The Taste of Victory and the Scent of Defeat

The arena was on the verge of exploding. The spectators had lost their minds.

“What the hell is this? What the hell—!”

“Mom—! I’m sorry—! Mooooom—!”

The young man with yellow eyes looked on in horror. He had stood fearless before all manner of monsters, yet he had never imagined chaos of this kind. The man had no choice but to whisper in the smallest voice possible.

“What kind of Eleim are these people? How much did they bet to cause a scene like this?”

“You know I don’t like it when men question me.”

The Sword Saint Bin shrugged his shoulders.

“There’s quite an age gap. It’s a little embarrassing if you look at me that way.”

A fearless, frivolous joke. The woman in the black dress he was escorting let out a small laugh.

“A good number of them bet everything they had.”

“What? Their entire fortunes? No way. The odds were heavily skewed to one side—why would they…”

In betting, the winner takes the loser’s money. But there are cases where even the victor loses—specifically when far more money was wagered on the winning side. If the payout is only 1% but the arena takes a 10% commission, then a 100-credit ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bet only returns 91 credits. This match, however, was different.

“The arena master made an offer they couldn’t refuse.”

This is an apology for the poor management of the previous match. If you bet on the Sapiens’ defeat, not only will we return your full principal upon victory, we will also add an additional 8% of your wager.

It was a special event. The arena master had decided that a grand display of capital hemorrhage was preferable to losing customers. The offer was even notarized on tablets—an undeniable temptation. They had even trotted out the arena’s mascot monster, the one with a perfect 100-win record in jungle stages.

Of course, some were suspicious. Citing Pretty Boy’s poor performance in the last match, quite a few people sat out. But the majority of Eleim who took the bait had wagered enormous sums on Nathan’s defeat. The heavier the bet, the larger the guaranteed 8% profit on the principal. Only then could they recoup their earlier losses.

Of course, that principal and the 8% “free money” had just been shredded to pieces in midair the moment Nathan won again. Dreams and hopes that could never be stitched back together scattered in every direction. Spectators scrambled about as if trying to gather the fragments.

“Once defeat strips away the shell of reason, everyone reveals their true face,” the woman in the black veil said with a smile. She tilted her head back and savored the thick scent of defeat that filled the air.

Sword Saint Bin had no interest in that smell. He was too busy swatting away the objects flying at them from all directions.

“Whoa, watch the juice bottle. This is going to be a disaster for the arena. Do you think it would calm things down if the master refunded the principal to the losing Eleim as well?”

“That’s impossible. There’s a terrifying elder watching.”

In the highest VIP lounge on the top floor, a massive bishop’s hat bobbed. A Conclave priest with tightly pressed lips was staring down at the arena.

“If you win, you gain. If you lose, you lose. That is the law of the Eleim. Violate the principle of fairness, and the owner of this arena will find himself in an interrogation room with that old man.”

As if sensing their gaze, the priest suddenly turned in their direction. Bin, who had been observing the priest with fascination, quickly pretended to look elsewhere.

“That old man would crack open your skull for even a single coin of fraud, claiming your ideology was impure. The skulls he’s collected over his lifetime could fill two or three museums. A warning letter was already posted ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠yesterday. Three strikes and this arena is finished.”

“I wondered how anyone could believe that con-artist line about returning 108% of the principal. It must be thanks to him that people felt confident the arena master would keep his word.”

Yesterday, customers who had bet on Nagrik’s survival never received their money back. The promise announced by the commentator had turned out to be empty air. The commentator had been beaten by private soldiers from a noble house wielding clubs, and the arena master who had lied lost the customers’ trust. The only reason that lost faith had been restored today was the presence of the Conclave priest. He wouldn’t dare lie if he doesn’t want to die, they thought.

It was a ridiculous situation. The reason the customers hadn’t gotten their money back on Nagrik was because the priest had pointed out the rule violation in the first place. Thanks to that, everyone had climbed aboard a sinking ship. For the woman, it was a delightful turn of events.

“Gamblers are sensitive to information. But they’re usually terrible at smelling victory. That’s why they can never quit gambling.”

