Chapter 102
Chapter 102
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 102
Chapter Title: Judgment of Atala (5)
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Sunlight filtered through the window between the earthen walls. The pumpkins and lapis lazuli decorating the desk absorbed the clear light. The Arena King sitting there gripped a clinking bottle of liquor.
He had already meticulously planned how to piece the situation together. A dangerous gamble that could turn monstrous enemies he couldn't handle into foes if he slipped up. But if everything went according to plan, he could escape all risks and reap massive gains.
So, as long as it went according to plan. Just according to plan...
Boom!
A deafening roar announced the start of the plan.
One kick shattered the office door completely. Beyond the entrance, the mercenaries stationed as guards lay collapsed. Yubik Agrámendus looked calmly at the giant who had entered in such an uncouth manner, showing no surprise.
"Quite the rough greeting. Bursting into someone else's mansion uninvited, knocking out the guards, smashing the door to pieces... Do you really want to be called a barbarian that badly, Agon's Furious Horn?"
Goltaran twisted his face like a demon and approached, grabbing Yubik by the collar with both hands and hoisting him up.
"Gah!"
"This isn't the time to act so leisurely. What the hell have you been up to while I was gone?"
"Kkh, kkh, khuhuhu... Kuhuhuhu..."
"...What's so funny?"
"Khk, no, just the other day too, kehk, something similar, happened to me... Kkhup, kuhuhuhu... Of course, that guy lifted me with one hand, kehk..."
"..."
Rough hands slammed him to the floor. His breath caught, and a dull pain shot through his waist. Before he could catch his breath, a pitch-black axe blade hovered over his folded neck.
"Explain yourself. Why did you break our promise and hand my kin over to strangers?"
Even then, Yubik didn't lose his composure and shot back sharply.
"Before that... I need to hear from you first. Why did you ignore my summons and vanish for days? All the help I've given you... Did it seem utterly trivial and laughable?"
"...There were unavoidable circumstances. Surely you didn't cause all this just to drag me out here alone."
"Khuhuhu, no... That's definitely not the only reason."
Mentioning the past favors he'd bestowed dulled the man's momentum. Yubik leisurely straightened his clothes, waddled to his feet, and downed the rest of his liquor.
Waiting for the subtle buzz to clear his stray thoughts, Yubik gazed out the dazzling window and opened his mouth.
"Do you remember, Goltaran? When you first came here. I swore you'd become the greatest champion, that no mercenary would ever surpass you."
"..."
A mercenary who had nothing but his body became a legendary champion thanks in large part to a tycoon's backing. Yubik reminisced for a while, lost in old tales. Goltaran, having received much himself, couldn't interrupt.
In the midst of this nostalgia peddling, Yubik abruptly shifted the topic.
"But now, I think I need to take those words back. At the very least, I've found someone on your level—or even better. To unearth two such gems that no one else could find in a lifetime... Lord Remillion must have truly blessed me with golden fortune."
"...So, what does that have to do with handing over my kin?"
"Just listen quietly. But get this—that guy's got quite the ego. Wouldn't budge no matter how much money I offered. So in the end, I asked him straight: what do you want? And do you know what that lofty mercenary lord said?"
"..."
"He wanted a way to find 'Agon's Furious Horn.' Said he had a debt to settle with you. I asked about the story behind it, but he wouldn't say a word..."
Goltaran's eyes crumpled in disbelief.
"So, you pretended to sell my kin to hand me over to him on a platter?"
"No, that's not it. At first, I just introduced him to your subordinates. But they stonewalled him, picked a fight, and a brawl broke out. Enraged, he threatened me to find another way..."
"..."
"In the end, I had to offer something to calm him down. I handed over the slave contracts and told him: Agon's Furious Horn cherishes these 'Atalan kin' above all. Take them for now and figure out a way to negotiate... But then that bastard tries to sell them off somewhere immediately, saying he'll drag you out no matter what?"
Thud!
"Does that even make sense? Either way, doesn't that mean you broke our promise first by handing over my kin!"
Goltaran slammed the desk in excitement. But Yubik, far from frightened, turned the tables as if he'd been waiting.
"I broke the promise first? No, let's get our facts straight. You provided the spark. Do you even know how many times I summoned you?"
"...!"
"I was trying to talk to you first, by any means! If you hadn't vanished, none of this would've happened—to me, your men, or your precious kin! But you ignored me completely, then come rushing in after the fact to blame everyone else? Is that how you repay my total support for you and the 'Indomitable Legion' all this time?"
"..."
"There's a limit to shamelessness. Treat someone like a pig you can endlessly bleed money from just because they showed you kindness..."
In negotiations and deals, lies were the sword, truth the shield.
The flow had completely shifted. Yubik cunningly twisted the truth and wielded lies skillfully, pricking the man's conscience and backing him into a corner.
Goltaran, absent for days, couldn't refute the onslaught. Instead, heavy self-reproach settled in. Lost subordinates, kin in chains, a blood-soaked child—visions flashed in his sunken eyes.
In the end, Goltaran redirected his inner rage. Toward the mercenary who harbored inexplicable grudge against him and touched his kin.
"...What's the name of this new mercenary you found?"
"Phew... Swear on Atala's name you won't kill him, and I'll tell you. I don't want to lose my prized find."
"..."
"Don't be too disappointed. I'll give you a chance for revenge and to make up for your mistake. We're holding a 'regular tournament' this time... Swear you'll fight him and end your reign as champion on a high note, and I'll somehow get your 'Atalan kin' back."
"..."
He squeezed his eyes shut, pondering long and hard.
He still hadn't dropped his suspicions of Yubik. But he couldn't just watch his kin be sold off. There were endless ways to make an enemy suffer without killing them. In the end, he swore to accept both proposals.
