The Twins, Countdown (2)
Choosing a weapon in front of an opponent you might have to kill was a strange experience. Emil raised an eyebrow as she looked at the longsword balanced on the scale.
“Why, is there a problem?”
The Conclave representative also voiced his doubt.
If he had armor, he would have put it on the scale. But the plate armor he’d been wearing had already been taken, and the only thing resembling armor on the side tray was Emil’s leather bracer. Besides, every weapon provided was a heavy polearm. Even if he took extras, they would only weigh him down and serve no real purpose.
Emil let out a short laugh, as if she had no idea what he meant.
Nathan’s eyes twitched. What?
Having been forced into an unfavorable fight, he had naturally assumed he would have to face two opponents alone. Come to think of it, if they were going so far as to balance weapon weight, it would be strange for the numbers to be unfair. Nathan’s mind grew tangled.
But who? Had the arena master planted a saboteur to trip him up? If so, he might have to fight three-on-one, but he doubted the so-called “Honorable Councilor” would allow such a cheap trick.
Maybe, like in a trial by combat, someone volunteered to fight alongside me? Who in this place would possibly help someone like me, who has no connections here?
The first person who came to mind was…
In this wretched place, Aspen was the only warrior he could confidently call an ally. It was a ridiculous thought. He had seen the man lying in a hospital bed, even if only in a picture. Yet the ominous feeling that had taken root refused to be shaken off. Aspen, who had been hovering between life and death, would struggle to his feet and come to save him. And then face the same deadly crisis once again… The nightmare of that day was burned into his retinas. Cold sweat broke out on his forehead in an instant.
Emil looked at the deathly pale Nathan with something like pity, then tossed out a single remark.
It was a truly out-of-nowhere suggestion. Caught off guard psychologically, Nathan momentarily forgot his worries. He then looked back and forth between Emil and the Conclave representative with suspicious eyes.
Emil shook her head.
The representative, who had been listening silently, nodded in confirmation. When Nathan remained quiet, Emil took a step closer and placed a hand on his shoulder.
The arena side didn’t know Aspen was still alive. Nathan fell silent again. Emil lowered her eyes solemnly, as if she understood. It wasn’t an expression a mentally deficient murderer would make.
Thump. Thump. Emil slapped Nathan’s back hard.
When the representative’s eyes widened, Emil quickly corrected herself.
Her voice caught, as if her throat had tightened. She paused for half a beat.
Nathan lifted his head. Emil’s moist eyes were shining. They were the eyes of someone who would never have chosen a blood-soaked life if she had any other option. Nathan returned her smile. It seemed like that was what she wanted.
The moment the arena gate finally opened, Nathan learned who had stepped forward for him. If there was any relief, it was that it wasn’t Aspen. Only then could Nathan shake off that absurd worry. But in its place rose another kind of despair.
The audience’s furious roar. Perhaps because of the previous match, there were more empty seats this time, but the volume of hatred hammering his ears was no smaller. Amid suffocating malice and pressure, Nathan sprinted across the arena with all his strength.
The guards dragged the rope-bound lizardman into the arena. All sorts of weapons were tied to the rope trailing beneath his legs like a gang of comrades. Arqueba, who had lost everything below the knees, twisted his head in agony every time his lower half scraped against the sand.
What the hell are you doing, you crazy bastards.
Blood rushed to Nathan’s head; he nearly hurled his two-hander like a javelin at them. Fortunately, the guards spotted the charging Nathan before that happened. They dropped Arqueba in terror and fled at full speed. Nathan slid across the sand at the same speed he’d been running, braking with his heels as he leveled his sword.
At Hodrick, who stood motionless behind Arqueba.
The horizontally held blade pointed at the giant’s neck. The iron-helmeted figure standing only a few steps away shook his head, as if he had no intention of fighting. But Nathan didn’t change his stance.
The strangely prolonged tension and standoff was broken by the sudden shout of a commentator who barged in.
The hulking figure shrugged as if to ask if he’d heard, then began circling Nathan while keeping his distance. Nathan’s elbows shifted in a rotating motion. The tip of his sword remained pointed at Hodrick. The giant eventually turned his back and headed toward the twin sister waiting at the opposite gate.
Only then did Nathan lower his sword and check on Arqueba’s condition.
So her name wasn’t Emil.
Arqueba’s condition hadn’t improved at all since the last time he’d seen him. The damaged eye, the leg wound—nothing. At least he didn’t seem to have been tied up by others. Arqueba, whose arms had slipped out of the ropes, was untying himself while cackling.
Then you shouldn’t have volunteered either. Nathan swallowed the words that rose to his throat.
The thought was appreciated, but damn it. Even if it hadn’t been him, the arena master would have forced someone onto Nathan’s side… but it was only because Arqueba had stepped up of his own volition that a proper two-on-two match had been formed. Overwhelmed by the tangled despair, Nathan squeezed his eyes shut. It was an inappropriate action on the battlefield.
