Chapter 12
Immediately after the closing declaration...
When Riyan regained consciousness, the first things he checked were his surroundings and physical condition.
The room felt rather comfortable.
At least he was satisfied that it wasn't the sort of place where prisoners were thrown.
That meant his plan hadn't completely failed.
Second, his physical condition wasn't bad either.
His broken ribs appeared to have been treated.
There was still a dull ache, but the crushing pain that had made it difficult to breathe was gone.
The burns caused by Yavrik's aura also seemed to have healed without lasting damage.
Looks like the Empire put some effort into treating me.
That was reasonably good news.
As Riyan carefully examined his body, a commotion suddenly rose outside.
Apparently someone had heard that he was awake.
The cause was Haral.
"I'm an instructor! Haral, an instructor from the Rodus Training Center! I'm responsible for that fighter! Can't you see my identification? You're telling me I can't even see my own fighter?"
"It's difficult right now."
"I only need a moment! We need to know his condition so we can prepare treatment or whatever else he needs!"
"The Arena has already provided all necessary treatment."
"What if his heart was injured?"
"H-His heart?"
"Just let me in! Let me in!"
"...One minute."
The moment permission was given, Haral practically pushed the guard aside and squeezed into the waiting room.
The first thing he did was rush over and grab Riyan's cheeks with both hands.
"You bastard! You beautiful bastard! You damn bastard!"
"Pick one."
"You did well! Damn, you did well!"
Then Haral pulled him into a deep hug.
Riyan was just about to push him away because the rough beard scratched his cheek and his chest began aching again.
Then a low whisper reached his ear.
"Someone's coming to see you."
"..."
"Watch yourself. You're in danger right now."
Haral released him.
Immediately, a huge smile returned to his face.
He slapped Riyan's shoulder several times.
"Man, you fought well. You finally followed the 'three times' rule I always taught you. Usually you're terrible at it."
"Is that so?"
"That's what I'm saying. I told you to fight the way you normally act. Your stubborn simplicity can be a strength. Good job, bastard."
As Haral finished, the guard approached.
"You need to leave now."
"Already? Damn, that was short. Fine. Riyan, I'll see you later."
Haral was practically dragged away.
Riyan tilted his head as he watched him go.
There was meaning behind those words.
First...
The "three times" Haral claimed he had always taught him.
That was indeed an unspoken rule at the Rodus Training Center.
And it was true that Riyan usually didn't follow it.
But it had nothing to do with gladiatorial combat.
Haral meant something else.
Never talk back to an instructor more than three times.
It seemed to be an indirect warning about how Riyan should behave toward the Supervisor who was coming.
Then the second thing...
Stubbornness and simplicity.
Riyan wasn't someone who liked dressing himself up with flattering descriptions.
But even then, he didn't think those words suited him.
Haral had always considered him unsettling precisely because he acted like an old man.
So he's telling me not to act too clever.
Then the final part was relatively obvious.
Should I trust him?
Yes.
Not because of some emotional bond or friendship built between them.
It was a purely practical conclusion.
Haral and Riyan were, in a sense, passengers aboard the same ship.
They had gambled together.
The Empire's net would be dense.
If Riyan were judged to possess dangerous intentions toward the Empire, Haral could easily be seen as someone who had conspired with him.
And it was difficult to imagine the Empire being particularly generous about something like that.
That probably explains the exaggerated behavior too.
Considering Haral's personality, he wasn't normally the kind of man who would rub Riyan's cheeks and pat his shoulder.
Haral normally looked at Riyan like an unnervingly calculating old man trapped in a young body.
Yet today, his actions had been the exact opposite.
Riyan could almost hear what Haral had truly wanted to say.
You're not the only bastard who'll die if this goes wrong!
Riyan smiled faintly.
Just then...
He heard the clinking sound of metal.
Familiar.
A deliberately formal noise made when someone in armor saluted.
"Is he inside?"
"Yes, sir!"
Riyan recognized the voice.
Indifferent, but with that particular stubborn roughness.
Definitely the Supervisor.
Riyan lowered his legs over the side of the bed.
He straightened his back.
Then closed his eyes once and slowly opened them again.
"You look well."
The Supervisor smiled when he saw him.
"Greetings, Supervisor."
"Remain seated. Better for everyone that way. You must be tired."
Scrape.
The Supervisor dragged over a chair and placed it beside Riyan's bed.
He sat.
Crossed his legs.
Then unfolded the stack of papers he'd brought.
He pulled a monocle from inside his clothes, fitted it over his right eye, and naturally began scanning the pages.
The gentle smile never left his face.
"Thank you for your consideration."
"Consideration? It's only a proper reward for a gladiator who seized victory. Anyway, I have several questions. Nothing particularly difficult. I'd appreciate honest answers."
The Supervisor continued staring at the paper.
After a brief pause, he spoke.
"First. How did you defeat Yavrik?"
"I wounded him, cut off his wrist, then severed the tendons in his ankles."
"..."
Technically correct.
But not remotely the kind of answer the Supervisor wanted.
He cleared his throat.
"I mean, how did you manage that? Yavrik had a Masterpiece."
"Director Berka of the Rodus Training Center explained Masterpieces to me in detail. Instructor Haral was also assigned specifically to me and thoroughly helped me prepare countermeasures."
It wasn't a lie.
They truly had taught him everything they knew.
"Not everything in this world can be accomplished just because someone teaches you."
"I was fortunate too. Yavrik lowered his guard, allowing me to gain an early advantage."
The Supervisor scratched the tip of his nose.
"That still doesn't sound particularly ordinary."
"There's always an exception."
"...True."
Strangely enough, that answer satisfied him somewhat.
The Supervisor had worked in the Arena for decades.
Of course he'd seen geniuses before.