Only then did Yubik reveal the challenger's identity.
"'Demon Slayer.' He's the 'Demon Slayer' who piled demon corpses into mountains on the Golden Highway."
"...!!"
The champion's eyes bulged, emitting a chilling gleam.
The Arena King sensed his plan had worked perfectly and smirked inwardly.
Word spread that a 'regular tournament' would be held in the arena.
People were stunned. 'Regular tournaments' were held once every two years by tradition. The last one had been just a year ago, making this far too soon.
But the justification was whatever the Arena King made it out to be.
"To commemorate the great champion Agon's Furious Horn ending the demon outbreak and saving the alliance, we hold the 'regular tournament'!"
It was unclear if many bought that reason. But preparation mattered more than buy-in. The 'regular tournament' was Agon's biggest event for crowning a new champion. People scrambled in their roles to ready for the sudden festival.
Blacksmiths worked bellows and hammered iron all day. Tavern owners opened vats and stocked ingredients. Spectators and gamblers scurried to borrow quick cash. Mercenary captains agonized over entry lists, while mercenaries squeezed in extra training. Agon lost its nights to the sleepless, becoming a city of firelight.
The hot topic everyone fixated on was, of course, the gladiators competing. As always, Agonians dove into fervent debates about gladiators whenever two or more gathered.
"'Spear of the North' is a lock for the finals! If he hadn't gotten hurt midway last tournament, he'd have made it all the way..."
"I'm more hyped for 'Untana's Ogre.' Saw him fight from afar once—total monster. No wonder rumors say he's really ogre-blooded..."
But ironically, who would become champion in past regular tournaments hadn't been much of a thrill. It was practically decided already...
Agon's Furious Horn.
The legendary champion who won the regular tournament 19 years ago and hadn't lost the title since.
Agonians would borrow money or sell heirlooms just to see him in the finals. But after five straight wins, few still hoped for a new champion.
This time was different.
Some eyed the heated debaters with pitying scorn. They were the ones who'd watched the free exhibition match days ago. When talk turned to the winner being obvious as ever, they'd shake their heads like they couldn't stand it anymore.
"You lot see the 'Demon Slayer's' match? Nah, probably not. That's why you're talking nonsense... Maybe this time... the arena's champion might change..."
"Makes sense... I felt it watching the match too. Even Agon's Furious Horn might struggle to hold the title this time..."
Those around, who'd endured days of such drivel, sighed deeply in response.
"Here we go with the nonsense again... Come on, how's one guy supposed to beat 24 others?"
"Arena King's just scheming. Gets boring if Agon's Furious Horn always wins, so he rigs a decent challenger, jacks up ticket prices..."
"Still just a mercenary. He'll win again for sure, so snap out of it. How do you beat the superhuman who stopped a demon outbreak...?"
What followed was predictable.
Those who'd seen the free match and those who hadn't split into factions, trading barbs fiercely. Such pride clashes often ended in bets on the winner. How many would pay up honestly after the results... who knew.
But one thing was certain. Anyone stuck in this wasteland's blood pools—man, woman, child—desperately wondered the same.
'Demon Slayer' vs. 'Agon's Furious Horn'.
Who would win if those two clashed?
With hotter buzz and anticipation than ever, Agon's grandest tournament raised its curtain.
On the opening day of the 'regular tournament', atop the arena's dirt floor heated to a fever pitch.
Gladiators in the regular tournament were obligated to line up here. Thus, the wasteland's sharpest yet most brittle blades gathered in one place.
Seeing famous gladiators' faces at once was rare. Crowds swarmed like bees. They leaped from seats, chanting their favorites' epithets.
"Spear of the North! Spear of the North! Spear of the North!! Spear of the North!!"
"Net Predator! Net Predator! Net Predator!"
"Bone Dust Crusher! Smash 'em all to pieces!!"
Many voices clashed, but two epithets rang loudest and clearest.
"Agon's Furious Horn! Agon's Furious Horn! Agon's Furious Horn!"
"Agon's Furious Hooooooorn!!! Great champion!!"
"Demon Slayer!! The mercenary who dyed the Golden Highway in blood!!!"
"Demon Slayer! Demon Slayer! Demon Slayer!"
Not just the chants stood out. Amid hundreds of challengers, those two giants' imposing figures were especially prominent.
The challenger on the dirt floor: 'Demon Slayer'.
And the champion on the platform: 'Agon's Furious Horn'.
One pair of eyes stared indifferently at the platform, the other glared murderously at the dirt.
Finally, the two black gazes met, and sparks flew.
Kadim suppressed it. The urge to charge and smash the clown's skull.
The fool had impersonated a great warrior, unjustly claimed the divine weapon, and wasted time in this den of corruption mocking the struggle. If not for his vow to judge the tycoon too, he'd have rushed and butchered him mercilessly right then.
And Goltaran suppressed it too. The urge to leap and rip out the madman's heart.
The lunatic had destroyed Soltana, felled his men, and tried selling his kin to lure him out. If not for his vow to save his kin, he'd have charged and judged him mercilessly right then.
The crowd noticed their gazes lock. Cheers slowly faded, replaced by boiling tension and anticipation. A heavily drunk spectator from midday couldn't contain his excitement and asked the man beside him.
"Kuhuhuhu... Killer vibe. Hey, mister... Who do you think wins if those two fight?"
"...Definitely the 'Demon Slayer,' no doubt."
"Hmm, really? Thought you'd say the champion... Plenty think that little guy's got a shot... But why you think so?"
"I've fought both, and I never beat the boss."
"...??"
The drunk scowled. Judging the man beside him mad, he inched away slyly.
Duncan paid it no mind.
He just clenched his fist, praying desperately that Kadim would win and claim the promised gold.