Colosseum Log
Day one as a slave in this massive Colosseum, the kind you'd expect to find as an Italian cultural relic.
The moment I stepped inside, they beat the shit out of me.
Reason? Staring at them like an insolent little prick again.
Fuck, that's just how my face is built.
After that, they threw me into a filthy, stinking room crammed with other kids like me.
I missed the crumbling plank shack we lived in back home, with its one meal a day of watery gruel.
Day two as a slave.
Got beat again today.
Not by the guards this time—by the other kids in the room. Got jumped by a pack of them.
Those fucking bastards... I barely talked back, and ten of them kicked the crap out of me.
Eventually, a janitor found me and dragged me off to solitary.
Not the ones who beat me—the one who got beat.
Easier to sort that way, apparently.
Day three.
Got some proper bread for once.
It was fucking delicious.
Then they sent me out for my first match.
Handed me a cheap dagger and shoved me into the arena.
My opponent was a goblin—the first monster I'd seen since reincarnating into this world.
Took a few sloppy stabs, but I killed it.
Day seven.
Lay sick in solitary for three straight days until they doused me with cold water and snapped me out of it.
That's when I learned a rusty blade can fuck you up bad.
Those goddamn pricks.
They patched me up decently enough, saying I'd fought well.
Day fourteen.
Fighting goblins every damn day now.
Apparently, it's part of the Colosseum's regular schedule.
They say it's pretty popular.
Crazy medieval savages, laughing their asses off at kids wielding junk daggers against goblins.
This world is insane.
Day twenty-one.
Moved from solitary back to the group dorm.
They're saying I'll get actual training now. Things might change?
Day twenty-four.
Training is fucking brutal, shit.
Day thirty-seven.
No wonder they pushed the training so hard.
Now my goblin opponent comes in pairs.
Four times tougher, fuck.
Day seventy-two.
One good thing about becoming a Colosseum fan favorite: they feed you more.
Whatever mystery meat from some beast, plus bread—it goes down easy and fills you up good.
Day seventy-three.
Got the shits. Fucking bastards.
Day eighty.
They feed you well, but today's opponent was bigger.
Some stunted orc, they said.
How the hell did they even find one of those, you goddamn fucks.
Day eighty-three.
Five kobolds today.
One bit my thigh, but their nasty medicine healed it right up.
Day eighty-five.
No wonder they handed out the meds so freely.
Ever since taking that shit, my body's been off.
Constant fever, dizziness—like I'm gonna drop dead.
Don't even remember yesterday.
Day ninety.
I'm fucking tough as nails.
Day one hundred twenty-five.
Met the guy they're calling a champion contender.
Former knight, apparently. Carries himself with serious swagger.
Day one hundred thirty-one.
Ran into him again.
After a few chats, he offered to teach me swordsmanship.
Day one hundred forty-three.
This guy's my master now!
He gave me some smooth, creamy soup.
Best meal since reincarnating into this world.
*
"And now, day fifteen thirty-two."
I muttered as I scratched the tally into the wall with a pebble from the floor.
"What're you mumbling about?"
"Nothing much."
I answered in the deepened voice brought on by early puberty.
Going through voice change twice doesn't make it any easier to get used to.
"Kid, you've got no manners."
The man talking to me now was Alden, the Colosseum champion.
Back in the day...
About three years ago, right?
Memories are fuzzy.
Anyway, we crossed paths by chance in the Colosseum dorms.
And over time...
Now he's been training me on the side.
The Colosseum has its own training schedule, of course.
But that's just torture on repeat—nothing like what Alden teaches.
"So, any progress?"
"It's fucking hard."
A year ago, he even taught me his Aura cultivation method, saying it was what he used himself.
Why hand a fancy-sounding technique like that to me? Still a mystery.
"You little shit, you said you felt something, didn't you?"
"Yeah, kinda."
"That's goddamn fast."
"For real."
He calls it fast, but... honestly, it's just the tiniest sensation. Hard to tell.
Plus, I have to practice in secret, away from the Colosseum staff, so not much time for it.
"Anyway, today I'll show you how to wield a spear like a pro. Follow me."
