Chapter 72
Chapter 72
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 72
Chapter Title: The Slave's Unexpected Triumph
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The vast arena laid out before the Ziggurat.
The participants' fervor seemed even hotter than the blazing sun overhead.
The Memorial Festival, held every half year. The winner of this contest would enter the Ziggurat for a full day and receive the Main God's blessing.
If the victor was a slave, their owner would receive it in their stead. For a slave was no different from a limb of their master.
"Ahem."
"Heh heh heh."
"Mmm~."
Muscular men flexed their physiques, sizing up their rivals.
This year's festival presented a rare opportunity. The slaves from the Nuransika family—perpetual frontrunners—had accompanied their master to distant lands.
A single newcomer had entered under Lady Saruna's name, but he posed no real threat.
For the perennial runners-up, this was their golden chance.
"Let the first round commence."
At the young priest's declaration, the participants gathered at their assigned arenas.
Round one was a free-for-all. In groups of twenty, only five could advance to the next round.
They were given a single wooden club as a weapon. Their only attire: a short skirt.
Boom! Boom! Boooom!! Drums sounded, and the matches began. Dust clouds billowed from the frantic footsteps of the contestants.
"Uwaaaagh!!"
"This glory is mine!!"
Not every brawl devolved into total chaos. Some sought loopholes.
Like the five strongest banding together. It was the best way to conserve stamina for the next round.
The organizers didn't interfere much. After all, the strongest surviving by any means was the point.
"All done?"
"Nah, one's still hanging on over there."
"The Nuransika slave. Hey, forfeit. No need to unnecessarily piss off Lady Saruna."
The five participants in Group 5 snickered at Slave No. 44.
His body bore not a single scratch. No one had bothered attacking him until now. He looked too weak to warrant the effort.
"Deaf, are ya? We're offering to let you off easy, so why won't you... Agh, guaaah!!"
One contestant grabbed Slave No. 44's shoulder roughly.
It was more meant to intimidate than harm, but the man's wish went unfulfilled.
Kwang! Slave No. 44 twisted the man's forearm and slammed him face-first into the ground.
The impact was so loud that even those in other groups turned to look.
"Guhhhh..."
The man lay unconscious, eyes rolled back. He had been at least one-and-a-half times larger than Slave No. 44, yet this was his fate.
"W-What the hell is that guy?"
And so, Group 5's five advancers included Slave No. 44.
No need for further fighting. But Slave No. 44 charged at the other four, club in hand.
Ppak! The club smashed into the crown of a man's skull as he let out a scream. A dull thud echoed, blood flowed, and he crumpled.
Now only four remained. Yet Slave No. 44 showed no sign of stopping.
Each group could advance up to five—no more, but fewer was fine.
A match only ended when all combatants ceased fighting.
Meaning, if even one wished to continue, the organizers couldn't intervene.
No one had ever tried it before, that's all.
"Get it together! It's just one guy. We just need to deal with this lunatic!!"
The remaining three swung their clubs and rushed Slave No. 44.
In the end, it was mere bravado.
He might possess more strength than he appeared, but three against one? No chance.
Thud! Thud! Thud! The fight ended anticlimactically. Contrary to everyone's expectations.
"D-Does that even make sense?"
"I'm not seeing things, right?"
Three hulks defeated by a single slave.
Slave No. 44's body still unscratched.
The other groups had already finished. All eyes naturally turned this way.
The unexpected contender's emergence had the other qualifiers rolling their eyes, scrutinizing Slave No. 44.
"Why go that far?"
Antoni, from another group, approached and asked.
"Well."
Slave No. 44—Damian—shrugged as if it were nothing.
"It just ends quicker this way."
* * *
"Isn't the sun a bit too intense...?"
In the VIP seats off to one side of the arena, Rubia de Clarent watched Damian's fight, chin in hand.
The spot was originally reserved for Saruna—that is, Agnes Schubert—and Rubia had come along as her slave.
With no onlookers around, though, she acted freely.
