Chapter 5
At Haral's mention of betting money, Riyan narrowed his eyes.
There was no reason to doubt it.
If bloody matches were being held, gambling was bound to thrive in the shadows.
What caught Riyan's attention wasn't the match itself.
It was another part of Haral's words.
Money...
According to Director Berka, the monster Riyan had killed was worth one hundred and fifty gold coins.
He had no idea how prices had changed over more than a century.
But the value of gold probably hadn't collapsed completely.
It had to be a huge sum.
Still, Riyan had no intention of giving up just because the amount was large.
That money represented the price of his freedom.
He nodded slowly and asked Haral.
"Can I place a bet too?"
Haral answered with a disbelieving laugh.
"Sure, if you had money and a proper identity. Slaves aren't allowed to bet, kid."
He wasn't wrong.
Riyan had only just awakened in this era as a slave.
But that didn't mean there was no way around it.
"Instructor."
"What?"
"How about a wager?"
"A wager?"
"Arrange a simple spar for me. You can choose the opponent. If I win..."
Haral wasn't stupid.
He quickly understood what Riyan wanted.
"You want money? And you want me to place the bet for you?"
"Yes."
"That's not much of a wager. Even ignoring the risk I'd take if anyone found out, what do I get if I win? You have nothing to give me."
"No. You do gain something."
"I do?"
"Wasn't that the entire reason you approached me?"
The deduction was simple.
For Haral, who enjoyed small bets, information about Riyan's ability and physical condition before his next match would be extremely valuable.
But Riyan had obtained complete freedom over his training from Director Berka.
And all he did was sit around reading books.
He hadn't shown anyone anything.
If Haral didn't intend to leave the result purely to luck, he would naturally want to investigate.
Riyan pointed that out.
Haral laughed.
Listen to the mouth on this bastard.
But Riyan wasn't wrong.
That was exactly why Haral had approached him.
His original plan had been to win some money and then tempt Riyan by offering to buy him small things from outside.
Instead, the discussion had suddenly grown much larger.
Haral rubbed his chin.
Riyan continued.
"I don't think it's a bad deal."
"If I win..."
"You get information without losing anything. And I already said I'll spar whoever you choose."
The advantage was enormous.
So enormous there was practically no reason to refuse.
Haral still felt uneasy for reasons he couldn't explain.
But that could be solved simply by choosing the right opponent.
He killed a monster, sure...
The monster Riyan killed had only just begun maturing.
The fact that it had been used in a match meant to slaughter helpless slave feed rather than against a proper fighter proved that much.
Could Riyan perform just as well against humans?
No chance.
The instructors at this training center might not specialize in killing monsters.
But when it came to breaking and tearing apart humans, they were experienced veterans.
Humans had fewer unpredictable variables than monsters.
Haral finally nodded.
"How much?"
"How about one silver coin?"
It was not a small amount.
But Haral was confident he wouldn't lose.
He slipped a hand inside his clothes and pulled out a silver coin shining in the sunlight.
"Fine. I accept."
Then he raised his hand and shouted across the training ground.
"Hey! Jackson!"
An instructor who had been drilling fighters turned around.
When Haral beckoned, the nearly two-meter-tall man came running over.
His body was covered in scars.
He stood stiffly in front of Haral.
"You called, Senior Instructor?"
"Yeah, Jackson. I wanted you to hear what this kid said."
"What did he...?"
Haral grinned.
"I asked why he was sitting around instead of training. He said there were nothing but useless idiots here, so there was nothing worth learning."
"..."
Riyan quietly sighed.
Jackson didn't see it.
His eyebrows twisted.
"This bastard really said that?"
"Yep. So why don't you teach him something? Beating him senseless would look bad, so make it a spar."
Jackson snorted and glared at Riyan.
"You little piece of shit. Director said to leave you alone, so I did. And this is what you say? Idiots?"
Explaining the whole situation sounded annoying.
And Haral had deliberately arranged things this way.
So Riyan simply nodded.
"That's what happened."
"Get up and come out, brat."
Jackson turned and headed toward the training ground.
Riyan stood.
He dusted the dirt from his backside and looked at Haral.
"You'll keep your promise."
"If you win."
Leaving Haral behind, Riyan walked out from the shade.
Hot sunlight poured down.
He raised his head.
A clear blue sky.
Clouds drifting between the light.
The feeling of being alive filled him again.
He was a slave right now.
So what?
He was alive.
And he had been given a chance to wash away the stain on his name.
Riyan stood looking at the sky.
Jackson's face twisted.