The woman let the tablet slip from her fingers, dangling it at her side.

Bin clapped a hand over his mouth. One of the three people the arena master had mentioned—the ones who bet on survival—was his temporary employer. The Sword Saint glanced around frantically and whispered to the woman.

“Don’t show that around. Temporary employer. If people see it, they’ll lose their minds.”

“If those gambling-crazed losers come after me, it’s your job to protect me from them. Temporary bodyguard.”

Bin’s eyes narrowed mischievously.

“I’ll try to find you an escape route. That’s what you said, but you placed bets yourself, didn’t you?”

“I won both times. How is that gambling? That’s called investing.”

She didn’t say she couldn’t keep her promise.

This place wasn’t filled only with the poor and the lowly. In a flying arena where even the ticket price was astronomical, the rich and the scions of great houses inevitably showed their faces. Those who guarded such people were no ordinary fighters. Yet the boy showed no fear. Even knowing who she was, even in a disadvantageous position, he didn’t shrink back. It was the confidence that came from believing in his own strength.

The woman in the black veil liked boys like this. The deeper they fell, the richer the fragrance they gave off. Just like Nathan Maia down there, gasping that he was still alive.

----------

“I’m alive—! I’m alive, damn it! As the Human Union says, man shall survive! You long-eared bastards—!”

Nathan’s triumphant shout was swallowed by the chaos; the spectators couldn’t hear it. But in the commentator’s booth, the advanced equipment picked it up crystal clear. The device that usually aided the broadcast was now tearing the arena master’s heart to shreds.

“How did it come to this…”

The secretary quickly turned the microphone. The complaint muttered in the booth echoed throughout the entire arena. It was like pouring oil on a fire. The furious Eleim now had a target. Spectators surged toward the base of the high broadcast platform and began hurling anything they could get their hands on. The more they had lost, the more viciously they charged. Even the guards at the stairs were struggling to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠control them.

“What the hell kind of Eleim are you, huh—!”

“I’ll rip your throat out, you pig bastard—!”

“Do you know who my family is? Come out here and kneel and beg!”

“Staff member, move aside—! I’m throwing a rock—!”

The secretary, at a complete loss, simply let the flying objects hit him while the arena master’s cheeks quivered as he spiraled into panic.

A few minutes earlier, the Sapiens who had been slammed by the chimera had flown through the air. Thanks to his savage athletic reflexes, he had avoided instant death, but he had collapsed and couldn’t get up. The spectators had been in a frenzy of excitement. The traitor who had caused a catastrophic betting collapse. The disgustingly resilient Sapiens who refused to die was finally about to meet a fitting end.

Perfect—! Pretty Boy—!

Who the hell were the three idiots who bet on the Sapiens against a chimera?

Our Pretty Boy has never lost in the jungle stage—!

At that moment, the arena master had been drunk on happiness. The wounded and ugly public sentiment was beginning to heal. Yes, that was it. Pretty Boy. Just one more bite and it’s over.

But where are you going?

The chimera hadn’t finished him off. Thinking its job was done, it kept scratching at the exit gate. And the knight had stood up again. The battle resumed. The chimera that had been struck by him could not rise again.

A guaranteed profit. The scent wafting from that 8% figure had been sweet. Many Eleim had bet everything, even the clothes off their backs. After losing a bet they were certain to win, the foolish psychology of angrily betting even more money kicked in. And yet they had lost. Why does that damn Sapiens keep getting back up?This is rigged. Get the boss out here.

Even if the boss came out, there was no fixing this situation. The average bet of 300,000 credits had come from the spectators, not the arena master. Why should he return even the principal? Especially with the Conclave elder—the guardian of the rules—watching with wide eyes? It would hurt less to simply be beaten to death by the Eleim.

He had to redirect their rage. This was no longer about customer loss; it was about whether he would be assassinated. He needed to make it clear that this was not the arena master’s fault. Among those who had lost money were powerful high nobles. Perhaps even a Conclave councilor had wagered a significant sum…

The Sapiens. A beast that resembled an Eleim, an officially untouchable pariah. A reptile. A disgusting hybrid that inspired revulsion at a glance. And one Eleim. No—a Baeleim. A child who had not reached adulthood and thus possessed no citizenship, a byproduct of sexual desire.

