Proxy Rampage (3)
[A short while later, Chekhov's Arena #1.]
Crowds poured in. Considering the nature of this place, people usually kept at least a meter between each other since you never knew what might happen, but here they were, packed shoulder-to-shoulder, all eyes fixed on me standing in the arena.
There were four main groups. The first were the so-called "union" civilians—at least, that's what they called themselves. These were the ones scraping by day after day mining ore, unable to escape the arena, looking no better than homeless vagrants.
The second group dressed a bit more sharply. They didn't look all that different from the first bunch, but they decked themselves out in fancy clothes smuggled from outside, trying to pass as nobles. Not officially recognized by any kingdom, of course, but the type who fancied themselves aristocracy. Someday, when they made it to the outside world, they'd get to see the real deal.
And the third group... well...
"Kill that bastard! No mercy for that dog!"
"Grrrrr!!"
They were the most vocal, hurling insults and curses at me, wishing me dead more aggressively than anyone else. Madam Helma's crew. They made up about half the crowd—probably every last one of them had shown up. Leaving just the bare minimum to guard the captured whores in the brothel, the rest had come here to see me die.
"For Madam Helma!"
"For Madam Helma!"
Was it pure loyalty? Or some other reward? Willing to risk your life fighting for someone was admirable, but in this case, their target was all wrong. Their loyalty was to Helma. Their swords were aimed at... me.
"Heh heh heh."
A hulking figure in heavy plate armor clanked into the arena, hefting a massive hammer.
"You know who I am, right?"
"Who the fuck are you?"
A total stranger. His face was hidden behind a full-face mask, welded so narrow even the eye slits were barely functional for seeing out. I'd never heard his voice before. For a second, I wondered if it was Park Chang-su, but no.
"I'm Hexter, Dex's little brother—the owner of that armor you're wearing."
"Oh yeah? Been wondering when you'd show. Guess we meet like this. So you're Madam Helma's proxy?"
"That's right!"
Boom! He slammed his hammer into the ground, sending shockwaves so fierce I thought the whole arena might shake.
"You could've just taken the win quietly and fucked off, but no—you had to escalate shit like a moron! Guys like you always act like you're invincible!"
Hexter barked threats. Helma's followers behind him erupted in fervent cheers for him.
And notably, Helma herself wasn't here. She'd sent a proxy but couldn't even be bothered to watch as a spectator. On one hand, it screamed "I'm too important to waste time on trash." On the other, it meant she was hedging her bets—staying put in case she got dragged out herself. As more and more of her people died one by one, eventually no one would step up as proxy. Whatever she was planning, I needed to make a clear statement now.
For the eyes watching me from behind—the fourth group, the reserve heroes.
'Everyone except Shin Yu-hee is basically here, huh?'
Park Chang-su was hiding among Helma's followers, and Shin Yu-hee was off special training with Shemiri, but otherwise, all the reserves had shown up.
"Fighter Yoo Si-woo! Win this! I'll give you all my exchange vouchers!"
"Bury an axe in that Helma bitch's skull! That's why I stopped mining to come here!"
The reserves were flanked by Helma fanatics screaming "Kill Helma!" extra loud, so they couldn't raise their voices much.
"S-Sunbae...! Fighting...!"
But they were cheering for me, even if just whispers. Especially those who'd been chained in Helma's brothel alongside Choi Yu-jin.
"Looks like we're ready."
The referee for Arena #1 stepped to the center. Like the others, the vampire raised his hand to ring the gong.
"Before we start."
"What now?"
"Consider it an honor. Her Ladyship is watching this match."
The ref shot me a loaded glance. It was clearly a message: 'Chekhov has her eye on you.'
"That so? Wasn't planning to lose anyway, but it might end quicker than expected."
"Ha...! You cocky fuck, you think this is a joke?! What the hell are you gonna do with that little hand axe?!"
"It's not just the hand axe. Look here—"
"Begin."
Snap.
The ref flicked his fingers, and Hexter was already gripping his hammer two-handed, poised defensively. For someone who'd swaggered in so boldly, he was on high alert. He'd probably heard how his big bro Dex bit it, so he was playing it safe.