"You little shit. Where the hell are you looking? Stop standing around and go get a practice sword."
"...A wooden practice sword?"
Riyan tilted his head.
Jackson scowled.
"What?"
"Hmm. Can't we use real swords?"
"You..."
"You have one too. We can each use our own weapons."
Riyan wrapped his hand around the hilt at his waist.
The leather grip fit perfectly into his palm.
His mind settled.
And someone wanted him to abandon this and swing a dull wooden stick?
Absurd.
Riyan smiled faintly.
Jackson's anger turned into disbelief.
"You grabbed a real sword and you're smiling? You're actually smiling? Fine. You picked a good day. I'll carve a picture across that pale face of yours."
Shing.
Jackson drew his sword.
A chilling atmosphere spread around him.
At the same time, Riyan felt it.
The world, which had moments earlier been burning beneath the sun, changed.
Saaa...
A circle appeared.
Jackson stood in its center.
That circle represented Jackson's domain.
Many factors created it.
The distance between his feet.
The length of his stride.
The angle of his arms.
How deeply his knees bent.
The pressure of his grip.
The movement of his eyes.
His breathing.
Riyan had never been able to explain it through theory.
But all of those factors combined into something he could feel.
A person's circle.
Riyan defined Jackson's as red.
Shing.
Then Riyan slowly drew his own sword.
His own circle unfolded.
Riyan defined it as white.
The red filling the surroundings was immediately pushed aside by white.
It vanished without a trace.
Like flames swallowed by a tidal wave.
There was no better way to describe the sensation.
Riyan still clearly remembered what Eldred had told him when he had once tried to explain it.
You little monster.
Knight Eldred.
His teacher.
A man almost like a father.
Riyan remembered him.
And once again remembered why he needed to hold a sword.
He slowly regulated his breathing.
Jackson sensed none of it.
He immediately charged with a sharp swing.
At the same time, Riyan's white circle condensed in an instant.
The energy rising like heat haze wrapped around Jackson's blade.
It drew a single line.
Only one thing remained.
Cut the line.
That was all.
Riyan's sword swept horizontally.
A faint blue afterimage followed.
Clang!
The broken half of Jackson's sword spun high into the sky.
Sunlight scattered from the spinning metal.
Haral's eyes widened.
A faint curve appeared at the corner of Riyan's lips.
More than ten years rolling through battlefields flashed through his mind.
The sensation was exactly the same.
This was his second test after fighting the slave fighters in the dining hall.
Now Riyan was certain.
He had not lost his power.
Late afternoon.
In a silent room, Berka drummed his fingers against the table.
He glared at Haral standing rigidly before him.
"Haral."
"Yes, Director."
"You know why I made you Senior Instructor."
"Yes."
The yellow light of sunset entered the office.
Berka sighed deeply.
His expression suggested he was restraining himself only because he had always liked Haral.
"And I clearly told you to leave that kid alone."
"...You did."
"But you had to cause trouble anyway? In front of all the fighters? You're not stupid. Why?"
Haral bit his lip.
It had begun with Jackson.
Jackson had started as a slave fighter.
Even after earning enough achievements to become free, he had willingly chosen to remain as an instructor.
At the very least, surviving long enough to become an instructor was proof of strength.
That veteran fighter had lost in one exchange.
His sword had been broken in half.
Haral had been standing there with his mouth open when Riyan spoke calmly.
Would you like to try again? This time I'll wager one of the silver coins I stand to gain.
He should have stopped there.
Regret arrived far too late.
By the time Haral came to his senses, five instructors had broken swords.
And the amount of silver he owed had climbed past ten coins.
I'll go last.
Haral had been grinding his teeth and preparing to fight personally when Berka, drawn out by the commotion, shouted at them.
That finally brought Haral back to reality.
Again, far too late.
When he looked around, the situation was worse than he expected.
Fighters staring in shock.
Defeated instructors staring into space.
Haral calmly organized his thoughts.
"At first, it was simple curiosity. I wanted to know what kind of guy had caught your attention. And because I planned to bet on his match, I wanted to see his actual ability."
There was no reason to lie.
Berka could be violent in his methods.
But the process by which he reached conclusions was usually rational.
A lie would only make him angrier.
As expected, Berka nodded without changing expression.
"I knew you gambled for entertainment. I don't care. Without pleasures like that, a free mercenary like you would never have accepted an instructor position. That's not the problem. I told you not to touch him. That's the problem."
"..."
"Damn it. At this point, I feel like an idiot. I thought you'd be able to see what I saw. Maybe that assumption was my mistake."
