Great Swordmaster Girovit's face was dark as he hurried after the Imperial Guard Corps sentry named Rock who had come with the news, his two personal attendants Geba and Tashiva following close behind as they made their way toward the underground cells holding the slave gladiators.
No one was in a good mood after receiving bad news just as they were about to enjoy themselves with two female slaves following a relaxing bath. When the sentry named Rock, trembling with fear, reported to him the details of what had happened to Great Swordmaster Begna, Girovit was so furious that he smashed the golden cup of fine wine he had been holding.
Preposterous — although Begna was only a first-tier Great Swordmaster, one who had forcibly advanced to the rank by consuming rare potions, he was still a Great Swordmaster all the same. It was one thing to be unable to defeat those Golden-tier slave gladiators who fought as if their lives depended on it, but to be beaten and taken hostage by three Silver-tier slave gladiators? Was he getting worse the longer he lived?
Angry as he was, Girovit still had to put on his clothes and rush with his two attendants to the third level of the underground cells. As the second-tier Great Swordmaster tasked with guarding the colosseum, maintaining order and suppressing any slave gladiator revolt was his responsibility. In that regard, Girovit was quite diligent.
Still, in the bottom of his heart, Girovit had already crossed Great Swordmaster Begna off his list. No matter how this affair turned out, Begna would have to be kicked out of the colosseum — even if he did have some distant kinship with the king. Girovit had absolutely no intention of ever having to get up in the middle of the night to clean up after him again.
The Haniabada Kingdom had no shortage of Great Swordmasters, but those who truly belonged to the kingdom and served the royal family numbered only four — meaning all four were the kingdom's own. One was the current King Lud III's swordsmanship teacher, the third-tier Great Swordmaster Rossy Gabia. The second was Girovit himself, a second-tier Great Swordmaster who held the colosseum. The remaining two were both first-tier Great Swordmasters: one was Viscount Sakley, the captain of the royal guards responsible for the capital's security, and the other was Begna, who had only advanced to the rank by consuming rare potions.
Girovit had always looked down on Begna in his heart. Since Begna had advanced by taking rare potions, no matter how hard he trained from now on, there was no possibility of advancing to the next stage. In other words, Begna would remain a first-tier Great Swordmaster for the rest of his life — not even as capable as those who had naturally advanced to the first tier.
As a relative of the king, the reason Begna had been sent to this colosseum was that King Lud III had hoped he could hone his swordsmanship against the slave gladiators and ultimately prove useful. Unfortunately, that painstaking arrangement had been wasted on Begna. The very first time he fought a two-star Golden-tier slave gladiator, the slave — despite being gravely wounded — had successfully closed the distance and grappled with Begna, even managing to bite off his right ear.
That Golden-tier slave gladiator had been chopped to mincemeat and fed to the magical beasts, but the rescued Great Swordmaster Begna had lost his nerve entirely. From that day on, he never dared to face Golden-tier slave gladiators again, only seeking to restore his confidence by fighting Silver-tier and
Now that things had taken this turn, Girovit wondered whether Begna would still have the face to stay on at the colosseum. The Great Swordmaster gloated inwardly — originally he had reigned supreme at the colosseum alone, but then this Begna had shown up, and a relative of His Majesty the King at that. Though it couldn't affect his position, having another Great Swordmaster around the colosseum was an eyesore, and the man was always causing trouble that someone else had to clean up. Thinking about it, Girovit had plenty of grievances of his own…
The two squads of Imperial Guard Corps soldiers guarding the underground cells had all been mustered. Over twenty men stood at the underground passage entrance alone, fully armed and posted at strict alert. When they saw Locke leading Great Swordmaster Girovit and the other two over, they immediately snapped to attention and saluted.
Great Swordmaster Girovit halted at the entrance. "Where is your squadron captain, Pabola?"
The lead soldier blinked, glanced at Locke, and answered hesitantly, "I don't know, sir. He should be down below. My orders were to guard this entrance and not let unauthorized personnel in or out…"
Great Swordmaster Girovit did not suspect anything. He let out an "Oh" and continued descending.
The first underground level was relatively orderly, though a number of slave attendants had already risen and were gathered in clusters, whispering amongst themselves.
The second underground level was a different story entirely. Many of the slave gladiators were hammering on their cell doors and screaming curses. Over a hundred Imperial Guard soldiers were using whips to lash at the hands thrust out through the bars. Screams, profanities, and the crack of leather whips blended together without pause — the entire second level was as loud and chaotic as a marketplace…
Great Swordmaster Girovit snorted with displeasure, but at this moment he could not be bothered with such petty matters. As long as the third level was dealt with, it would be time enough to sort out these second-level slave gladiators afterward. Execute a few ringleaders and the rest would naturally fall in line.
