Chapter 13: Arena (3)
Chapter 13: Arena (3)
Before I could step into the amphitheater, a strange old woman stopped me with a question.
"Fighter, what name will you use in the Arena?"
It was a rather sudden inquiry.
Seeing my confusion, the old woman added, "You must be new here. No one uses their real name in the Arena. Everyone takes a new name to signify that they’ve cast off everything from the outside world to exist solely as a fighter."
A new name.
At her words, a few options flickered through my mind.
Names that sounded powerful and grand, sophisticated words from the lyrics bards loved to sing, or even stylish foreign terms.
"Is that so?"
But in the end, I chose only one.
A name that had vanished from history but was greater than any other, more powerful than any other—a name that was once a sword praised by all. A name I had heard from my father until I was sick of it.
When I spoke the name, the old woman furrowed her brow.
"Is that the protagonist of some chivalric novel? I’ve never heard that word before."
I simply smirked at her reaction.
I glanced at my master, who was floating in the air. For some reason, he wore a peculiar expression.
The old woman muttered, "Liam… what a strange alias."
In that moment, the boy Arhan vanished.
In his place stood the gladiator, Liam.
*
No one expects much from a match between Bronze Medals.
When there are several major, exciting matches scheduled, these bouts are often used as filler for breaks or to stall for time if the main event is delayed.
‘Everyone looks bored.’
I knew this beforehand, but hearing it and experiencing it firsthand were two very different things. I read the expressions of the spectators seated high above the vast amphitheater.
Boredom, annoyance, deep sighs, and a hint of anger.
Many spectators were hurling insults and boos, demanding the organizers scrap this pathetic match and hurry up with the gladiators they actually wanted to see.
"Boo—!"
Instead of passionate cheers, applause, and shouts, there were only jeers and condemnation.
Such is the miserable reality of a fighter who carries no expectations.
I looked at the sand covering the wide arena, the rising dust, and the silhouettes of the countless spectators shimmering beyond the haze. The evening sky had turned pitch-black, and instead of dazzling sunlight, the gentle glow of the moon and stars descended.
‘This is how the weak are treated in the Iron Kingdom. The Iron Kingdom runs on the logic of power.’
I pulled on the thick, rusted helmet provided to the fighters.
This helmet was an Arena tradition dating back to the days of the pits. It covered the face, allowing the wearer to exist purely as a fighter.
‘Wearing a filthy, old helmet is the same now as it was then.’
The helmet tightened around my head, bringing with it a musty smell. It was a comfortable level of stifling.
I felt the heavy weight of the steel transfer to my neck. I shook my head from side to side to adjust to the burden, then acclimated to the vision that was now narrower than before.
After completing the essential preparations, I drew the Needle from my waist.
The long, slender blade felt familiar now. The moment I gripped its hilt, my heartbeat settled into a calm rhythm. Over the steady pulse of my heart, another heart began to beat slowly. My "Mana Heart" was preparing for the coming battle.
「Young descendant.」
"Yes."
「Since you’ve taken my name, you must not suffer a single defeat.」
Liam’s words made me feel a bit more relaxed.
"That is my intention."
I didn't feel miserable about the current lack of expectations.
If anything, it felt familiar.
Because it had always been this way.
—Arhan, you must run. Get far away from here. My son, please…
No one had expected anything from me.
—Resent your family. I didn't realize a Caravan was still living on this continent.
My hateful enemy had ignored me.
After taking everything from me right before my eyes, he didn't take my life. Instead, he said those terrible words, telling me to resent my family.
—Young Master, you must forget. That is the only way to live.
The butler, the nanny, and my mother—everyone told me I had to run.
They told me I had to forget the horrific events. That I could only live as a human being if I treated it as if it never happened. No one expected anything from me. They viewed my revenge as nothing more than the vain delusions of a young boy.
That was why this situation—being ignored and underestimated—was all too familiar to me.
Perhaps that was why.
"The rookie gladiator, Liam! His opponent is the giant man, Temer, who is currently on a three-match winning streak!"
A single spark of greed bloomed in my heart.
"We shall now begin the duel between these fledgling fighters!"
I, the one no one expected anything from.
I wanted to become the shining protagonist of this amphitheater, capturing everyone’s eyes and cheers in an instant.
"This sacred duel shall be dedicated to Goddess Lefri, the Guardian of Justice!"
*
The name of the fighter who would be my debut opponent was Temer.
As the description "giant man" suggested, his physique was enormous. When I first faced him, I was reminded of a bear I had seen as a child.
In contrast, what about me? I had a frail build even compared to an average man, with a feminine frame and short stature. Even the weapon in my hand was starkly different from Temer’s.
Temer held a greatsword that looked capable of crushing anything, while I held a slender blade that was more of a needle than a sword. To the spectators, the outcome must have seemed already decided.
The visible difference in physique and weaponry was stark. To the audience, this probably didn't look like a "Trial by Combat" between gladiators, but rather a "Wild Duel" between a human and a beast.
"Liam? What a trashy name, kid."