It’s those three. This isn’t my fault. It’s their fault.

The arena master glared down at the arena with as much dignity as he could muster. Sweat poured down his face like broth beside his coldly composed eyes. Real broth was pouring over his secretary’s head. The instant noodle cup that had just hit him was full of toppings. The secretary sighed and shook it off.

“Nothing ever goes right.”

------------

The chaos in the distant stands showed no sign of subsiding.

“The match is definitely over, but the cleanup soldiers aren’t coming. They must be busy trying to calm down the betting-crazed lunatics.”

“Before that, Nathan. Is that monster really dead?”

When Akweba whispered anxiously, Nathan, still lying on his back, looked up at the monster. The massive hunk of meat lay frozen with its rear pointed at the sky. As if its center of gravity had shifted at that exact moment, the corpse toppled over with a tremendous crash.

Thud.

Akweba, who had been flicking his tongue in disbelief, finally let out a gasp of admiration.

“It really is. Should I start calling you Father instead of Brother?”

“I don’t like being called Brother either.”

Nathan’s exhausted, grumpy reply made Akweba cackle.

“The soldiers aren’t coming and we’ve got time to kill. Shall we chat among ourselves then?”

“Time to kill? Akweba, your legs…”

The elf girl suddenly remembered and gasped. Akweba pointed at his lower half. A makeshift bandage made from the children’s cargo-hold shirts was wrapped tightly around the stumps.

“You stopped the bleeding for me a while ago. And even without legs, I won’t die from shock or excessive blood loss. It’s a Lizardian privilege. New legs will grow back in three months.”

Nathan sneered.

“You stopped the bleeding with clothes covered in kids’ sweat and grime. Yeah, those legs are definitely going to grow back. Take it off before the salt content poisons you.”

“It was the best I could do in that situation, Sapiens!”

“Call me Sapiens one more time and I’ll start calling you ‘girl.’”

“My name is Nili.”

“Nathan, the kids will cry if they hear you say it didn’t help. Frosty, Nathan seems to dislike being called Sapiens.”

“It’s Nili! If you don’t like being called Sapiens, fine. What should I call you?”

“It’s written on the scoreboard over there. Demian Naia…”

Nathan rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t seen wrong. Even that display suddenly vanished. It seemed they were trying not to provoke the Eleim spectators any further.

“The other scoreboard says Nate Maia. That’s why I asked.”

“How the hell do these sons of bitches not even know how to spell a name properly? Nathan Maia. Human. A proud knight of the Lion Wing Knights of the Federation. Not some barbarian warrior. I’m seventeen years old. I was captured while fighting orcs and got bundled up with them.”

By the way, you rude little thing. Who’d have thought the long-eared ones would speak down to someone they just met… Nathan swallowed the rest of his complaint. If he was being honest, he had been the first to speak casually to someone old enough to be his great-grandparent. Moreover, she was his benefactor who had helped him, and among her kind she was still considered a child. He might need to show respect to his elder.

I’ll hold back. We’ve all had a rough day; there are better things to talk about.

“Nili. Ninety-seven. You’d have to live about six times longer to catch up to me.”

Nathan’s mind changed. What a stereotypical long-ear.

“Even though I look young, my job has let me deal with a lot of long-lived species. The adults who try to enforce hierarchy by age the moment they meet someone usually don’t have much substance. So, what were you doing when you got dragged here?”

The elf pressed her lips tightly shut. Nathan’s gentle voice scratched at her insides.

“Occupation?”

Veins stood out on the elf’s neck. Nili finally confessed.

Unemployed.

Nathan laughed loudly.

“Baeleim can’t have jobs—!”

The child explained that adult elves with recognized citizenship were called Eleim, while underage elves without citizenship were called Baeleim. It seemed that in the Heavens, children were not considered protected beings but a kind of lowly caste.