Every guard post along the route to the third level was on high alert, as though facing a formidable enemy, with roughly ten soldiers stationed behind each iron gate.
As they passed the final guard post, Great Swordmaster Girovit asked once more, "Where is your squadron captain Pabola?"
The soldier at the guard post did not answer, only pointing a finger toward the depths of the passage ahead, then clanging the iron grate shut once more.
""
One of the retainers beside him, Geba, tugged at his sleeve and urged, "Forget it, they're just soldiers doing their duty. You, Rocco — hurry up and lead the way."
Rocco bowed and scraped his way through a yes, then took a torch from the guard post and walked on ahead.
From a distance, a glow of light could be seen ahead. Rocco said, "Lord Girovit, it's just up ahead…"
Great Swordmaster Girovit strode past Rocco without a word, marching forward with long strides. His two retainers, Geba and Tasiwa, hurried to follow.
The lit area ahead was eerily silent — no clamor of voices, only the sound of a whetstone against steel ringing through the air…
Great Swordmaster Girovit walked over and saw a man built like a lion sitting on the ground, sharpening a long sword that shimmered like autumn water…
Great Swordmaster Girovit's eyes narrowed. A sensation of being watched by a predator surged through him. He halted in his tracks. "It's you, Hughes…"
The man sharpening his sword raised his head — it was indeed the slave Great Swordmaster Hughes. "Heh heh, you finally came. I've been waiting for a good while. Here, we can settle this fairly."
"Where's Bernag?" Great Swordmaster Girovit asked.
"Over there..." Great Swordmaster Hughes pointed with his hand.
In the dim torchlight, several stripped corpses lay scattered on the ground beyond. Great Swordmaster Bernag's weasel-like face stared upward, his pale, lifeless eyes fixed blankly on the dark ceiling — the unmistakable look of a dead man...
"You killed him..." Great Swordmaster Girovit let out a long breath.
Great Swordmaster Hughes shook his head with a smile. "Not me. A rat like him wasn't worth getting my hands dirty."
"I killed him." A clear, crisp voice rang out from behind Great Swordmaster Girovit.
Great Swordmaster Girovit and his two attendants turned around in surprise to see the guard soldier Rocco — the very man who had led them here — jam his torch into the green stone pillar behind him, then rip off his bronze helmet to reveal a head of long black hair. He straightened to his full height, and the hunched, cringing soldier was nowhere to be seen.
Great Swordmaster Girovit waved a hand, and his two attendants, Geba and Tasiwa, lunged at Rocco simultaneously. For Great Swordmaster Girovit, the situation was now crystal clear — he had walked into a trap. But he wasn't panicking. His only real opponent was the slave Great Swordmaster Hughes. As long as he defeated Hughes, no amount of scheming from these slave gladiators could make a ripple before overwhelming strength.
Before he could even turn his head, a flash of swordlight flickered in the corner of his eye, followed by two muffled grunts and a sound like air leaking out. Great Swordmaster Girovit's expression changed as he spun around again — only to see Geba and Tasiwa clutching their throats, stumbling forward a few steps before collapsing face-first onto the ground, fighting for their lives...
"Who are you?" Only now did Great Swordmaster Girovit truly raise his guard.
"I am Count
"Was it your family's forces that seized our Kingdom's Nubit Port?" For all that Great Swordmaster Girovit was in the royal city's arena, he had heard tell of the upheavals that had lately befallen the Kingdom.
"Bingo, you got it right — shame there's no prize." Lorist snapped his fingers.
"Why did you invade our Hania-Bada Kingdom? We've never had any grudge against one another…" Great Swordmaster Girovit asked.
"Ha ha, why? You have the nerve to ask me why? Your Kingdom's slavers and slave-catching squads raided my family's territory, seizing my subjects to sell as slaves, dragging my soldiers and knights here to fight as gladiators… Over thirteen hundred men walked in, and now barely two hundred remain… So here I am — payback for old scores, blood for blood…"
"So you lured me here on false pretenses? Planning to overwhelm me with numbers, are you?" Great Swordmaster Girovit drew his longsword.
"Deceiving you was a mark of respect. Once you're inside, there's no escape — out in the open I was afraid you might run rather quickly. As for overwhelming you with numbers, that won't be happening. The two of us — you may freely choose one." Lorist casually flicked his blade through a few flourishes.
"Then I choose you!" Great Swordmaster Girovit lunged at Lorist, his sword-light blazing like a bolt of white silk, seeming to cleave through the entire space of the third underground level.