To my eyes, the reality wasn't much different. Temer, approaching with heavy footsteps, looked more like an ogre than a human. He bared his yellow teeth in a barbaric grin.
"I’ll make you an offer."
"..."
"Take off that ridiculous sword and helmet, then dance to the beat of my claps. If you do, I’ll show mercy and let you live."
It was blatant mockery.
I lowered my voice and spoke.
"I heard it’s an implicit rule in the Arena these days not to take each other's lives."
"It is an implicit rule. But I, you see, have taken the lives of all three fighters I’ve defeated so far. I snapped their necks with my own bare hands."
Madness gleamed in Temer’s eyes, visible through the slit of his helmet.
"An implicit rule isn't an absolute law, kid. In the Zernia Mountains where I was born and raised, the rule was that the man who loses a duel must die. In fact, surviving a defeat was considered a disgrace."
"..."
"But you look so pathetic. It won't even be fun to snap your neck myself, so give me some entertainment. Shake that girlish body of yours. Make me and the crowd burst into laughter."
From Temer’s words, I gathered the clue that he was a barbarian raised in the mountains.
The Zernia Mountains. They were likely located in the northern part of the Iron Kingdom.
Having gained that small clue, my "Doubt" began.
First, I examined how Temer’s muscles were structured.
‘His body hasn't undergone systematic training.’
His muscles were swollen like a wild animal's, but they weren't properly balanced. Those were muscles naturally formed through a harsh lifestyle. He looked large because his natural frame was big, but the quality of his muscle structure was lower than expected. It meant his muscles weren't like the armor-like physique of true Northern barbarian warriors, which my sword wouldn't be able to pierce.
‘I don't necessarily need to target only the vital spots where the muscle is weak. I can punch a hole wherever I want.’
The human body is not perfect.
It is complexly structured and moves by complementing its parts, but the entire system can collapse if even one part is punctured. I realized that Temer’s body was more pathetic than it appeared.
But my Doubt did not stop there.
‘Why did he use such a provocation? Because he really thought the fight would be boring? Unlikely. There is always a reason for every human word and action.’
I focused on the intent behind Temer’s offer to spare me if I gave up, and the fact that he had already fought three matches. No matter how I looked at it, this barbaric man had not reached the realm of a superhuman. And if one is not a superhuman, they are bound to take damage even in minor fights, and accumulated damage makes the body uncomfortable.
Because that is what it means to be human.
As my Doubt deepened, I succeeded in dismantling the boastful shell Temer wore. Hidden behind that shell was a large idiot who was injured and exhausted after three duels.
So, what did I need to do?
Find the weakness.
And bite down on it relentlessly. With total focus.
I didn't care if anyone called it cowardly.
"I have an offer for you as well."
To anyone watching, I was the underdog.
Perhaps that wasn't just a prejudice, but the truth.
I didn't think of myself as strong, either.
"Take back what you said about my name, Liam, being trashy."
Therefore, I would fight as the weak.
I am not a knight.
The process of how I win isn't what matters—the result of whether I won or lost is what's most important. That is my sword, and that is the weapon I possess.
"Then I will let you die peacefully without suffering."
I intentionally acted the part of a talentless, hot-headed young noble. A boy trembling with stubbornness because his pride had been wounded. As expected, Temer seemed to fall for my act. He snorted and glanced at the crowd's reaction.
And—
"Hah, this ki—"
I didn't miss that opening.
"Gah—!"
My hand shot out without warning. Simultaneously, the Needle pierced its target.
Blood splattered.
"Aaaagh!"
The fingers of the hand Temer used to grip his greatsword. Two fingers fell to the ground with a wet thud. Temer’s face contorted as he groaned in pain. The greatsword he was holding wobbled. It was a massive, clunky sword to begin with. There was no way he could grip it properly with only three fingers.
"You... you little sh—!"
I saw blue energy shimmering around Temer. His tone and behavior were similar to the uninvited guests who had come to my village, but Temer was different from them. Though I had caught him off guard with a surprise attack, he was a fighter experienced in combat with three victories under his belt. At the same time, he was a "Sword Beginner."
Instead of approaching Temer, who had quickly regained his stance, I acted differently. I kicked the sand on the ground with my lead foot. Sand flew up, creating a cloud of dust, and I heard Temer coughing.
I focused my mind.
"Ugh, you... I'll... I'll tear you apart, I—"
Beyond the dust, Temer’s physical balance was strangely unstable. Where was the breakdown in balance occurring? I saw Temer’s right knee buckle and his ankle tremble every time his right foot touched the ground. The information extracted by my Doubt was correct. Temer was injured. His right leg.
The moment I realized that, I moved relentlessly in that direction. To force him to fight while putting weight on his ruined right leg.
I had no intention of fighting head-on against an opponent with overwhelmingly better specs than me. I planned to wear down his stamina by stabbing him repeatedly with my long, slender Needle.
I would not be careless.
I am the weak one.
If I allow even a single attack, my body will break.
I am no different from this long, slender blade.
"Agh, aaaaaah!"
