My gaze turned toward the center of the arena.
The first thing I noticed was that Zarik was still alive.
My final stab should have pierced his throat.
I was sure of it.
He should be dead.
So why was he still alive?
The answer stood beside him.
Two guards.
They stood in front of Zarik, one facing me and the other facing him, as if protecting both of us from each other.
But I knew the truth.
They were protecting him from me.
That was also the reason I had been thrown away like a rag doll while Zarik remained unharmed.
My gaze settled on them.
Both guards were clad from head to toe in pitch-black armor. Their helmets revealed nothing except narrow slits where their eyes barely showed. Each of them held a long black spear clasped firmly in their gloved hands.
I felt nothing from them.
Not even the faintest ripple of mana.
And yet…
I somehow knew that they were strong.
Immensely so.
Then, as if finally regaining his bearings, Zarik shouted furiously at them.
"Who allowed you—"
But his shout was cut off.
One of the guards had placed a hand on his shoulder. The movement was slow. Just a light tap and Zarik fell silent. At the same moment, his body shifted.
The transformation began to collapse.
Wings.
Claws.
Scales.
Horns.
Tail.
They trembled faintly.
Then their color changed. Dark blue turned to sapphire. The glow began at the tip of his tail and spread slowly across his body. His wings, horns, claws, and scales all began to shine with the same faint blue light.
Then—
As if a spell had been broken—they dissolved.
The transformation shattered into countless blue particles. They glittered around Zarik like confetti before rising into the air and vanishing. What remained was a bloodied noble boy with torn and ruined clothes.
Only then did I see that his body swayed. The tap on his shoulder had knocked him unconscious. He tilted forward—but the guard caught him before he could fall and held him upright with one hand.
Then a cold voice echoed across the arena.
"The duel has reached its conclusion."
My head turned toward the podium.
John stood there, straight as a spear, with one hand raised, stopping the crowd before they could erupt.
"Young Lord Zarik has shown us something astonishing for his age."
He paused.
"A partial transformation."
John's gaze briefly lifted toward the unconscious dragonkin.
"Very few can manifest it so early. And fewer still can endure its drawbacks."
Then his crimson eyes shifted slightly.
Toward me.
"The slave had tried his best."
His gaze moved again, toward someone in the crowd.
"The duel ends here."
The moment he finished speaking, I felt hands grab my shoulders.
Two guards now stood behind me. I hadn't even sensed them approaching. They dragged me upright, arms locked beneath my armpits as they pulled me away from the arena.
***
Adonis was dragged across the sand by two guards. His feet dug through the ground, leaving two long lines behind him.
Thud.
The gate opened slowly.
At the same time, something similar happened on the opposite side of the arena.
Two guards held the unconscious dragonkin upright as they escorted him toward another gate.
John watched everything from above, gaze lingering on Adonis. His eyes—the only visible part behind the mask—held a mixture of emotions as he looked at the boy.
Both teens vanished behind metal gates, and he turned back toward the crowd.
The crowd remained unsettled. Some were too shocked to speak after what had happened. Others whispered and murmured among themselves.
John's gaze swept once across them before he turned around.
Step.
His posture remained perfectly straight as he walked toward the door behind him. Two guards opened the double doors and bowed their heads. John ignored them and walked forward.
But—
"—!"
Step.
He stopped at the threshold. His head tilted slightly as he heard a shout.
Nothing followed, and he took another step—
"Nobles bane."
He froze, stopping mid-step.
"Nobles bane!"
The crowd, which had been whispering moments ago, began to stir. One shout broke through. The others heard it and repeated it. Like a ripple spreading across water, the chant spread through the arena.
"NOBLES BANE!"
"NOBLES BANE!"
John closed his eyes for a moment at the doorway.
A moment passed before he walked forward again.
"NOBLES BANE!"
He stepped into his office while the chants continued behind him.
Then the metal doors slowly closed.
Thud.
***
The doors shut behind me.
"Nobles bane!"
Even through the thick metal, the crowd's chant reached my ears. But those words didn't carry the same enthusiasm they used when giving a promising slave a new title.
No.
I understood the meaning behind it.
It wasn't admiration.
It wasn't celebration.
It was resentment.
And it wasn't aimed at the two fighters.
It was aimed at us.
The Colosseum.
Or rather—
At me.
I stood still for a moment with my back facing the door, listening to the chants echoing behind it. Then took a slow breath and walked forward.
My gaze drifted across my office.
