Chapter 100
Chapter 100
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 100
Chapter Title: Judgment of Atala (3)
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'Faction Battles' were one of the most popular events in the arena.
The rules were simple: two forces of roughly equal numbers clashed until one surrendered or was wiped out. Unlike one-on-one 'standard matches,' they emphasized strategy and the thrill of chaotic melees, making them a favorite among spectators.
But today, something was terribly off.
The gladiators entering from the right with blue flags confirmed it was a 'Faction Battle.' Yet no red-flagged opponents emerged from the opposite gate. Instead, more and more gladiators kept pouring out from the right, forming a rare massive group for a single match.
In total, the blue force numbered 24.
Murmurs rippled through the stands.
"No way... 24 against 24?"
"This doesn't make sense... Have they ever run a faction battle this huge before?"
"Has the Arena King really lost his mind? What's he thinking, throwing so many gladiators into a free show without even charging admission..."
'Faction Battles' were popular but rare. They were terrible value for the organizers.
Gladiators were expendable. A single loss in the arena usually meant death. Every match cost at least one fighter, turned into useless meat. Faction battles, churning out heaps of corpses, were a nightmare on resources.
So staging one for free with that many gladiators? The crowd's unrest lingered.
But the real shock came next.
"Hey, where the hell is the 'Demon Slayer'?"
"He's not with the blues, so probably on the red side..."
As the crowd buzzed, searching for the 'Demon Slayer'...
A lone Atalan strode in from the left, red flag fluttering proudly.
A colossal shadow under the sun, bare-chested to bare raging bronze muscles in full glory. His glowing crimson tattoos and twin-bladed sword promised certain doom to foes. Even tiny as a child's fist from afar, his presence loomed gigantic.
No announcement needed. Everyone knew: that was the 'Demon Slayer.'
And the gamblers, brains pickled in bets, sensed it instinctively. The reds would win.
All eyes locked left. Faction battles balanced numbers evenly. Now, with him, someone would luck into an easy win on the underdog...
...But no more reds joined the Demon Slayer.
Thus, the giant with the red flag faced off against the blue cluster at the arena's center.
"......"
"......"
Before the crowd could react to the absurdity...
1 vs. 24.
The unprecedented, unfair faction battle began.
*
Kadim glanced at the hazy sky dyed faint blue by the sun, scanned the audience blending into the heat haze, then eyed the twin-bladed sword in his right hand.
Arena rules limited weapons to designated ones unless special. So he'd swapped 'Blood Ghost' for this. The thick blade and dull edge didn't suit him, but no choice.
He ignored the beast-like crowd. His vision held only the 24 foes. Yubik had picked promising gladiators. To Kadim, they were just walking corpses.
The blue flag bearer signaled. A spearman stepped forward hesitantly, then cleared his throat and bellowed boldly before Kadim.
"Pleased to meet you, 'Demon Slayer'! I hear you shone on the Golden Highway! They say you piled demon corpses into mountains and rivers of their blood!"
"......"
"But seeing you up close, I doubt those tales! You're pudgy, eyes dull, built like a hulking ogre! Maybe you just scare folks with that ugly mug and spread rumors!"
"......"
"Hahaha! Frozen stiff, can't speak? Yet you dare charge 24 brave gladiators fearlessly. Today, you'll learn your place..."
Kadim knew nothing of faction battle etiquette. No clue they trash-talked first. So he didn't get why this fool rushed out flapping his tongue.
Thus, he hurled the flagpole from his left hand.
Whoosh—thwack, splurt!
"......Urk."
The gladiator's face impaled clean. Nose crumpled inward, cheekbones collapsed. Gushing blood from ruptured skin, he staggered, unable to yank the pole free before crumpling to the dirt.
"Wha...?"
"W-what just happened...?"
No metal tip on the pole. The flag even hindered it as a projectile. Pure destructive strength turned the blunt shaft deadlier than a spear.
Survivors: 23.
Kadim hated playing spectacle. Circumstances forced it, but he'd end it fast.
No breather given. He charged, swinging the twin-blade to sever the frontmost throat.
Slash—crunch!
"......"
Cleaving knotted neck muscles. The foe gaped to scream, but severed vocal cords failed. His head rolled across the dirt with a hollow whoosh.
Survivors: 22.
"Urgh! Damn it!"
"Sh-shit, form ranks! Surround the Demon Slayer!"
Gladiators flailed at the abrupt start. Kadim closed on one shoved forward clumsily. He parried a wild swing, plunged deep into the gut.
Stab—squish!
"Guh, urk!"
Rrrrip—!
Flesh parted far duller than Blood Ghost. Yanking sideways, entrails spilled, snagged on the blade. He scraped them off with his forearm.
Survivors: 21.
Charging again, he sensed a rear presence. Whirled, blade arcing up.
Clang—ring!!
"Hup!"
The attacker's sword rebounded skyward, arm wrenched fully back. Ulna nerve snapped, rotator cuff shredded—arm useless. He watched the blade rise to his jaw helplessly.