Temer’s greatsword grew slower and slower.
His right leg was now visibly shaking, and I could see him gasping for breath. The barbarian’s face was drenched in sweat. Since his breathing was labored, the amount of mana Temer’s "Mana Heart" could take in had also significantly decreased.
"You... you cowardly... honorless brat!"
"I’ll say it again. Take back what you said about my name being trashy."
Temer glared at me with bloodshot eyes.
Instead of thrusting the Needle, I stood still, pointing its tip at him. Occasionally, I would circle the tip of the Needle toward Temer’s fingers or his right knee.
This standoff was infinitely advantageous to me.
Temer’s weapon was a greatsword, he was bleeding, and due to his injury, just standing there was draining his stamina. In contrast, my sword was very light, I wasn't bleeding, and thanks to my minimal movement, I had plenty of stamina left.
In the midst of the terrible silence of the standoff, Temer spoke.
"...I... take it back. I take it back. So, now—"
The strength had vanished from his voice.
The loss of the will to fight. The moment I felt it, the memory of the swordswoman I had fully digested stirred within me. A mercenary’s way of perfectly killing a cornered enemy.
Soon, my lips parted.
"I have another offer for you."
A thin smile played on my lips as they twisted mockingly.
"Take off that ridiculous sword and helmet, then dance to the beat of my claps. If you do, I’ll show mercy and let you live."
Those were the exact words Temer had said to me earlier.
"You... you...!"
Temer’s face turned beet red. His wide-open eyes became bloodshot. Temer opened his mouth wide and let out a monstrous roar. He looked ready to pounce at any moment.
I lifted my lead foot, assuming a stance to kick. Not toward Temer, but as if I were about to kick the sand again.
"..."
The moment he saw that stance, Temer instinctively pulled his upper body back. The memory of being hit by the sand was still fresh. At the same time, he squeezed his eyes shut for a brief moment.
With that, the fight was over.
"Hup—!"
The Needle, shot like a bolt of lightning, pierced Temer’s right leg. It didn't end with a single thrust. Like threading a needle, several stitches were made in an instant. With wet snapping sounds, the muscles and nerves supporting Temer’s right leg were severed. Temer’s leg lost its strength, and his body tilted backward.
"Aaaagh, aaaaaah!"
Temer desperately swung the greatsword in his hand.
But there was no weight behind it, not enough power, and it was a mess of an attack swung from a broken posture. Looking at the ruined strike, I didn't dodge this time. Instead, I took a deep breath.
The Heart of Steel beat heavily.
Whew—
The mana around me surged as if it were fluctuating. Immediately after the breath, I was filled with power. I thrust the Needle directly against Temer’s swinging sword.
Clang—!
The Needle violently parried Temer’s sword.
I kicked Temer in the chest, completely flattening his backward-tilting body onto the ground.
Thud—!
The massive man fell helplessly onto the dirt.
I stood over the fallen Temer, treading on his chest, and pointed the tip of the Needle at his throat. Then, instead of thrusting immediately, I turned my gaze toward the spectator stands.
I was asking them.
To let him live, or to kill him.
"Uh..."
A silence fell over the entire Arena.
There were no boos. One of the spectators shouted, "Holy sh*t, I’m glad I bet on the little guy. I won ten times my stake!"
Starting with that shout, the cheering began.
"Liam! Liam! Liam!"
For a very brief moment, I became the protagonist the Arena audience was focused on. A lowly human whom no one expected anything from had exceeded all expectations.
Hearing their cheers, I felt happy, yet bitter at the same time.
‘...I wished it had been like this before.’
When I had bought a crossbow and gone to find the Swordmaster for revenge, I had hoped that I would kill the Swordmaster with my own actions and save my loved ones. It was a purely adolescent idea. Reality was harsh, and I had lost everything without saving a single thing.
Ah.
Among the faces of the cheering spectators, I saw a phantom. The villagers who had already died, my mother and father, the butler and nanny who had left. I saw a vision of them treating me with pride for my heroic deeds and shedding tears of emotion.
It was nothing more than a foolish delusion.
They were all dead, and I had failed to take my revenge even when standing before my enemy.
"..."
That was why I had to become strong.
To be precise, I had to become strong.
"The Small Gladiator, Liam!"
Small Gladiator.
That was the first nickname I earned in the Arena.
*
Over the next two days, I fought three more matches. I had fought four duels in three days, but it wasn't a problem. My fights were conducted in an extremely efficient manner, and while the battles didn't end instantly, I defeated my enemies without sustaining any notable injuries.
It was thanks to my "Doubt," which allowed for no variables.
I was starting to understand the underlying meaning of what Liam had said—that Doubt was a talent.
Anyway, after winning four matches, I was about to fill out the application for my fifth match when the receptionist spoke to me.
"You’re the Small Gladiator, right?"
"Yes."
"We at the Arena have decided that a Bronze Medal doesn't suit you."
The receptionist spoke with her usual kind smile.
"An opportunity to wear a Silver Medal has come up. Would you be interested?"