting image of the Duke. Only blood could produce an atmosphere like that.
“P-please look at this.”
A subordinate held out a report. Don Quixote swallowed dryly and scanned it.
A few hours earlier, the Duke of Alcarte’s son had stopped at a restaurant. It was a place that usually left its windows open, so sand blew in and complaints were constant. Because the owner was a former warrior, no one had dared protest to his face. But today, after the second son of House Alcarte passed through, the owner was found covered in blood—having repaired every single window one by one while still bleeding. The walls were streaked with it. You could have mistaken the place for a murder scene.
Gulp.
To do that to a man simply for failing to keep out the sand… and not even to his face. After leaving, without anyone knowing. Ruthless. No wonder the man had made a name for himself in the underworld.
“The second son… that would be Evan Alcarte.”
“……Yes. Most likely.”
If it truly was the infamous Evan Alcarte himself—
“We’re completely fucked.”
Don Quixote pulled a cigarette from his coat and lit it. He had been trying to quit, but there was no helping it now. He felt as though he had only just noticed the reaper of death standing right in front of him. The reaper said to take the wrists of warriors who had lost their honor… He had never believed in superstition, yet was it actually true? Had it come for him under the name of Evan?
“What should we do?”
“What do you mean, what? First… I’ll have to step forward and talk to him myself.”
A warrior who met the reaper had two choices: face it bravely, or bow and scrape. He was a former brave warrior. So, like a brave warrior, he intended to bow and scrape with courage. The man was simply too big a fish—and lately Don Quixote had done one or two things that pricked his conscience.
He hasn’t noticed, has he?
The remnants of the heretics. They possessed an alluring power—human sacrifice that could grant tremendous strength. Through a “deal,” he had hidden them inside the arena. And that was not all. He was also trading with the black market. The problem was that the deal was being conducted behind the Duke’s back, with the black market’s second-in-command. It must never reach the Duke’s ears. Still, things had been progressing smoothly—except that contact had gone silent lately.
If only he hadn’t shown up…
Barely minutes ago, Evan had walked into the arena in person, accompanied by two warriors who looked like acquaintances. The people he brought with him were heavyweights as well. One appeared to be a slave; the other’s identity could not be confirmed. But even one of them alone was enough to call the group “big.” The Priestess of the Night Sky—the mystic astrologer said to be able to see human destiny itself. As a man who had grown closer to merchant than warrior, Don Quixote was keenly interested. They said she was kind. With luck, she might even read his fortune… though the fact that she was Evan’s companion was more than a little unsettling.
……No choice.
He would have to bring out the secret weapon. Prove himself with strength? That was the talk of old men left behind by the times. Money. Money solved everything. Was there anyone on this entire continent who hated money? If persuasion failed, check whether you simply hadn’t offered enough. No warrior had ever failed to break before gold. In the end, this world turned on a single small gold coin.
“……I’ll meet him myself.”
“S-sir, truly?”
His subordinate’s face brightened. The former second-ranked warrior, Don Quixote Machete—one of the living symbols of honorable warriors—was stepping forward in person! Nothing could be more reassuring.
……I’ll have to settle this somehow.
Evan Alcarte. Cajole him, deceive him… or…
Eliminate him.
The combination of words felt awkward. Don Quixote toyed with the axe at his hip. A new axe; the handle of expensive wood gleamed.
And a few hours later, after thorough preparations, Don Quixote paid his visit—and cold sweat ran down his back of its own accord. Two gazes that held not a shred of emotion. Those icy golden eyes were the Duke of Alcarte’s, reproduced without flaw.
……What a monster.
Don Quixote had no choice but to admit it.
I can’t read a single thing?
This man was a true heavyweight—and a true monster.
“Welcome, my lord!”
A servile face. That was Evan’s first impression of Don Quixote.
“That the noble blood of His Grace the Duke of Alcarte should grace us today—surely the God of Warriors has bestowed his blessing upon me!”
“……A pleasure. I am Evan Alcarte.”
“This humble one’s name is Don Quixote Machete!”
Speaking with such fervor that spit flew, Don Quixote seized the hand Evan offered. There was no force in the grip—only the careful touch of a man handling a jewel.
“Mm!”
Lapis, who had been watching like a hawk, nodded in approval from the side. Evan forced down the expression that threatened to turn sour.
……What’s wrong with this guy?
He carefully smoothed his face again. Don Quixote Machete—owner and manager of the arena, a warrior who had once climbed as high as second rank. His arrogance had matched that lofty ranking. Every time a player met him he strutted and preened; combined with that irritating mustache, more than a few players had wished they could just punch him once. Later that wish would be granted when the Duke of Alcarte captured him and tore him limb from limb. The charges: “impersonation” and “lèse-majesté”—for copying the black market without permission, and for colluding with the second-in-command to challenge the underworld’s true power. In short, a man mad for money and with pride to match. So why was he acting so submissive now?
“What brings you here?”
“Ah! Nothing much—simply that a personage of such high station came in person and paid full price, which seemed a waste! I’ve come to move you to an even better seat!”
“Is there a seat higher than VIP?”
Ugh, I don’t want to move.
“I received no such guidance.”
Meaning: I didn’t get it, so I’ll just use what I have. Don Quixote, however, interpreted it differently and reacted with exaggerated shock.
“Th-that—! It is entirely my failure to manage my underlings properly! I shall punish them according to our regulations!”
“……According to your regulations?”