Sure, they were lady and slave now, but in truth, Rubia—born to a great noble house—outstripped the mid-tier noble Agnes in status.
Agnes never needlessly brought up the class divide imposed by this memory world, either.
"Don't worry. Sunlight like this won't affect Master Damian in the slightest."
"That's not the issue. I'm worried about that pale skin of his burning."
Rubia gnawed at her nails. Since entering this memory world, she'd shown uncharacteristic anxiety.
'Does sunburn even matter here?'
She'd return to the real world unscathed, after all.
Besides, Agnes thought Damian's skin would look better with a bit more sun-kissed tan.
A true swordmaster's body needed that feral edge.
"To think this ancient civilization would stoop to such barbarism."
Rubia shook her head in undisguised disgust.
Agnes knew little of ancient civilizations. She'd only seen ruins left behind during training in the Taia Mountains.
Common lore held them as masters of magic far surpassing the modern era.
Yet what she'd witnessed in this memory world was primitively savage—utterly incomparable to the Empire.
She still doubted if this was truly an ancient civilization.
"Hmm, hmm. Well, it was entertaining enough. Let's leave it at that."
Rubia licked her lower lip, as if for Agnes's benefit.
'I should have stepped in sooner...'
Agnes clicked her tongue, staring at Rubia's back.
She'd long known of the noble ladies' interest in Damian.
His beauty, hailed as the Empire's finest, drew endless advances despite his fiancée.
But she'd stayed hands-off. Damian ignored them.
Rubia was different.
As she'd witnessed with her own eyes at the Mage Tower welcome banquet months ago, Damian found her advances deeply troubling.
Still, she couldn't make it official.
Rubia hailed from one of the Empire's pillar houses and was betrothed to First Prince Michael von Edbalt.
Making an issue of it risked dragging Damian into hardship.
'I need to step up now.'
Fiancée or not—kept for necessity's sake—something beyond man and woman bound her and Damian.
As a fellow traveler on the path of the sword, and one who'd once owed him her life, Agnes would do what she could.
"Oh my. What an outcome."
-Waaaaah!!
The crowd's roar made her ears ring. The two finalists had just been decided.
"The Nuransika house truly lives up to its blessed name. Where on earth did they find that slave?"
"Isn't this rigged? How does a scrawny twig like that toy with men twice his size?!"
"Tsk! Mind your words. Day or night, everything said here reaches the Nuransika house."
Damian had naturally survived to the end. He'd anticipated as much from the festival's rules.
No one could match Damian in raw physical power. Hyperbole or not, greatest of all time fell short.
"This festival's full of upsets. A mere merchant making finals?"
"That one's no brute either... Some special training method?"
The other finalist was Antoni.
He hadn't trained excluding aura like Damian or Agnes, but he too boasted exceptional physique.
Anticipating this possibility, he'd entered the festival.
If matched against Damian, he'd planned a token fight before yielding.
'But...'
Honestly, she doubted Antoni would go through with it. Such chances didn't come twice.
If she were Antoni, she wouldn't have.
* * *
"Mind if I go all out?"
Before the finals, Antoni approached Damian.
Separate from any prior arrangements—he meant to fight at full strength.
Damian winning benefited them all around.
Antoni's victory meant he'd enter the Ziggurat alone, but Damian's would let Agnes—his nominal owner—send another slave alongside her for propriety's sake.
No telling what awaited in the Ziggurat. More bodies inside meant better odds.
"Sure. Better than half-assed acting."
"Thank you, Master Damian."
But after experiencing the festival, his thinking had changed.
He didn't know exactly what the "Main God's Blessing" entailed, but to this era's people, it held unimaginable value.
Lives hung in the balance. Two deaths already this festival—not unusual.
Risking complications from faked outcomes was unwise.
Unclear how deaths here reflected in reality.
Safest path: Prioritize finding the memory's owner.
"Now, the Memorial Festival's climactic duel!"
Boom! Boom! Boooom! Waaaaah!!
Majestic drums and thunderous cheers filled the city.
The unanticipated matchup fueled their frenzy.
