Translator: Dragon Boat Translation Editor: Dragon Boat Translation
At the end of the market, there was an average sized arena. Unlike the other cities, the various mercenary groups that resided in the Isolated Cliff City formed only a loose alliance that did not have a clear leader. No one was obligated to obey another and hence when conflict erupts, blood would often be shed. Though the Mercenary Association commanded some respect, they weren’t really the superior of the mercenaries, and could at most serve as a mediator. But for the bloodthirsty mercenaries that lived life on the edge, they would only respect one as the mediator if they still had sense left in them. When they didn’t, a mediator would simply become collateral damage in the brawl.
To control the bloodshed, the Mercenary Association built an arena. It was common for two mercenaries to feud over the smallest detail, and proposing duels were even more of a common part in their lives. The official stance of Mercenary Association was to neither encourage or discourage such actions; however, many in the association would much prefer the mercenaries resolve their conflicts in the arena. At least it would be better than having the bloodthirsty mercenaries fighting to the death in private. Of course, whether to use the arena or not was entirely up to the person. For example, someone like Gibran would never stand in the ridiculous arena.
Many people sat around the arena, and all of them were there to see the caravan. Most immediately stepped aside in respect when they saw Dwightsteel, Winston, and Gibran approaching.
They were a little late, and the spectacle had just begun. There was a sizeable platform in the middle of the arena; about several hundred meters long, and was more than enough to hold a fair battle between a magician and a warrior. At the moment, twenty slaves slowly walked atop the platform and divided into two groups. They wore very little, and both male and female only wore a coarse battle loin cloth around their waist. However, the men’s chests were bared while the women had a piece of cloth around their breasts. The only thing that looked presentable on the slaves was the headband on their heads, which were made intricately, and emitted a soft glow under the sun. There also seemed to be some kind of gem embedded in them, though it wasn’t clearly visible from a distance.
A magician in a white mage’s robe slowly walked up the platform. He first casted a voice amplifying spell, then gave a speech. The speech’s key points included where these slaves originated from, as well as a shower of lavish praise of their strength, beauty, and loyalty that involved many gaudy words. When he was nearing the end, a few servants walked up with a bunch of swords and shields. At the magician’s command, the silent slaves walked up and picked out their weapons.
“Is this…” Winston blanked and looked at Dwightsteel. They were instantly reminded of a popular game among the preceding nobles: live gladiatorial combat!
The servants then carried a few buckets of water onto the platform, then very roughly poured water onto the slaves. The water was colored, and one group of slaves were painted red, while the other was painted blue.
“Start!” An excited voice shouted through the voice amplifying spell.
The slaves continued to stand there silently, not making any moves.
The magician retreated to the edge of the platform, took out an hourglass from his space ring and shouted, “If there are still survivors on either side when time is up, both teams lose!”
Hearing that, the slaves finally started to stir. They stared at each other for a while to assess their opponent and finally, someone made the first attack. From there, the two groups of slaves crashed into each other while shouting loudly.
Without any fancy strength of fighting, the slaves only had their own strength to rely on. They all appeared to be seasoned soldiers; even the women, who struck with simple but powerful and agile moves. That also made the fight very ruthless. Blood started to splatter everywhere, while severed feet and hands flew everywhere. Those that were struck by swords were actually lucky by comparison, as some had their brains bashed out by iron shields. It was truly a chilling scene to behold!
In just a few minutes, a winner had already been decided. A slave stood as the lone survivor of his group, while he still had four enemies. The lone slave swung his sword and shield frantically to block the onslaught of attacks, but he was in a dire situation as he had suffered several wounds already. Suddenly, he roared in rage as the light of strength of fighting started to shine around him.
The four slaves surrounding him were greatly startled, and scrambled to retreat. However, the lone slave did not pursue them. His body suddenly froze, and his enraged roar suddenly turned to a cry of pain. He dropped his sword and shield, then fell on the ground with his hands on his head. He rolled around madly for a bit, but quickly stopped moving entirely.
The audience were in dead silence. They were here to see the caravan, but no one expected such a bloody fight! Even though the mercenaries didn’t dislike fighting, they felt that a fight must be fought with a purpose! There must be a reason such as for survival, for eliminating a threat; even Gibran, who had a reputation for being ruthless, never killed out of pure enjoyment! In other words, they weren’t silent because of the violence, they simply couldn’t accept this pointless cruelty.
The magician in the white robe returned and announced that the first fight was concluded, and a dozen servants immediately ran up the platform to clean up the bodies. The four lucky survivors helped each other down the platform, but when they passed by the magician, he gestured to them to stop.
The three surviving slaves consisted of three men and a woman. Though the three men only suffered light wounds, the woman’s injuries were more severe. A sword cut her legs, and she could only move from the help of her companions. Her left arm was wounded even more severely, as the bone was shattered by an iron shield, and still remained in an unnatural, twisted position.
