The ground trembles. Not just under the hooves of the Mowajitz—no. It shakes as if the arena itself were holding its breath, ready to swallow us whole. Six black horrors, covered in bone and pustules, circle the stage. The crowd screams like a choir of drunken demons.
And us? Five survivors, supposedly the "elite." An Oni bleeding blue into the dust, two human rejects I dream of splitting in half, and two nameless extras who haven't even had the time to die heroically yet.
[ Correction: probability that one of the extras dies in the next thirty seconds: 82%. ]
"Thanks, Senpai. Always reassuring, your statistical optimism."
[ That's my role. And by the way… I think this is going to be fun. ]
I don't like that tone. Since when does Senpai "think"?
A howl. The first Mowajitz charges. The two nameless survivors freeze like rabbits in a cart's lantern light. And that's when it all falls apart.
The first one—let's call him Mister Panic—grabs his comrade by the shoulder. For half a second, I think he's trying to help. False hope. He yanks him, shoves him, and throws him forward, like a child tossing his teddy bear to distract the guard dog.
"You've got to be kidding me?!"
Too late.
CRRSH.
The sacrificed body is skewered on the Mowajitz's antlers. A wet, vile sound. His ribs burst, his lungs gush like two punctured wineskins. The crowd roars, drunk on joy.
The monster lifts the victim, shakes him like a puppet. Chunks of flesh tear off, organs dangle. The audience applauds each crack of bone as if it were a firework.
[ Observation: primitive but effective survival technique. New nickname assigned: "human shield." ]
"Seriously, Senpai?! The guy turns his buddy into a living kebab and you're taking notes?"
[ Correction: not "kebab." "Bloody skewer." More precise. ]
I freeze for a second, not because of the blood—I've seen worse—but because of the smile. Yes. The bastard who sacrificed his comrade is smiling. Drenched in blood, eyes wide, breath ragged… but smiling.
"No shame? No regret? Just… that?"
[ It's logical. The specimen survived. The rest is accessory. ]
"Accessory?! You do realize if I try the same with Linie, you wake up tomorrow without a host?"
Silence. Well… almost.
[ Note: threatening one's own system is not advised. But… point taken. ]
I grip my sword. And for the first time, I realize something terrifying.
It's not just the six creatures I'll have to kill in this damned arena.
It's also that coward, right there on my left.
And maybe… Senpai, if he keeps finding this "fun."
The corpse crashes to the ground, emptied, entrails still dangling from the beast's antlers. Silence lasts a second… then the crowd erupts, as if they'd just witnessed a comedy sketch.
And that's when the noble, high above on his gilded balcony, raises his hand. His voice, amplified by whatever magic, resounds everywhere.
"Ah! My brave citizens… now that's what I call a demonstration of team spirit!"
A greasy laugh shakes the crowd. Not just a laugh—a torrent. Hundreds of voices howling, clapping, whistling in approval. As if the man had just told the best joke in the world.
I fix my gaze on the noble. He's smiling. Not a joyful smile. Not a forced smile. A cold, precise smile—like a surgeon cutting with elegance.
[ Observation: dark humor approved by 93% of the audience. ]
"You. Shut up."
But the detail is impossible to ignore. The noble didn't laugh. He just raised his eyes to me, for a second, as if to make sure that I wasn't laughing.
The still-smoking corpse hadn't finished spitting its last fluids when another Mowajitz leapt, hooves slamming against the protective runes. The crowd stepped back a single inch, then burst into nervous laughter when the noble raised his hand.
"Remarkable! So this is Velen's new strategy: eliminate a teammate before the enemy does. Efficient, economical… and honestly, what audacity!"
Explosion of laughter. Glasses raised. Kids clapping as if it were a play.
[ Analysis: crowd behavior comparable to a pack. The noble's humor acts as a cohesion stimulus. ]
"Thanks, Senpai. Very scientific. Now shut up or I'll throw you to the antlers myself."
