Cheers erupt. The first gladiator to stride into the arena, donning a bull-shaped helmet and wielding a massive blunt weapon, surveys the roaring crowd. His armor, a mix of leather and chainmail on his arms and legs, is paired with a gold-plated breastplate that exposes his shoulders, matching the gleaming helm.
Following him, a gladiator enters with a short sword and a large shield. His helmet, with a T-shaped cutout revealing his eyes and nose, allows his large eyes to slowly scan the arena as he steps forward.
Next comes an archer, carrying a bow far larger than standard, wearing a rounded helmet resembling a fish that encases their head.
Two gladiators armed with long spears and small shields march in side by side. Their helmets, armor, and even the shape of their spearheads are identical, the only difference being that the spearman on the left is left-handed, making their mirrored movements appear almost symmetrical.
A female gladiator follows, clad in scale armor mixed with leather and metal, wielding a whip adorned with sharp, spiked tips. Behind her, a gladiator enters, twirling two long swords with deft wrist movements as they step into the arena.
To heighten the excitement of the match, various obstacles are being set up in the arena. Workers clad in dark brown robes with hoods pulled low, obscuring their faces, bustle about, placing round wooden barrels and roughly erected wooden pillars around the field. Others scatter sand over the bloodstains on the arena floor. As several workers exit the arena, signaling to Duvalan that preparations are complete, he turns to the crowd and bellows:
"So, it looks like we're ready! Place your bets if you're wagering! Enjoy your food if you're eating! Watch as I, Duvalan, stain this sand red! See how many of these gladiator' heads will roll on this arena floor and how many will be spared!"
Duvalan points the tip of his Swordspear at the seven gladiators and lets out a hearty laugh.
"Gahaha! Now I'll finally see a spectacle worth my silver!"
Karot, clapping his webbed hands together with glee, speaks as if delighted.
Merchants dart through the stands, peddling cool drinks, jerky, bread, and sausages, their movements growing frantic as the gamblers' voices rise.
"Did you hear Duvalan? Hurry up and place your bets!"
"Three gold on the big shield guy and the archer surviving! I've got a feeling!"
"The odds aren't great for all seven dying, huh?"
"How about betting on Duvalan losing? It's seven against one, and they're not just prisoners—they're gladiators. That bull-headed guy over there? Word is he's already won several matches in Ixtarn."
"Tch! I'll swear off drinking for a while! I'm betting on the bull-head and the fish-helm surviving!"
"Hmm… I'll save my bet for the next match."
"Argh, why do I feel like three of them are gonna make it?"
The crowd swarms the bookmakers, waving silver and gold coins, shouting, while others scribble names on tattered paper, handing over their money to the busy bookmakers who stuff it into sacks.
"How about it, Gravel? Care to place a bet?"
Karot asks, chewing on a piece of jerky he just bought from a passing vendor, smacking his lips.
"No thanks. Gambling doesn't really interest me." Gravel replies.
"Kehehe. I'm not forcing you. Gambling's the kind of thing that starts with betting a night's drinks and ends with selling the clothes off your back. But if you know how to control yourself, there's no better entertainment."
Karot says, shoving another piece of jerky into his mouth and licking the spices off his fingers.
"All bets placed? No regrets once we start!"
Duvalan's voice booms through the arena, and the crowd erupts in cheers.
"Show us what you've got, Duvalan!"
"Nobody's betting on you losing, so don't you dare!"
"Don't end it too quick like last time! I scraped together my money just for today!"
Amid the cheers and applause, Duvalan, who had been waving to the crowd, grips the swordspear he had planted in the ground.
"Let's begin!!!"
As soon as the words leave his mouth, an arrow flies toward Duvalan's shoulder armor, striking it and ricocheting with a clang.
Realizing their shot missed, the fish-helmed archer nocks another arrow and fires at Duvalan.
"Hahaha! First, I'll deal with this pesky archer!"
With that, Duvalan hurls his swordspear toward the archer. The weapon rockets from his arm like a ballista bolt, streaking toward its target.
"Argh!"
The swordspear pierces the archer's torso, blood spraying from the fish-shaped helmet. The massive blade pins the archer, lifting their feet off the ground as they're carried backward, collapsing onto the arena floor with the weapon.
The ground is littered with the archer's quiver, its strap snapped, arrows spilling out, mingling with the blood pooling from the archer's body.
"One down! Don't bring a bow meant for hunting deer or boars into my arena!"