It should have been just an office. But over the years, it had become something more.
I had decorated it to my taste.
White polished stone covered the floor, spotless and shining. The walls were painted a deep crimson.
Red.
I looked down at my clothes.
That color always calmed me. It made me feel at home.
My gaze briefly lingered on the velvet couches before I walked toward my desk. Piles of papers were scattered across it. Documents I had to read and sign.
They could wait.
I stopped in front of the desk.
The crowd's chanting had faded.
Silence returned.
My hand brushed across the polished wood.
Knock.
The sound broke my thoughts.
It came not from the metal door behind me, but from the smaller door on the other side of the room.
Without turning, I spoke.
"Enter."
The wooden door opened, and someone stepped in before closing it.
Click.
I already knew who it was.
No one else would dare interrupt me except the headguard who was assigned to our important guests. And I already knew why he had come.
Impatient, I spoke again.
"Report."
I heard his boots shift as he straightened.
"Master John, the guests gave me a letter to deliver to you."
Having heard enough, I turned.
My gaze moved from the guard to the letter in his hands. Without a word, I extended my gloved hand. He moved at once, placing the folded paper into it.
I unfolded the letter, but stopped after reading the first line.
Without looking up, I said.
"Leave."
The guard left without a word, closing the door behind him.
Now alone again, I stepped around the desk and sat down. The chair creaked as I sat down, shifting until I was comfortable. Then I lifted the letter, reading it calmly.
When I finished, my gaze drifted past the paper and over the white stone floor before settling on the crimson walls beyond it.
Normally, the color calmed me.
It didn't.
I placed the letter carefully on the desk and shifted my gaze toward it.
For a long moment, I just stared at it.
Then—
Bam.
My palm slammed down on it.
The sound echoed through the room.
But it wasn't enough.
My hands moved again. In one motion, I slid them beneath the desk, stood, and lifted it, hurling it forward.
Thud.
The wood smashed against the floor, splinters flying through the air.
As I stood, the chair behind me caught my leg.
I turned and kicked it away.
Bam.
The chair flew, only stopping after crashing into the wall.
Thud.
Haah.
My breathing became uneven.
Haah.
I stood there among the wreckage, counting seconds.
Then—
Calm.
My breathing slowed, and the room stilled again.
Silence returned.
I counted another second before I moved, stepping over my scattered belongings.
The letter lay among them. I bent down and picked it up. Sitting on the edge of the fallen desk, I read it again.
The letter was what I thought it would be.
It spoke of expectations.
Of my oversight.
My failure.
How I had allowed a slave to draw the blood of a noble before witnesses.
Poor management.
They blamed me for their son's incompetence.
First came their justification, next the demand.
The slave.
They weren't asking for him.
They were informing me that I would hand him over.
My grip around the letter loosened, it slipped from my hand and fell, resting beside the other papers on the floor.
I closed my eyes.
They had the right to demand it.
But—
Not like this.
I wouldn't make it look like we were bowing down to them.
My eyes opened, and I pulled my personal holo from my pocket. Mana flowed into the metal, and a screen appeared.
My finger moved, writing a quick message before pocketing it again. While waiting for a response, I continued thinking.
I had granted their request.
They wanted a duel.
I gave them one.
Their precious son lost.
And I made it look like he didn't.
Yes, they had their justification.
But the decision would be mine.
They wanted my slave.
My property.
For free?
That didn't sit right with me.
Even ignoring the veiled threat behind their words—
I wasn't the kind of man who gave something away when profit could be made.
Knock.
Another knock interrupted my thoughts.
I already knew who it was.
"Enter."
The headguard stepped inside again. His eyes flickered briefly over the destroyed furniture before he straightened.
"Yes, Master John."
I let him wait a moment while arranging my thoughts.
The political world was a battlefield on its own.
One misstep could cost you your life, and I wouldn't make one.
Finally, I spoke.
"Start an investigation into the boy's background. I want to know everything. Where he came from. Why. How. Who his parents are."
My eyes locked with his.
"Everything."
"The cost doesn't matter. Use every resource and connection we have."
He nodded before asking hesitantly.
"The boy… you mean—"
"Number 29."
"I understand."
"Good. Now tell me everything we already know about him."
The guard began, recounting statements and reports.
As he spoke, a plan formed in my mind.
The slave.
The boy who had survived in this arena far longer than he should have.
I would make his end far more glorious than it deserved to be.
And the crowd—
They would love it.