An unnaturally brief introduction. Nathan rolled his neck from side to side to loosen it.
Arqueba’s senses had caught the suspicious movement.
He didn’t need to be told. He already knew. He hadn’t been fooled. Why had those skilled fighters in the video been unable to react properly and gotten ambushed? A blade filled with killing intent made such a grand sound when it drew near.
The promise of mutual mercy that had come from Emil—no, Kilika’s mouth didn’t match the infamous reputation he had heard about in the cage. They said the twins had taken the heads of every opponent they had defeated. The player profile he had seen on the tablet even claimed that cutting off necks amid the cheers of the audience was the meaning of their lives.
Whether that was exaggeration or not, he would have to confirm it himself, but at least one thing was certain. No matter how kind their faces looked, these things were not human. Nathan no longer trusted the kindness of ear-whisperers.
Nathan bent his body low as if to pick something up. The finely shredded wind screamed. A presence rushed in with a whoosh. A diagonal line swept over his head. When Nathan raised his head again, he deliberately put on a flustered act.
Perhaps because, unlike his sister, he had a mask to hide his expression, the younger twin was clumsy at concealing his emotions. Hodrick, who had appeared with his iron-fused face covered by an iron helmet, had rage filling the hand that was reeling in the chain.
The corner of Nathan’s mouth twisted. For hundred-year-old murderers, they were shockingly immature.
Nathan looked around. From the placement of the lights and seats, he could tell. It was the same circular arena where he had fought three hundred orcs before. However, because additional barriers had been installed, the area was significantly smaller. Probably to prevent him from running for too long. The diameter was at most twenty to thirty meters. It would be difficult to escape the chain’s range.
Then what should he do?
One of them had revealed their true colors, but the other seemed determined to continue the act. That way they could lure him in with conversation. Nathan decided to let himself be led.
No. That attack had clearly been meant to send him straight to the afterlife. A chain was quite a heavy object. If you attached a blunt weapon or a blade to the end and swung it, it became even more so. The farther the weapon’s weight was concentrated, the higher the level of strength and skill required to control it. Therefore, the greater the distance, the higher the lethality. The chance of it being a mistake also decreased.
‘Emil’ didn’t notice the mockery in Nathan’s words.
Only then did Nathan realize his own mistake. The one who had shown emotional agitation first wasn’t the giant—it was him. He shouldn’t have run over to save Arqueba before the match even started. If he wanted Arqueba to be even a little safer, if he wanted him not to become a target during battle—
Nathan gritted his teeth. It probably wouldn’t work even if he denied it now.
The ear-whisperer nodded.
Nathan slowly turned around again and pretended to lift the fallen Arqueba. It was only an act. Nathan suddenly stood up and twisted his waist. What he had grabbed and lifted wasn’t Arqueba, but the hilt and ricasso of his sword. The descending hook-sickle, like a bird of prey, was caught by the two-hander’s parrying hook and stopped.
A heavy impact. For a split second, it felt like his shoulder would be dislocated. The moment steel met steel, Nathan tensed his abdominal muscles and twisted the blade. Before the centrifugal force could shatter his joints, the power behind the attack spilled sideways and flowed away. The sickle chain, slammed hard into the ground, writhed and groaned. From afar, the older twin hurriedly pulled the chain back.
That was the weakness of such a long chain—once the centrifugal force disappeared, it went limp. They had to manually gather and retrieve the lifeless chain. There was no reason to give them that opening.
Nathan stepped on the fleeing chain. It thrashed like a snake with its neck pinned. Nathan raised his two-hander. And brought it down like an axe. The weighted blade struck the chain violently. Once. Twice.
Clang.
A broken link flew up like a corn kernel. One long dog trick taken care of. One long dog trick left.
His intention had been seen through twice. No matter how much he acted now, he couldn’t hide the bottom line. A look of dismay appeared on the innocent face of Emil. When a heinous criminal who had been hiding their true self reveals it, neighbors usually say things like this:
My goodness, Sir Knight, I never dreamed that person would do such a thing. How could someone who seemed so kind do that?
There was no dramatic transformation. A person’s image usually changes with the slightest shift in expression. A single blink of the eye was enough. The kind-hearted Emil vanished, and in her place stood Kilika.
A tired seventeen-year-old boy might still be starving for trust. The harsher and more desolate the environment, the more one hungered for affection. A cunning tongue searched for a gap. Nathan laughed mockingly.
The screen on the electronic board was different from the previous match. The red and blue betting ratios were gone. The wager this time wasn’t on Nathan’s victory or defeat. The bet placed this round was whether Nathan would die within the time limit.
The executioner smiled back, baring her teeth. The scar on her cheek, where subcutaneous tissue was exposed, twisted.