Duvalan roars, yanking the swordspear from the archer's body and swinging it through the air to shake off the blood.
He then begins striding toward the bull-helmed gladiator wielding the blunt weapon. Behind him, the two spearmen, their weapons planted in the ground, stand with arms crossed, watching the bull-helmed man charge. The other gladiators observe similarly.
"What?! You'd struggle even if you all came at me together! Don't you see your pride is costing you your lives?"
Duvalan says, eyes widening as he addresses the charging bull-helmed gladiator.
"It's not pride, Duvalan! I'm enough on my own!"
A deep, resonant voice echoes from within the bronze bull helmet.
"Groooar!"
The bull-helmed gladiator raises the spiked mace with both hands, swinging it down toward Duvalan.
"You think too highly of yourself, bull-head!"
Duvalan counters, swinging his swordspear in a wide arc toward the bull-helmed gladiator.
Clang!
The clash of their weapons rings out, a deafening metallic collision. The bull-helmed gladiator's mace flies from his hands, and before he can scream from the pain of his broken arm, Duvalan's swordspear slices through the helmet's horn, cleaving diagonally through his shoulder and body, piercing his thigh.
"Gurgh!"
A short, blood-choked groan escapes, and before the mace's rounded head hits the ground, the split bull helmet and its wearer collapse lifelessly to the arena floor.
"Blick! Bnik! And you with the whip! Dual-sword gladiator! How about we call off this one-at-a-time nonsense?"
The gladiator with the massive rectangular shield calls out to the four remaining gladiators.
"Tch! Who came up with the crazy idea of fighting Duvalan one by one? And my name's Rikta. Call people by their names."
The whip-wielding gladiator snaps, her face twisting in frustration.
"Hah! Why bother learning names? Watch the speed of my blades!"
The dual-sword gladiator declares, crossing his two swords and charging forward.
"Oh, yes! That's it! Come at me all at once! Hahaha!"
Duvalan laughs, swinging his swordspear by its handle toward the approaching dual-sword gladiator.
"Ugh!"
Caught off-guard by the unexpected reach of Duvalan's attack, the dual-sword gladiator hastily parries the incoming blade with his crossed swords. Unable to fully deflect the blow, he slides across the ground, barely maintaining his balance. Blood seeps from a gash on his shoulder where the swordspear grazed him.
Seizing the moment, Blick and Bnik launch their attack, their sharp spears thrusting toward Duvalan's neck.
"Haha! Fast, but lacking power!"
Duvalan laughs lightly, deflecting the spears with the metal plates on his gauntlets. Without missing a beat, the massive rectangular shield slams into his field of vision.
"Attack again!"
The shield-bearing gladiator shouts, pressing the shield against Duvalan.
"I thought that high voice meant you were a kid, but you're a woman!" Duvalan exclaims.
"Grielle. We'll do proper introductions later."
The gladiator replies, her large blue eyes glinting behind her helmet. Despite the dust covering her, her fair skin and the bright blonde hair peeking from her helmet, along with her high-pitched voice, reveal her to be a woman.
"Hahaha! If you survive, that is. Off you go, Lady Grielle!"
Duvalan grins, shoving her shield back. With his brute strength, he exploits a fleeting gap in Grielle's stance, kicking the massive rectangular shield and sending her flying toward a pile of wooden crates in the arena.
Waaaah!
The crowd roars explosively as Duvalan waves briefly in response. The sound of Grielle crashing into the crates, splintering them, goes unheard by others amid the clamor.
"Yes! This is the sound I wanted to hear, erupting with my every move!" Duvalan says with a gleeful smile, but his moment is cut short as a whip lashes around his arm, its spiked tip digging into his flesh.
"Come on, give me a moment to enjoy this!"
Duvalan says, glancing at the whip.
"Play with me, then."
Rikta retorts, tightening her grip on the whip.
"Let's quiet that noisy whip!"
Ignoring the pain of the embedded spikes, Duvalan yanks his arm back, attempting to pull Rikta, who holds the whip's handle, toward him. Losing her balance, Rikta releases the whip and stumbles backward.
"Such monstrous strength…" she mutters.
"Strength's not all I've got!"
Before Rikta can react, Duvalan closes the distance and strikes her throat with the pommel of his swordspear.
Rikta collapses, her neck broken, unable to even scream. As she falls to her knees, Duvalan doesn't pause. Sliding his grip to the end of the swordspear's handle, he swings it in a wide arc behind him, targeting an unseen threat.