Chapter 6
The Imperial Arena.
Several hundred meters across and towering high into the sky, the enormous structure resembled a massive fortress.
Its rough stone outer walls were covered here and there with green moss, proof of its long history.
Hundreds of flags bearing the Imperial crest flapped loudly along the top.
Rows of elegant arched windows decorated each level.
Beneath them stood beautiful statues.
Human figures wielding all kinds of weapons.
Swords.
Spears.
Flails.
Nets.
Whips.
Some blocked.
Some swung.
Some thrust.
Some raised their arms in celebration.
The overwhelming scale forced anyone looking at it to feel small.
The Imperial Arena was more than a place of entertainment.
It was the heart and pride of the Empire.
Of course, not everyone thought so.
Riyan, sitting inside the carriage approaching the arena, certainly didn't.
"So? What do you think?"
At Berka's question from across the carriage, Riyan looked away from the arena.
"It's enormous."
"You've been here before. When you fought that monster. But you were transported in a covered carriage then, so you couldn't have seen it. This should be your first real look."
"That's right."
"Short reaction."
Riyan tilted his head.
He didn't feel any need to say more.
It wasn't because of anger toward the Empire.
He simply saw no reason to praise a place where humans were thrown against monsters or forced to point swords at one another.
After the war against the Demon Dragon, Riyan had already seen enough of such things for several lifetimes.
"How dull. Anyway, we're here today because of your upcoming match."
"Is that so? Today doesn't seem to be a match day. The streets are quiet."
"The ecosystem surrounding the arena involves a lot more than just matches."
Berka stopped speaking as the carriage reached the entrance.
He handed an identification plate to an approaching guard.
"Director Berka of the Rodus Training Center. Confirmed. You have a meeting with the Supervisor. I'll call someone to guide you."
"No need. I've been here more times than I can count."
The guard noticed the coin tucked beneath the identification plate and smiled.
"Welcome to Judgment."
After passing him, Riyan asked Berka.
"Judgment? Is that this place's name?"
"Yeah. Official name of the arena. Technically it's longer. Empire something-or-other comes before it. Stupid name idiots with empty skulls probably love. Why bother dressing up a place where people kill each other? Sounds ridiculous, doesn't it?"
Riyan agreed.
Imperial Judgment.
He didn't like the implication.
And he had no desire to repeatedly say such a pretentious name.
They passed through an enormous gate and reached the carriage parking area.
"Let's get out."
Berka stepped down first.
Riyan followed.
The two instructors who had been seated with the driver also lined up behind Berka.
At first glance, they appeared to be simultaneously guarding Berka and watching Riyan.
In truth, that wasn't quite accurate.
If Riyan were given even a small dagger, he was confident he could cut both instructors' throats and stab Berka before they reacted.
Berka would be more difficult.
The presence Riyan sensed from him was clearly different from ordinary instructors.
Do you need to be strong to run a training center?
Even then, a surprise attack could probably finish him.
The real problem would be the guards rushing over afterward.
Even if Riyan somehow dealt with them too, disappearing completely inside an Imperial Capital controlled this tightly would be difficult.
Riyan imagined several possible escape scenarios.
Then dismissed them.
There's no reason to run in the first place.
He disliked being a slave.
But becoming a fugitive hunted by the entire Empire would create more problems than benefits.
He still didn't understand how this era worked.
Better to adapt temporarily and think carefully.
Besides, while he was technically a slave fighter, the treatment wasn't particularly terrible.
It was almost ideal for restoring his body, sharpening his combat instincts, and studying the political situation.
According to Haral, he could even earn money through betting on matches.
Why escape?
Naturally, all of those advantages ignored the greatest danger of being a fighter.
The matches themselves.
Even so...
Berka had recognized at least some of Riyan's value.
There was little reason to throw him away as a meaningless sacrifice.
And most of the instructors Riyan had defeated in his wager with Haral were former veteran fighters who had survived in the arena for years.
It sounded manageable.
Rushing always ruins things.
Riyan silently followed Berka.
They climbed a circular staircase.
Several floors later, they turned into a long corridor.
Berka suddenly spoke.
"Look over there, Riyan."
Riyan followed his gaze.
Below them was the place where actual combat took place.
The same place where Riyan had first awakened in his new body and faced the monster.
"That's the Arena. Where you fought. And where you'll continue fighting."
A thick layer of sand covered the floor.
Berka called that stage the Arena.
Hundreds of workers were carrying things around and tearing structures down.
They were dismantling layers of brick walls and wooden frames.
Even half-demolished, the overall shape was easy to recognize.
A miniature fortress.
There was even a moat around it several meters wide.
"Last match must've been a siege."
Berka sounded uninterested.
Riyan asked.
"A siege?"
"Yeah. Probably the theme of the last event. See the moat? They would've filled that with water too."
"..."
"The arena was built so they can even create naval battles. Nothing surprising."
Berka called it unsurprising.
Riyan quietly laughed.
The arena itself was practically a fortress.
And they built another fortress inside it.
Then staged an actual siege as entertainment.
The scale of the structure made something tighten inside Riyan's chest.
Perhaps because he now considered it one small part of the enemy he would eventually have to tear down.
Berka kept walking.
"Remember it. This is the stage you'll be fighting on. If you keep winning there, becoming a Champion isn't impossible."
"A Champion?"
"Hm? You don't know?"
Berka's explanation was simple.
If a fighter somehow survived for years and accumulated a record no one could deny, that struggle sometimes caused their talent to bloom.
That talent was the ability to possess and use Mana.
At that point, the fighter received a special title and stepped into an entirely new level.
Champion.
It was more than an honorary title.
The fighter gained a rise in status and the opportunity to begin a new life under a noble who wanted to recruit them.
"...Basically, your entire life changes."
And a training center that produced a Champion could receive an enormous payment disguised as sponsorship from nobles.
Berka continued speaking.
But Riyan's thoughts were fixed on something he had said earlier.
Mana?
Knights used Mana?
Wasn't that the exclusive domain of magicians?
As far as Riyan knew, it was.
Mana belonged to magicians.
The power wielded by knights was something else entirely.
Eldred himself had explained that to him.
There was no reason to assume he had misunderstood.
If you didn't know, ask.
"Mana? What's that?"