'A hammer.'
Long handle, head about the size of a man's skull.
'Doable.'
My assessment was in.
"No time."
Hand axe in one hand.
"Let's wrap this quick."
Iron chain in the other.
"Good grills turn the plate fast, y'know."
"What bullshit—"
I checked my weapons and charged.
Whoosh!
Before I even closed in, the hammer whipped out ahead of schedule. One hit would've shattered bones and folded me in half.
"Die!"
Not just where I was running—he swung to cover dodges too, hammer and haft sweeping everything. Dodging was—
"Hup."
Possible. Right before entering his range, I planted my foot short, halting my rush.
"!!"
Couldn't kill momentum completely. Arena's small, but my body pitched forward anyway—enough to reach the hammer even braking. At that spot, I crossed one arm over the axe haft at an angle.
Kagagagang!!
Hammerhead smacked the haft. The swing's force jolted through haft and arm, numbing it instantly—but just for a flash. Not head-on. Glanced the tip, so the hammer slid off like hitting a ramp—
Whoosh!
—tumbling sideways along the haft's path.
"Kuh...?!"
Thud!
Hammer hit the ground. Haft was a bit dented, but I gripped the axehead-haft joint tight and lunged.
"This—!"
Hexter dropped the hammer, backpedaling, gauntleted hands reaching to grab me.
"—even without the hammer!"
Clang!
I hurled the axehead at the now hammerless fucker.
"!!"
No matter how welded-shut that mask was, anyone flinches at an axeblade flying at their face.
"Guh?!"
Short moment he jerked his head back in shock. I seized the chain two-handed and whipped behind him.
Clank!
Chain looped his neck. One hand went slack from strain, but I knotted it quick and yanked both ways.
"Grk?!"
Hexter flailed his arms, then threw his whole body back.
Thud!
Slammed me into the arena wall. Tried shaking me off with the impact, but I held the chain firm.
Screeech.
Even with that gorget chaining up to his neck, this wasn't ordinary chain.
"Guh, urgh...!"
The chains that held the reserve heroes. The shackles that kept the brothel girls locked in. No normal strength could snap or sever them.
Thud!
Again, he tried smashing me into the wall. Thrashing to drag me toward his cheering Helma goons.
'Nice try.'
I released the chain, slipped sideways. He faceplanted into the wall solo; I rolled and dashed lateral.
"Wha... this...?"
"Tell him."
Grabbed the fallen spear, smashed it down overhead.
"From Dex."
Crang!!
Spear met helmet. A faint crack, and Hexter crumpled slowly.
Thump.
Hexter down. I backed off, shook out my hammer-blocking arm, creating distance.
"Ref. Verdict?"
"...Winner: Fighter Yoo Si-woo."
No cheers. No time for them.
"Next!!"
Before the ref could speak, another guy leaped in.
"I'm proxy for Fighter Malcolm's Helma pick! I, Johan of the Twin Daggers!"
Dual-wielding short blades, he rushed the ref.
"Let's go now!"
Normally, clean the arena first, move to the next. But the mood said fuck that.
Rooooar!
Helma's crew cheered Johan wildly, shrugging off Hexter's death like it was expected, hyped for the fight.
I nodded to the ref. He shrugged helplessly and snapped his fingers.
"Fighters—"
Whoosh!
Before he finished. I scooped the hammer and charged—way faster than with Hexter.
"Wha—"
Splat.
Not a swing—gripped like a spear, rammed the hammer into his solar plexus.
"Guh, heuk...?"
Couldn't even sidestep; he cratered into the wall. I spun the hammer full circle.
Splack.
Orbited skull-smash. Dude dropped before he barely entered.
Clank.
Two daggers hit dirt. I tossed the hammer aside, snatched one dagger.
Hammer arm still tingled. Felt cracked—tough gripping twins, but other arm was fine.
"Next."
Ten years as a hero. Main weapon or not, you use what's handy. On battlefields, enemy horned helms make fine clubs.
"Anyone else wanna die for Madam Helma?"