Still, his martial arts lessons are top-notch. Every session leaves me satisfied.
Even with my past life's specialized training, Alden's world-style techniques were clearly superior.
"Ha—kid learns fast, I'll give you that."
"Thanks."
"Thanks my ass. We friends or what?"
Thanks to him, I've gotten strong quick.
In a way, he's my lifesaver.
Without his lessons, handling the aggro-magnet monsters the Colosseum throws at me would've been brutal.
"In my country, you'd make a fine knight."
"..."
"Not that it matters. It's gone now."
Alden was a war slave.
More precisely, a knight captured defending his homeland to the bitter end.
Worlds apart from a guy like me, who got drafted as top family breadwinner.
"Anyway, watch your back. Operators are getting antsy 'cause your popularity's dipping."
"Yeah, I've noticed."
"Started feeling off when they threw you at that orc kid."
That kid who fought the orc? Me.
Damn near died back then.
"Shouldn't you be the one watching out more?"
"Me?"
"Matches keep ramping up."
Alden was the champion.
Held the title for three years straight.
With skyrocketing fame and expectations, he faced ever-tougher foes.
"Piece of cake for me."
"You've got those shackles too."
Not to mention the inhibitor shackles on his ankles, suppressing a knight's Aura.
Who knows where they got those things—he fights with that handicap.
"Guys prepping in here only need a single blade."
But he always flashed that easy smile when talking to me.
"I told you, didn't I? Best ending for a gladiator."
"...Buying your own freedom?"
"Right, kid. I've saved up a nice pile."
Most gladiators are slaves, treated as such.
But champions? Different story.
Alden could afford to buy me that tasty soup—he was rich for a fighter.
Decent prize money, plus noble sponsors since he was the champ.
"Worst case, some high noble buys me out. Not bad."
"Still a slave, though."
"You know, a former knight and gladiator champ like me? Stick around long enough, and the price skyrockets."
"Uh, sure."
"Nobles start treating you special then. Good food, nice beds."
Even if the treatment improved, slave's still a slave—or so I thought.
But better than this hellhole, no doubt.
...Maybe I should've played the obedient slave, skipped the escape attempts.
This world's not as bad as I first thought. Decent fantasy setup.
People watch gladiators for fun, sure—but the capital's middle and upper classes blow cash and time on entertainment. Living standards ain't shit.
Though, considering this is the kingdom that crushed Alden's homeland, makes sense.
Means they've got real power.
Probably second only to the continent-ruling Empire.
"Anyway, I'll be out soon. Don't cry like a baby when I'm gone."
"Won't happen."
"Boring kid. Still, practice everything I taught you."
"Got it. Live well out there."
He was my benefactor, after all.
I hoped he'd escape as planned and live free, fat, and happy.
But...
A few days later.
"An ogre?"
"Yeah, these crazy fucks—who knows where they dug it up."
I was stunned by Alden's scoffing words.
"...Isn't that a seriously dangerous monster?"
"Dangerous? They can't even handle it properly."
Three years rolling in this Colosseum, I'd seen plenty of monsters.
Basics like goblins, kobolds, orcs.
Random werewolves or house-sized lions from god-knows-where.
But ogres? Different league.
Mountain kings, usually.
No way they expect someone without Aura to take one down...
"They lopped off one wrist as a handicap. Should be a good fight."
Yet Alden was as calm and relaxed as ever.
"...Good luck."
"Why so serious? I won't die. I'll live free, promise."
With that—like some novel protagonist spouting death-flag lines—he strode into the arena.
"What?"
"He bolted. That mad bastard cut his shackles and ran?"
Word came that on the hyped "match of the century" stage, packed with nobles, he'd snapped his shackles and fled.
...Those things could even be cut?
Monster through and through.
"That fucking traitor!"
"After all that buildup for the historic match!"
Staff went into panic mode over their runaway champ.
Me? No big thoughts.
If anything, good for him.
Better to run than die.
I spent the next few days alone, hoping he'd cross borders if needed and live the free life he wanted.
"You trained under Alden, right? You're our new champion contender!"
The Colosseum, gutted by losing their star, pegged me as his replacement.
That was the real hell beginning.