"Uh, uhh..."
Slash—crunch!
Survivors: 20.
Three sacrifices let the rest barely form ranks. Pointless. Their encirclement shattered instantly under Kadim's rush.
"Hraaaah!"
"Urrghaaah!"
"D-don't fall back! Rush together... Gack!"
Slash—crunch!
The blue flag bearer proved obedience meant death firsthand. 19. He chucked the flagpole into a turned back, caving the occiput. 18. Parried a reckless axe, bisected the waist. 17. Caught a hurled spear, rammed it home. 16...
Survivors dwindled fast. No real fight—just slaughter. Encirclement, ambush, frontal assault, flanking—results identical. Numbers should've dominated, but that logic bled out under the barbarian's blade.
Kadim showed no mercy. They were part of this corrupt den. Sparing them meant they'd die here anyway.
Skill aside, they'd come ready to kill him. Those resolved to kill must embrace death.
But with five blues left, absurdity peaked.
Stab, slash! Slash!
"Urk! Wha... what...?"
"Damn it, sorry... die, just die...!"
One gladiator suddenly hacked allies.
Huddled survivors took heavy losses. He felled three by surprise, mangled them, then flung his sword and raised hands to Kadim.
"Surrender! We surrender, Demon Slayer! Spare our lives! I, cruel bladesman Gustas, swear to kiss your feet and live as less than scum forever!"
"......"
Arena losers usually died.
But self-humiliation sometimes spared them if fighters disdained dirtying blades. One survived four losses that way, dubbed 'Master of Survival' mockingly.
Not today. Kadim loomed sun-backed, eyes murderous.
"......That desperate to live ugly?"
"Yes! I even helped you win... pl-please, show mercy..."
"Then you never should've come here."
Kadim snapped the man's neck barehanded.
Crack—snap!
Coming to kill without dying resolve? Wilderness law forbade it utterly. Fully aware, unrepentant, the betrayer endured the longest, most agonizing death.
Whoosh, stab—!
"Gack!"
Kadim's final blade-throw pierced the last back. Match over.
Blues annihilated. Reds victorious, sole survivor.
"......"
"......"
Silence blanketed the stands.
The unreal massacre before their eyes left all speechless, jaws forgotten. Shock and horror gripped skulls, thoughts chained.
Unprecedented unfair battle? Yes.
Just the 24 were hopelessly outmatched, contrary to predictions.
"......"
Kadim swept the stunned crowd indifferently, turned. Gate still barred by iron bars. Procedure: victor greets crowd for cheers or boos.
He refused the farce. Gripped the base, wrenched it open forcibly.
Groooan... clang—crash!
The unyielding bars blocking escape, dooming gladiators, rose like flimsy tent flaps. The bloodied barbarian vanished into the waiting shadows.
Stands still hushed in stunned shock.
Then bloodthirsty spectators snapped awake.
They felt the savage thrill fulfilling endless cravings, shivers racing scalp to toes. Trembling in ecstasy, they eyed each other, then exploded as one, bolting up in thunderous roars.
"Waaaaaaaaah!!!"
"Waaaaaaaaaaah!!!"
"Demon Slayeeeeer!!!"
"Demon Slayeeeeer! Demon Slayeeeeer!!!"
In the deafening cheers shaking the stands...
The arena's century-old history's most shocking debut—for the most people—ended.
*
Seeing the initial 1 vs. 24 standoff, VIP box thoughts mirrored the crowd.
'The Arena King finally cracked. All that boozing...'.
One-vs-many faction battles weren't unheard of for elites. But 24? Excessive. Even Agon's Furious Horn never faced that many...
Yet mocking predictions, the Demon Slayer butchered all 24 in overwhelming victory.
""Waaaaaaaaah!!!""
""Demon Slayeeeeer!!! Demon Slayeeeeer!!!""
Cheers rattled awnings, shook stone. Amid entranced masses, only Arena King Yubik clapped, grinning ear to ear.
"Kahahaha! Perfect, just perfect! Never disappoints..."
Mercenary leaders and aides flipped instantly. They mobbed him with flattery and questions.
"Incredible, boss! Where'd you find that mercenary? How'd you recruit him?"
"Boss, that's really the Demon Slayer? The one who matched Agon's Furious Horn on the Golden Highway?"
"No surprise then. Demons no match? These gladiators are nothing..."
"Heh heh, astounding. Agon's Furious Horn, now Demon Slayer... Your eye for talent is unmatched in Agon."
Not all pure praise.
Some feigned shock, eyes sneering: '1 vs. 24? Overdid the rigging this time, boss?'
Yubik didn't care. Time would prove it. The Demon Slayer was the real monster.
"Keh heh..."
He'd heralded the comet-like challenger's arrival successfully. Time for phase two: full plan rollout.
Yubik stepped from the box, ordered his head steward lurking in the colonnade shadows.
"It's done. Now drag every last barbarian out of the city."
Time to summon the vanished champion.