Now just two remained in the arena. Damian and Antoni entered, eyes locked.
"I expect a passionate clash from you both."
The young priest spoke, daubing dye on their foreheads—a honor for finalists only.
"..."
Damian's gaze pierced beyond, to the Ziggurat. Empty as it seemed, a distinct presence watched.
The world's only mana users. They stayed hidden.
"Fighters—for the Main God's glory!!"
The priest's cry unleashed the duel. Antoni struck first.
No aura, but his massive frame packed power.
Training sans aura yet achieving this body proved innate talent.
Whoosh! He smashed down with his wooden club—no trace of levity now.
Once combat began, no quarter for ties. The mercenary's proper mindset.
Tap. Damian slipped the blow by stepping one foot back. The club grazed his hair—a hair's breadth.
Antoni pressed with menacing strikes thereafter, but none landed.
"No tricks up your sleeve, huh!"
"To create this tension with dodges alone...!"
The crowd marveled at the graceful footwork; Antoni forced a wry laugh.
'Not just power.'
Control—wielding it in perfect form—that was the essence. Like the Iron Wolf in his prime reborn.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Damian slipped inside and landed three clean hits.
Antoni's vision reeled. He tagged Damian amid it, but the exchange favored no one.
Agnes, Rienne, even Antoni had expected Damian's win—but not this one-sided.
"Uooooh!! More, more, more!!"
"You gonna lose to a slave? Squirm harder!!"
The spectators demanded blood regardless.
Neither Damian nor Antoni indulged the mood.
This duel was but a step to escape this world.
"Hah, hah... Master Damian. Beyond imagination."
"What. You've never fought like this."
As they caught their breath, Antoni murmured low. The surrounding din drowned it out.
As Damian said, Antoni hadn't trained without aura. Nor would any sane person—such inefficiency.
'Full strength...?'
Using 『Convergence』 might hold Damian in close quarters, but victory? Doubtful.
He'd witnessed those green flames and massive boulders up close.
"Wrap it up soon. Ideally, with everything you've got."
"Got it."
Unlike other bouts, finals allowed no surrender. It ran until knockout or death. Both had to mean it.
Hooo. Damian gripped the club two-handed, exhaling.
Antoni vanished from his sight. Just swing—from high to low.
No sword, so no perfect Unity, but this would satisfy Antoni.
'Well now...'
Crack! The club shattered. Yet Antoni felt refreshed.
Ah, so paths like this exist. The world broader than imagined. Mind cleared, vision widened—far from unpleasant.
'Old man Derek's one lucky bastard.'
Such a disciple in his twilight years. Overflowing fortune for a mercenary.
Thump. Antoni collapsed smiling. He'd eased up at the end—still, hours abed awaited.
-Wooooow!!
The city shook with cheers. Only Agnes and Rienne grasped the blow's true caliber.
Yet even laymen felt its inexplicable power.
Memory world or not, its impact couldn't be ignored.
"A most intriguing champion this year."
Then a low voice emanated from the Ziggurat. Soft, yet it swallowed the crowd's noise. Mana infused it.
"T-The High Priest Aum Pasha himself...!"
The officiating young priest bowed low. His flustered tone suggested rare appearances.
"Come hither."
Damian left the fallen Antoni to Rienne and headed to the Ziggurat at the High Priest's summons.
Only up close, under the midday sun, could he make out the man's face.
'Crazy...!'
He barely swallowed the outburst. Voicing it aloud would complicate matters.
"A Nuransika slave, are you. You too shall receive the Main God's blessing."
The shocking decree sent the festivalgoers into uproar.
Damian had shone, but precedent for rewarding a slave thus? None.
Damian wasn't fazed by such trifles.
'This guy's here?'
The voice was familiar, but weightier than before. Perhaps still acting as his order's head.
"Hmm... Why that face? You should be ecstatic."
Before his chest hung the Tear of Eternity.
Primordial mana radiated too. Only natural from its original owner.
High Priest Aum Pasha. The true identity of the old mage who had mentored Damian.