And the life of a fighter was like standing on a blade.
A single careless moment could destroy everything.
"Fine. Next question. Why didn't you kill Yavrik immediately? You could have ended the fight cleanly."
The Supervisor's expression returned to normal.
His tone sounded as casual as asking whether Riyan had eaten or slept well.
But Riyan understood the hidden intent behind that relaxed manner.
"I didn't want to die."
"No, that's not what I'm asking. I'm asking why you didn't kill Yavrik."
"Exactly as I said. Because I didn't want to die."
The Supervisor finally looked away from the paper.
His gaze settled on Riyan.
Candlelight reflected from the monocle, hiding the eye behind it.
"You didn't want to die? How is that a reason to spare him?"
"It was a Winning Streak Battle. I was told the next fighter could only enter when exactly one person remained standing in the Arena. That's why I kept Yavrik alive."
"Continue."
"By the time I defeated Yavrik, I was already at my limit. You know that as well."
Riyan glanced at his chest wrapped tightly in bandages.
The uncovered portions were covered in bruises so dark they were nearly black.
"...I wasn't confident I could fight the remaining challengers. So I left Yavrik alive."
"You instinctively realized that was the best way to keep your own head attached?"
"Yes."
The Supervisor crossed his arms.
Then jerked his chin for Riyan to continue.
"The atmosphere was favorable. Most of the crowd wanted Yavrik to lose. And when I left him alive simply because I didn't want to die, they misunderstood it as mercy. I thought things might somehow work out."
"I see..."
The Supervisor returned his eyes to the paper.
His voice lowered.
"But that alone isn't enough."
"..."
"That explanation contradicts your decision to choose the first position. If you were so concerned about the structure of the Winning Streak Battle, you should have chosen a later position. Whether it would have been approved or not, you should at least have tried. But you selected first without a moment's hesitation. It doesn't make sense."
"I considered it an unavoidable fate."
"Unavoidable?"
"Because of the monster I killed."
The Supervisor's eyebrow twitched.
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"I had to prove that killing it wasn't an accident. That's why I chose the first position. I was confident I could defeat everyone. The problem was that I made a mistake and allowed Yavrik to land a hit."
The Supervisor burst out laughing.
What a slippery little bastard.
It was an intelligent answer.
The real implication could easily have been:
I killed the Treasurer's precious monster. It's not as if you would've let me take an easy position anyway.
Yet Riyan had transformed that possible accusation toward Marquis Novale into a matter of proving himself, taking responsibility onto his own shoulders.
Does he genuinely mean that?
During their first interview, the Supervisor had asked whether Riyan hated His Imperial Majesty.
Riyan said yes.
And the Supervisor had praised it as an excellent attitude.
But the Emperor was more than a single person.
He symbolized the Empire itself.
He was closer to the personification of the countless tangible and intangible things that formed the concept called Empire.
So anyone who hated the Empire should naturally hate the Emperor.
But Treasurer Fenric Novale was different.
If gladiatorial combat were a religion, Marquis Fenric Novale would be the god that religion worshipped.
And because fighters belonged to the temple called the Imperial Arena, they were essentially believers.
Blasphemy.
An unforgivable sin that no explanation could erase.
Riyan had skillfully avoided committing it.
Or did he calculate all of that?
Either possibility was acceptable.
Whether sincere or not...
If sincere, then the Arena had gained an excellent fanatic.
If not, they simply needed to watch him more carefully.
Either way, the investigation is already finished...
He had defeated a monster and Yavrik in only two matches.
It wouldn't be an exaggeration to call it one of the most extraordinary winning streaks since the Imperial Arena was created.
Naturally, the Empire had investigated such a miraculous young fighter.
They had used certain measures to place him into a deep sleep.
Then an Imperial magician had thoroughly examined his body.
The answer had been simple.
Nothing.
The magician said he couldn't sense even the tiniest trace of Mana.
Several more magicians had been brought in for cross-checking.
The conclusion remained the same.
At the very least, Riyan wasn't some artificially cultivated infiltrator who had hidden his identity and entered the Imperial Capital as part of a plot.
Still, wanting complete certainty, the Supervisor had even summoned one of the best apothecaries in the Imperial Capital.
Nothing particularly suspicious had been found.
The balance of his bodily fluids is distorted. It appears he consumed something.
Could whatever he consumed conceal Mana...?
Impossible. There are no signs of that. He seems to have consumed some concoction of the sort produced by barbarian tribes on the frontier.
A concoction?
I can't say exactly what effect it had, but it has nothing to do with what you're worried about. I said it's a barbarian mixture, didn't I? Probably used for some ritual before battle. At most, I'd call it a stimulant.
Riyan had indeed claimed to be from Bellance, where barbarian tribes still roamed.
And as the apothecary said, barbarian slave fighters frequently performed strange rituals.
Even then, because there was always the possibility of something unexpected, they had summoned a priest to confirm whether Riyan carried any blasphemous blood.
The answer had been that he was an ordinary human.
And still...
Just in case.
They had even disguised one of the Imperial Capital underground prison's torturers as a guard and had him observe Riyan.
The torturer had shown no reaction.
A man who had spent his life tearing people apart and witnessing the deepest parts of their nature found nothing strange.
...
Was that enough?
The Supervisor felt he'd done everything reasonably possible.
Besides, that usually ice-cold Treasurer had shown excitement for the first time in years.
Continuing to suspect Riyan too aggressively would itself become troublesome.
A report would go upward regardless.
If further action became necessary, it was no longer the Supervisor's responsibility.
He finally nodded.
"Understood for now. Rest. I'll arrange for you to eat dinner back at the training center tonight."
The Supervisor stood.
Before leaving, however, he paused.
Then looked back at Riyan.
"Once again, congratulations on your victory, Fighter Riyan."