A howl. The coward—the one who had smiled—barely dodged as a Mowajitz drove its horns into the ground. Another, from behind, struck the prisoner swordsman (the leader) with a paw that sent him rolling several meters away.
I leapt forward in turn, blade first, and slashed the creature's throat. Not enough to kill, but enough for a geyser to splash across the sand. The stench of sulfur and bile rose, rancid.
"Ah!" the noble cried. "See how our charming fighter favors the throat! A refined taste… and very effective on cervids."
More laughter.
I grit my teeth.
[ He has wit, I must admit. ]
"Seriously, Senpai?! You're taking his side now?"
[ Not his side. I just… appreciate the punchline. ]
Damn it. My AI is turning into a stand-up critic.
The prisoner leader gets up, spitting blood. The pervert, meanwhile, casts a half-botched fireball that explodes between us and the monsters, nearly scorching my hair.
I glare daggers at him.
"Do that again, and I'll roast you alive."
He chuckles, convinced he's funny. But the noble, once more, comments:
"Ah, the magic of amateurs… like a failed firework: dangerous, yet spectacular!"
The crowd howls again, stomping their feet, laughing as if death and pain were a comedy sketch.
I raise my sword, panting, eyes locked on the six Mowajitz still alive. And in my head, a frozen certainty:
This fight isn't just a test of survival.
It's a performance.
A performance where every drop of blood is a punchline, every death a gag.
And the noble?
He's writing the script.
A different sound. Not a roar, not a laugh. A high-pitched scream, panicked, lost in the tumult. I look up on reflex.
And I see her.
Linie.
In the crowd—or rather, outside of it. Her small body lies against the steps, adults nearly trampling her as they flee the Mowajitz's hooves. She doesn't move.
An icy void cuts through my chest.
She fell.
She fainted.
"…No."
[ I am beginning to worry about the survival of our child. ]
"Shut up."
I almost drop everything. Strategy, forced alliances, stupid calculations. My body moves before my brain. I dash straight for her, cutting down anyone or anything in my path.
But the ground trembles. A Mowajitz has seen me. Not one of the wounded. No. One of the biggest. Its antlers, stained with viscera, lower right between me and Linie.
"Move aside…"
It exhales, a spray of acid splattering the tiles, steaming like a hellish kettle.
[ Likely a modification added by the elves. ]
"Senpai, if you tell me one more time what to do while my daughter is over there, I'll uninstall you from my head with my claws."
A laugh shook the crowd—not mine. The noble's. He had seen my dash, he had understood.
"Ladies and gentlemen! The drunken fighter wants to save a child! Admirable!… but tragically useless."
The crowd burst into laughter again. Hundreds of voices mocking, while Linie lies unconscious, and this monster looms between us like a gate of flesh and bone.
I tighten my grip on the blade.
My heart screams.
And I hurl myself forward.
The Mowajitz advances, massive, every step pounding like a hammer in my chest. Its antlers still drip with fresh flesh, its eyes gleam with a sickly light. It doesn't see an opponent. It sees a barrier of meat to impale.
I see a door. A damn door on legs, and behind it… Linie.
I charge.
I have no plan anymore. Just this raw rage devouring me from the inside.
[ Heart rate critical. Endorphins at maximum. You resemble… a beast. ]
"Took you long enough to figure it out, Senpai!"
I roll to the side as the antlers crash down, a CLANG of metal echoing—the arena runes barely absorb the impact. The stench of sulfur and bile sears my nostrils. I leap, blade raised, slashing its hind leg. Blood bursts forth, green and acidic, splattering my arms. My skin smokes, but I grit my teeth.
It howls, stumbles, kicks. I take it head-on. My ribs protest, my lungs scream, but I stay standing.
[ Estimated internal damage: multiple fractures. ]
"Fractures or not, I don't care!"
I jump. Not high, but enough. My claws burst out, instinctive, sinking into its throat. I stab, I rip, I tear. Blood gushes in a viscous geyser, splashing across my face, my eyes, my hair. The crowd howls in ecstasy.