The magician knocked on the female slave’s left arm a couple times, then stepped back and gestured his servant, who promptly swung his sword at the female slave’s neck.
The swing wasn’t fast, and as Han Jin and his group saw before, the female slave was a strong fighter, who had single handedly defeated four opponents to establish the basis of her team’s victory. She was entirely capable of dodging the attack, but she merely stood there dumbfounded, and allowed the sharp blade to pass through her neck. With a spurt of blood, the head flew into the air while the headless body shook, then fell onto the ground.
The three male slaves were startled for a moment, but then slowly turned and walked down the platform.
“These bastards! Are they human or animals?!” Moxinke exclaimed.
“They are so cruel!” Sunier’s mood was too, fouled.
“Do you know what the insignia of Cold Shadow City is?” Majordomo Gail asked flatly. Everyone only then noticed that Gail was holding Yalina’s arm, who tried her best to free herself, but Gail’s hold was so strong it seemed his hands had taken root, and there was no way for her to escape.
“Yalina, don’t be so rash!” Han Jin said in a low voice.
Yalina appeared quite dejected, then gave up on her struggle after rolling her eyes at Han Jin.
“Majordomo Gail, you mentioned Cold Shadow City’s insignia. What is it?” Han Jin asked.
“It’s a snow wolf.” Gail’s eyes flashed as if he was remembering something, “Only someone who had visited the snowy peaks would know how frightening a snow wolf is and understand what the people of Cold Shadow City truly worship.”
“I say that they did this on purpose,” Winston said with a frown.
As they were talking, the gladiators attending the second round had arrived on the platform. This time, the teams were quite strange. One team consisted of only women, who only wore the bare minimum that was needed to cover themselves, and all of them were around sixteen or seventeens. Their weapons were even stranger; consisting of mops, firesticks, and other household tools. The other ‘team’ was one brutish man who was around two meters tall. He held a finely crafted iron greatsword in his hand, wore soft leather armor on his body, and even wore a helmet on top of his headband. Was he even a gladiator?!
“Start!” The magician said as he reset the hourglass.
The dozen of girls huddled together; they didn’t even have the courage to look at their enemy, let alone fight him. The mops and firesticks in their hands were shaking violently, some even started to cry.
Time ticked by, the tall man simply stood there silently and looked towards the sky.
The magician who served as judge seemed to be getting impatient, and repeated the rule. However, the tall man remained still, as if he was deaf.
Seeing that the situation just got awkward, the magician felt quite embarrassed and started to cast a spell. The headband on the tall man’s head instantly started to shine.
The man’s body shook a little and finally glanced down. With a cold smile on his face, he raised his sword sideways and slid it cleanly across his own neck. A jet of blood shot out, and his gigantic body fell back onto the platform.
The audience was silent for a moment, but someone suddenly shouted, “Bravo! That’s a man right there!!”
The rest of the audience clearly had enough as well, and that shout simply ignited their anger. The crowd of rowdy mercenaries instantly exploded with shouting, as wave after wave of insults were yelled out. They were free, and admired freedom. They would never allow someone else to rule over their fate, not even the gods! For that reason, the cruel treatment of the slaves fuelled their heartfelt rage. Of course, there were times when mercenaries bowed to coins, but normally, they had their own code and principles; such as you must pay for services, you must not kill without reason, no matter how powerful you were. These rules were a reflection of their fundamental belief that the life of a fellow human must be respected.
Isolated Cliff City never entered any wars, and stood amidst the rise and fall of cities and their leaders as if the chaos had nothing to do with them. The relative peace had also them unwilling to bow to tyrants or other powers. In other words, the more oppressive and violent you appeared, the more resistance you would face.
The smarter mercenaries had realized something was off already: the mage from the Cold Shadow City seemed to be intentionally intimidating them. The rest simply felt that the gladiators died pointlessly, the girls should be pitied, and the brutish gladiator was a true man who chose to sacrifice his life over hurting his kind. The former group was angered because they would never allow an outside power to oppress them, while the latter simply felt sympathetic.
“You piece of shit from Cold Shadow City, I challenge you to a duel!”
“Motherfucker, you are treating them like animals!!”
As the mercenaries shouted out wave after wave of insults, Moxinke finally relented to and shouted at the top of his lungs, “Rush him my brother! Kill that bastard!!” Since Han Jin didn’t speak, he didn’t dare do something rash, but a few shouts should be fine.
As the nearby mercenaries heard his shout and saw that it was Moxinke, the shouting grew even louder. Moxinke was an influential figure among the mercenaries after all. Besides, he had many other leading figures of the city beside him. There was no way he would shout like that without their support.
The Cold Shadow Citymagician near the platform instantly panicked, as he never expected the audience to riot. The same display was shown in the Depew City and Holy Crown City, but people from both city only watched in silence, a drastic contrast compared to what greeted him now in the Isolated Cliff City.