Nathan frowned. The more he learned, the less he understood their way of thinking.

“Fellow jobless comrade, huh. I’m Akweba Kakchlo. From the Koatul Clan. Twenty-four. I didn’t have a steady job either. I was a mercenary escorting human merchant caravans, but they fired me because I just sleep when it gets cold. When I went back home, they told me to guard the spawning grounds, so I was just sitting around when a flying saucer abducted me. With Nili here, we became friends chatting through the container walls for days on end. You could call us seniors in the same prison cell.”

Akweba was carefully folding the blood-soaked clothes that had been used as bandages, one by one. To return them to their owners. Would they even want them back covered in blood? Nathan was wondering how to point that out when Akweba suddenly shouted as if he had realized something.

“Anyway, putting the elf aside, does your age even make sense, Nathan? Are you human or a dinosaur? How can a kid that young be so strong? Ha! If I’d known you were seventeen, I would’ve at least tried to claim the big brother role.”

Shluck.

A strange sound came from a little distance away. Residual fluids were leaking from the dead monster’s innards. Overwhelmed by the presence of the massive corpse, Akweba quickly took back his words.

“Never mind. Sorry. You be the big brother.”

----------

In the end, the soldiers never came, and an hour passed.

“Those bastards aren’t just going to leave us here to freeze to death, are they?”

“They couldn’t kill us with ghouls or a chimera, so maybe they’re leaving it to nature. What do you think, Frosty?”

Nili, who had been about to say something, simply shrugged. A cold wind blew in through the torn ceiling, so the three of them moved in front of the cargo container to block the breeze. There was also the chance that the ghouls who had fled earlier might come back looking for the children.

“Never mind the ghouls. That invisible chimera—there aren’t any more, right?”

“This Akweba— I mean, this little brother was here three months before big brother, and I was told there’s only one of those in this arena. That chimera was ridiculously expensive.”

A jungle without the sound of insects. An artificial light shone down, making it bright despite the lack of sun—an eerie contradiction. Because of that sense of wrongness, Nathan could not let down his guard. In a space that reeked of artificiality, who knew what other tricks might be hidden.

The night wind was growing colder. The children huddled inside the cargo container, relying on each other’s body heat, began to shiver as well. Some of them had even given their outer clothes to Akweba to use as bandages. Nili suggested lighting a campfire. Akweba, whose body was freezing without sunlight, welcomed the idea with both hands raised.

Nathan thought it was fortunate the long-ears hadn’t taken his gauntlets. He pulled out a flint from inside one. The children who received tiny sparks of flame in each compartment looked up at Nathan as if they had seen a magician. A few of them, however, sparkled with interest at something even more unusual.

“Mister. By the way, what’s that tattoo under your glove?”

“You spotted that even while I was taking out the flint. Good observation skills.”

“Mom said only gangster bastards get tattoos.”

“…You have no manners. This is something only knights get.”

The Rune of Kelsa engraved on both fists. A magic art passed down to the Human Union through northern minority tribes. Its military applications were so vast that it had been absorbed into the tradition of the Lion Wing Knights.

“You need a certain level of stamina and condition to use it, but it’s incredibly versatile. It can act like a universal antidote, relieve muscle fatigue…”

Nathan examined the skewered meat over the campfire. It was a shame to lose the moisture, but unknown creatures had to be cooked thoroughly. Fortunately, the tattoo on the back of his hand did not glow. It seemed the chimera’s head meat contained no poison.

“This is also how I can tell if crocodile meat skewers are properly cooked. The ones who worked the hardest today get the first bites. One each.”

Nathan held out two skewers. Akweba quickly snatched one and bit into it. He was extremely hungry, but the other one was surely for Nathan. Nili had assumed as much, so she was startled when Nathan held a skewer out to her.

“…Give it to the kids.”

“It’s not convincing when you refuse with such a hungry face.”

“You eat it.”

“There’s enough for everyone, so just eat. If you don’t want your empty stomach to flip, eat slowly.”

Nili didn’t refuse a second time. She quietly savored the meat—her first in a long while—then suddenly spoke as if something had occurred to her.