*Clang clang clang clang clang clang…*
Amid the furious cascade of blade strikes, Lorist's voice remained perfectly relaxed: "Ha ha, Brother Hughes, he came after me on his own — I'm not stealing him from you, ha ha — here he comes…"
"Clang clang clang clang clang clang…"
Another furious cascade of blade clashes erupted, and then Great Swordmaster Girovit let out a muffled grunt as he was sent tumbling three or four meters sideways, clutching his right chest while stumbling backward. A thin trail of blood dripped from the wound.
Great Swordmaster Hughes, watching from the sidelines, widened his eyes in disbelief. He had seen it clearly — throughout Girovit's thunderous assault, Lorist had not retreated a single step, matching speed with speed and meeting force with force. Not only had he weathered this relentless storm of attacks, but he had even launched a counteroffensive, driving his sword into Girovit's right chest and adding a wound to his body. What was especially uncanny was that Lorist's swordsmanship seemed to carry a blizzard-like cold with it, causing Girovit's attacks to grow slower and slower, as if he were being frozen solid…
He had felt too good about defeating Benage the Great Swordmaster and had been too careless. He had spent quite a while persuading Lorist to let him handle Girovit instead. He never expected that the head of the Norton Family would possess such extraordinary swordsmanship — and that a Count would personally infiltrate an enemy city, charging to the front lines to rescue his own subordinates. Now, the more Hughes watched Lorist, the more admiration he felt…
Girovit, meanwhile, was being pressed so hard by Lorist that he could barely breathe. Regret gnawed at him — had he known Lorist would be this difficult to deal with, he would have chosen to target the slave Great Swordmaster Hughes instead. Hughes was undeniably fierce, but he was only a first-rank Great Swordmaster, and Girovit had fought him before. He could stall Hughes for hours without issue. Defeating Hughes would be difficult, but Hughes defeating him wouldn't be easy either — far better than being chased around like a cornered rat by this young man with no hope of escape…
"Ah…" Girovit took another hit, this time to his left ribs. The pain drew a scream from his lips.
Lorist chuckled softly. "Not bad — to have blocked over three hundred of my strikes, you truly earn your rank as a second-rank Great Swordmaster. Your swordsmanship lives up to its reputation…"
Girovit could no longer speak. He felt as though his entire body had frozen solid, his blood itself turning to ice. His movements grew increasingly stiff, his reactions ever slower, and a creeping cold enveloped him from within…
Before his eyes, a landscape of ice and snow seemed to materialize. The countless flashes of swordlight transformed into drifting snowflakes, fluttering down upon him in a gentle flurry. He no longer felt the cold — instead, he felt himself dissolving into those snowflakes, dancing freely on the wind, soaring through a vast white world of snow and sky without a care…
"Urgh…" Lorist's longsword pierced through Girovit's throat, but by then the Great Swordmaster had already lost all consciousness. His eyes rolled back to show the whites, yet a strange, eerie smile crept across his face as he collapsed to the ground, dead.
"Lord Locke, your swordsmanship is quite strange, and it's far too cold — even I, as a bystander, couldn't stop shivering..." Great Swordmaster Hughes carefully approached, glancing down at the dead Great Swordmaster Girovit on the ground.
"It's just elemental advantage. I've been practicing my swordsmanship in the ice and snow all along," Lorist said nonchalantly. "Well then, this Great Swordmaster called Girovit is finally dead, and we can breathe a sigh of relief. Next up are those Gold-rank and Silver-rank gladiator instructors."
Lorist's plan was simple — lure all of the arena's fighting forces into the underground cells and trap them there. Dealing with the two hundred-odd Imperial Guard Corps sentry soldiers was easy; they were quickly replaced with slave gladiators posing as guards. Then came luring Great Swordmaster Girovit down.
Lorist had gone in person, and now it had succeeded. The next step was to forge Great Swordmaster Girovit's orders, sending those Gold-rank and Silver-rank gladiator instructors down to the third underground level to suppress the slave gladiators' rebellion.
Thirteen Gold Instructors and nearly a hundred Silver Instructors walked into an ambush on the third underground level, and bodies quickly littered the ground. The only bad news was that the Gold-rank gladiator instructors caught in the trap fought back desperately in their death throes, taking Prom — a Gold-rank slave gladiator who had just earned his freedom — down with them. Though Lorist and Great Swordmaster Hughes had been cutting through enemies left and right, they still couldn't reach Prom in time to save his life. Seven Silver-rank slave gladiators perished alongside him.
Around four in the morning, the entire arena fell into the hands of the slave gladiators. Lorist slipped out of the arena quietly and made his way back to his room at the Flame and Blood Tavern.
To be continued...