“One who cannot even perform his own duties has no right to eat and live. He will commit seppuku.”
“…….”
Ugh!
Evan’s face twisted before he could stop it. Just imagining it made his stomach turn. He was a man among men, yet even he felt a twinge of revulsion. Don Quixote’s eyes widened a fraction more.
……Surely he hasn’t noticed?
“I merely paid a fair price,” Evan continued as blandly as he could. “A better seat is unnecessary.”
“Ah—ah!”
Don Quixote bowed as though belatedly understanding.
“I failed to grasp Young Master’s lofty intent…! Forgive me!”
“……It’s fine. I simply prefer to avoid anything that lacks dignity.”
“Understood. The seppuku is cancelled.”
Whew!
Evan swallowed a sigh of relief. That had nearly given him nightmares. Don Quixote kept staring at him with sparkling eyes, as if trying to decide what to make of him.
Ah, this is uncomfortable. Can I just tell him to leave?
“Is there anything else?”
“Might I inquire as to your reason for visiting the arena today?” Don Quixote asked with perfect courtesy. “Perhaps… you have an interest in the ‘auction house’?”
“……The auction house.”
“If you wish, I can enter you into the bidding at once. No—wait! I’ll simply hand over whatever you desire immediately! Or—”
Don Quixote sidled closer and whispered,
“Are you interested in ‘rare goods’ that never appear in the auction?”
“…….”
Rare goods? That felt fishy. Suspicious at a glance. He was about to refuse when—
“!!”
The priestess waved her hands vigorously, pointing at Don Quixote and then at the floor. He couldn’t be certain, but it looked as though she was saying they absolutely had to go.
No choice, then.
“……Yes. I’m interested.”
“!”
Color flooded Don Quixote’s face.
“Then let us go at once…!”
“Before that, I’ll place my bids and then leave.”
“Yes! Of course!”
Evan entered bids on the first-place prize, a beginner’s alchemy text, and a mixed elixir. Hmm. Let’s see how much pocket money I have left…
This much should do.
He bid a moderate sum. Before leaving he glanced outside one last time.
Thud!
Wooooooo!
Unit 5, having felled its opponent, raised both arms and roared.
Quite the superstar, isn’t he.
Sand trickled from both arms. The foe must have been fairly strong; scattered wounds marked its body.
“Victory! Dead Bear!”
“Waaaaaah!”
Declared the winner, Unit 5 crouched and scooped up the sand that had fallen to the floor. Its body regenerated at once. The effect was unmistakable.
Properly refined and transmuted, Unit 5’s body transformed like sand itself.
Immune to physical attacks. No repairs needed—simply add sand.
At that level, he could trust it completely.
As for Felix…
He’ll manage just fine on his own. Across the way, Felix—apparently waiting his turn—met Evan’s eyes for a moment. Evan held the gaze with a look that said “do your best,” then turned away.
“…….”
Receiving that gaze, Felix drew a deep breath.
“……So I’m not even worth watching yet.”
Right. When you walk around with a golem that strong, that much is only natural. And that golem had just been modified—whether prepared in advance or improvised on the spot, either way it was impressive.
“My goal right now is you.”
Felix fixed his eyes on Unit 5. The golem met his gaze and flicked its fingers—almost as if inviting him to come at it.
“……Do golems these days all have egos?”
Aegis, following behind Evan, muttered under her breath. What kind of golem was that free-spirited? She had no answer…
The Colosseum. A building of long history. Beneath it lay storage for various goods and waiting rooms for the warriors. That was as much as Evan knew; the place would be destroyed by the Duke before any player ever got to do much with it. Surprisingly, the underground ran deep.
Ugh, it’s cold.
He tugged his coat a little tighter. Lapis quickly knitted a scarf with her threads and wrapped it around his neck.
“……Thank you.”
“Hehe. It’s nothing.”
Lapis smiled, looking proud. He gave her head a light ruffle and looked ahead. Don Quixote led the way. Only his back was visible, yet something about him felt off.
He’s not going to give us something weird, is he?
Could he have the heretic remnants waiting down here?
A trap?
Ah, maybe I should have brought Unit 5.
Still, they had the priestess. She was stronger than expected. Sacrificing herself in another’s place required power of her own; a single gesture could overturn this entire space. And Aegis was here too. She wasn’t a combat class, but she could at least throw up a barrier.
“Here we are!”
Don Quixote stopped before a tightly shut door. He glanced left and right, then asked Evan in a low voice,
“Young Master. I understand your profession is alchemist—is that correct?”
“Yes. It is.”
Why bring up alchemy all of a sudden?
Evan gave him a suspicious look. Don Quixote let out a dark little chuckle.
“Heh heh. Then you’ll like this.”
Bang!
He flung the door open.
“Behold! Our arena’s secret goods—‘materials’ with which you may conduct whatever ‘research’ you desire!”
A wide cavern. Iron cages everywhere. Inside them… clank-clank! Monsters rattled the bars.
Oh, for fuck’s sake.
They’ve been raising monsters underground?!
Are they insane?
“……!”
Tremble-tremble!
The priestess’s hands shook. Was she about to faint? Evan reflexively caught her hand, trying to soothe the soft-hearted girl despite her strength.
Me? I’m a man, after all!
……Slip.
The priestess’s eyes fixed on Evan. No whites—only pure black pupils.
“……!”
Goosebumps raced over his entire body. That look… was less priestess and more witch.