“When you were fighting earlier, you used magic with that tattoo, right? That’s how you ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠were able to lift that monster.”

“I used it usefully earlier too. The most important function I used back then is that it can make you forget pain for a short time.”

“So in the end it was still your own strength, you crazy Sapi— ahem. Sorry.”

“You don’t know how much physical ability can increase once the barrier called pain disappears. It’s similar to having no legal working hours.”

In Nathan’s eyes as he spoke, Nili glimpsed a desolate bleakness like a ruined wasteland.

“That sounds incredibly horrifying.”

“It is. You pour out even the strength you need for tomorrow and eventually die from overwork. People like me live that way. All week long. Year-round. Look at me now. My back hurts so much I can’t even stand up.”

“Even jungle search teams get days off. Impressive. Today’s work must feel like a vacation to you.”

Akweba chimed in. After that, for a long while, only the sound of chewing meat could be heard. Everyone was exhausted to the limit. When some of the children complained of thirst, Nili performed a little trick. The dirty moisture that flew up from the mud froze into clean ice at her fingertips. Everyone melted it over the campfire and drank. Nathan wondered if he should stick his head under that hand like the ten-year-olds. After some hesitation, he removed one gauntlet and held out the clean metal plate.

“Pour it here.”

“…It’ll smell like sweat. Are you embarrassed?”

“Just pour it.”

“Ugh. You’ve got a strong stomach.”

Even as their small feast gradually grew more plentiful, there was no sign of the ghouls returning. Akweba, whose senses were sharp, cautiously insisted that they didn’t seem to be inside the arena anymore. Nathan quietly gave thanks. Considering the horrific situation, this was better than the best. This was practically a miracle. Unlike the three hundred orcs who had been slaughtered, all the children had survived.

By then Nili had devoured three whole skewers. She stared into the campfire, then muttered in a low voice as if she had made up her mind.

“I will definitely save you all from here. Every single one. The children, and you too, Nathan. I will definitely buy you and take you out.”

“…That came so out of nowhere I didn’t see it coming. How?”

Nathan asked with a dumbfounded expression. Akweba joined in.

“Yeah. I don’t even know how much my own body is worth. And how will you get the money?”

“I can’t explain the method. Just hold on for six years. I will definitely survive and come back. So you two must survive too.”

Whether she had lived ninety-seven years or not, the gaunt elf looked somehow anxious and pitiful. She had said she had gone hungry for fifteen years. Honestly, Nathan wanted to tell her to focus on taking care of herself first. But he didn’t.

“I’ll believe you.”

“Really?”

There was a self-mocking question attached to those words. She had asked him to believe her, but her tone suggested how could anyone believe a shabby-looking child like me?

“There’s nothing else I can do but believe. We risked our lives together. Who else would I rely on?”

Nili suddenly looked up at the sky. Nathan and Akweba quickly exchanged glances.

“Hey, shorty. Why are you only buying the kids and the human? If you have any spare cash left, buy me too.”

The hastily made plan had failed. When Nili burst into laughter, the tears she had been holding back finally spilled over. The elf laughed through her sobs.

“You too. No, all of you. Of course I’m talking about both of you.”

“Then why are you only looking at the human when you talk?”

“Because you can’t see with your— wait, how did you know?”

The snake-headed Lizardian let out a loud laugh. A silly comforting laugh certainly had value, but deeper emotions lay within it. The sense of relief that only those who had overcome a crisis could enjoy. That sound loosened the threads of tension.

Nathan flopped down like a puppet with its strings cut. The night sky visible while lying down had its atmosphere severely ruined by the arena lights, but what did it matter? Muddy water from the mire had splashed up to his face, yet even that sensation felt strangely pleasant.

“Akweba, wake me if anything happens.”

He had survived. At least for today.

------------

Looking back, there was no way he should have allowed himself such peaceful feelings.

“Cut them off.”

“You son of a— biiiiitch—!”

“Cut them—!”

While the metal implement meticulously sliced through both wrists, Nathan screamed without even being allowed the mercy of fainting.