The noble comments, theatrical:
"Ladies and gentlemen! What a lesson in anatomy! Watch how she opens this creature as a butcher would open a pig!"
Laughter, applause, screams of joy.
I don't hear them.
I feel the beast thrash beneath me, shaking, trying to tear me off. But I cling on. I drive my blade into its left eye. A vile sound, an explosion of gelatinous matter. The Mowajitz staggers, screams, and crashes down in a storm of dust, its skull smashing against the stone.
I roll onto the ground, breath ragged, drenched in blood and pus, my sword still lodged in its empty socket.
One. Dead.
[ Confirmation: specimen eliminated. Congratulations. You are officially more effective than a warhorse. ]
"…Thanks, Senpai. Great comparison."
But I don't smile. I look up.
Linie is still lying there, unconscious.
And there are still five monsters left.
From here, my chances of saving Linie are slim.
"This is going to be complicated…"
While a valiant Oni fought to save her daughter, a certain noble stepped away from the edge of his balcony with the slowness of a priest leaving the altar.
Each step on the polished marble rang out, muffling the roars of the crowd.
I went to sit in the wide ornate chair that overlooked the arena, like a king on his throne.
A servant immediately leaned in, offering me a cup of wine. I took it without a word, watching lazily as the creature lay in the sand. The Mowajitz. Dead. Defeated. Its skull split open like an overripe melon, its socket burst.
And that girl.
That thing.
Blue. Her blood is blue. I saw it. Me, and no one else. The crowd, blind, only saw the carnage. But I… I recognized the exception.
A smile brushed my lips. Not for the beast slain. For her.
The Oni.
"Magnificent," I whispered, as if to myself.
I lifted the cup to my lips. The wine tasted of iron and honey. The taste of blood and gold.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" I declared, my voice amplified once more, without rising from my seat. "You have just witnessed a feat! Not only did our improvised champion slay a specimen from Elroe… but she did it with a flair that would make a capital butcher blush!"
The laughter returned, greasy, howling, hysterical.
I let them revel, the way one lets dogs bark. They don't understand. They see only the falling meat, not the jewel gleaming in the dust.
I see.
I see the flaw in this world.
I see an anomaly.
And anomalies… always belong to those who know how to tame them.
I sank deeper into the chair, crossing my legs, savoring every second. What came next would be even better.
The uproar of the crowd did not drown out the measured footsteps behind me. I didn't need to turn to recognize the cheap perfume and the stiff gait of a local lord come to play the courtier.
"My Lord Baron…" The voice was soft, almost servile. "Allow me to express my deepest gratitude for your presence. Your visit honors the city of Velen."
I turned halfway. The lord of the city—a well-dressed man whose hands betrayed his sweat—bowed deeply. I waved my hand, like brushing away a fly.
"No need for flattery, my dear. If I am here, it is not to admire your walls or your markets." I took a sip of wine, letting my voice carry effortlessly. "It is for… this."
I pointed toward the arena, where the Oni was wiping her blade on the flank of the dead Mowajitz, panting, her eyes fixed on the small form lying near the stands.
The lord blinked, intrigued. "The… young fighter?"
"Yes. Her." I smiled. "Who is she?"
The lord straightened, perplexed. "A… a foreigner, no doubt. She registered at the last minute. I found no trace of her name in our records."
I narrowed my eyes, letting the silence hang heavy.
"No trace?"
"Nothing, my Lord. No affiliation, no known origin. Just… her."
A small laugh escaped me. Not sincere. Not joyful. A laugh that made the servants step back.
"Fascinating. You organize tournaments, and an anomaly slips onto the stage under your very nose… without you knowing where she comes from."
The lord lowered his head, sweat glistening on his neck. "Forgive my ignorance, my Lord. I… I will investigate, I swear it."
I set down my cup slowly, tapping the armrests of my chair.
"No need." My tone softened again, almost playful. "I prefer the shadow of mystery. It makes the spectacle… more delicious."
My gaze slid back to the Oni. Her blue blood still gleamed on the stone.
And I smiled.