Only then did Haral notice the real meaning behind Berka's anger.
Berka wasn't most upset about the incident.
He was upset that his judgment of Haral himself might have been wrong.
Haral hurried to speak.
"I'm sorry. But..."
"You still have something to say?"
"I admit he's strong. But the instructors were careless, and his appearance..."
Haral stopped.
Even while saying it, he realized it sounded ridiculous.
Careless?
Five instructors had lost.
If they hadn't recognized something was wrong after watching the first man lose, that itself was a serious problem.
And appearance?
The instructors constantly told fighters never to lower their guard simply because an enemy was injured or bleeding.
"No. I'm sorry. If punishment is necessary, I'll accept it."
"No. I can't punish you. The situation doesn't allow it anymore."
"What do you mean?"
Bang!
Berka slammed the table.
His brows twisted.
"Because fighters are basically stray dogs! They're animals completely loyal to the logic of strength! You let them watch instructor after instructor lose to some skinny kid! And now imagine their senior instructor disappearing because of punishment!"
"Ah. Right. Yes. Control would become difficult."
"Fix it. And from now on, you'll personally handle Riyan. Originally I wanted to take more time with him, but... we don't have that luxury anymore. Find a major match happening soon. Give him at least enough time to get his body into proper condition."
"A major match? Wouldn't it be better to build him up from the bottom?"
"You idiot. Rumors spread even when everyone tries to keep their mouths shut! Reputation is everything in this business! Especially to the nobles supporting us!"
"..."
"Before people start mocking the Rodus Training Center because five instructors couldn't beat one slave fighter, we need the story to become that a monster so powerful even the instructors couldn't handle him has appeared. Use your head, Haral. Are you planning to disappoint me again?"
Haral's mind had been a mess.
Now everything became clear.
He immediately began thinking about what to do.
He had already damaged Berka's trust.
If he kept looking incompetent, even Haral himself couldn't assume he was safe.
"Then we'll avoid a standard debut. Considering what you said and the impact we need... what about the annual Winning Streak Battle? The timing lines up well."
"Really? Who's appearing this year?"
Haral forced himself to remember.
Administrative details like this weren't normally his responsibility.
But this wasn't the time to act lazy.
"Builders... The Builders Training Center fighter... Axe... yes. Yavrik. The Human Butcher who uses an axe."
Berka's eyebrow twitched.
Yavrik.
He had already earned enough victories to secure his freedom.
Yet he had chosen not to leave the arena.
He wielded an enormous battle axe.
He enjoyed chopping apart his opponents' limbs before splitting their skulls in half.
A madman perfectly suited to the title Human Butcher.
When he had first appeared, he had been popular.
But over time, his obsession with blood and increasing cruelty had started turning the audience against him.
Still, there were few people capable of challenging him.
He remained one of the arena's established monsters.
Berka rubbed his chin.
"Even for a major match, isn't that too much? Can Riyan handle him?"
Haral didn't want to say no now.
And the amount of silver he owed Riyan was still burning in the back of his mind.
It was far too much to simply cover from his salary.
If even Berka was worried about the opponent, the betting odds would be excellent.
A single victory might erase Haral's entire loss.
"Riyan broke the swords of five instructors. You know how good those men are. Yavrik is strong, but his reputation has completely collapsed lately. The arena management probably wants to get rid of him too. They'll likely arrange the battlefield in a way that favors challengers."
"Hmm. So we aim for a later position?"
"There are plenty of people who'll rush to challenge him. Since it's a Winning Streak Battle, if we choose the order carefully, we have a chance."
Haral spoke confidently.
For the sake of restoring Berka's trust.
And for his own wallet.
Berka finally nodded.
"Fine. You'll handle the preparation personally. And tomorrow, wash Riyan properly and have him ready by noon. I'll take him to the arena myself."
"You're going personally?"
"Would you rather go, bastard?"
Haral shook his head.
He had belatedly realized something obvious.
Putting a new fighter into an already scheduled match required serious lobbying.
"No. You're right. I'll do as you say."
"Good."
Berka added one more thing.
"Maybe this is actually for the best."
"...Sir?"
"There have been plenty of monsters in the arena. No matter how hard people try to hide them, they always end up sticking out eventually. Maybe this kid is the same."
Perhaps trying to raise a wolf like a hunting dog had been wrong from the start.
A wolf was a wolf because it couldn't truly be tamed.
At the same time, Berka's instincts whispered something else.
Maybe instead of trying to control Riyan, it would be better to simply let him move naturally.
Berka exhaled slowly.
"We'll see what happens."
