There's a saying: "Longer means stronger." A nearly two-meter-long spear was far more useful than a short sword—especially in this kind of c
There's a saying: "Longer means stronger." A nearly two-meter-long spear was far more useful than a short sword—especially in this kind of chaos.
With a short sword, you had to engage in close combat, which meant greater risk, especially when facing enemies of various species. One moment of carelessness, and you could be injured.
Just now, he'd even seen a worm-like creature shoot a spike from under its skin and impale a one-eyed Abyssin through the chest—then swallow him whole.
Using his spear, Rango swept a Tusken Raider from Tatooine aside and resumed his evasive journey.
He kept his objective firmly in mind.
This arena likely didn't hold the "imposter" he was looking for. He thought of the Wookiee.
When he'd been unable to move, it was the Wookiee who had looked after him. Without that help, his condition would have worsened drastically.
He was sure the Trandoshans had electroshocked him repeatedly after he passed out. No regular stun baton could have caused such severe injuries. When he first woke up, he felt like he'd been roasted alive.
He also reviewed the rules of this match in his head.
There were six arenas in total. The over 300 participants had been randomly split among them. In each arena, the last 10 standing would advance to the final arena.
Once you were among the final ten, you could choose to stay in the central arena and wait—or enter another arena that hadn't yet decided its finalists.
Anyone who entered another arena would take up one of its 10 finalist slots.
Normally, only the bloodthirstiest types would choose to do that, but those that did always made the Bloodbath a far more brutal spectacle.
Rango had already decided—he was going to storm the central arena early and then move on to another field.
Loud cheers erupted around Arena One.
Amir couldn't help but glance up at the main screen.
A Wookiee was tossing enemies aside with brute force, his shaggy brown fur bristling as he sent them flying meters away.
Amir's eyes widened. He immediately called over a server.
"Oh, sir," the attendant said, "that gladiator was recently captured. He's the star attraction of this tournament. Many came specifically to see him. A noble even offered thirty thousand credits to purchase him."
"What's his name?"
"His name is Chewbacca, sir."
Amir stared at the Wookiee. So this was the famed co-pilot of the Millennium Falcon—Han Solo's loyal friend, Chewbacca. Amir had loved this character in his past life.
He couldn't believe Chewbacca was here.
So Han Solo must still be a street rat on Corellia, running from the law with his girlfriend?
Wait—he couldn't trust the Solo: A Star Wars Story timeline. He'd have to confirm things himself.
At any rate, Chewbacca would probably be fine—his future was still full of adventures. It was Rango who needed his attention.
Just then, Rango unexpectedly went on the offensive. Sweeping the spear with precision and agility, he knocked out several weakened gladiators in quick succession.
Meanwhile, the big black bear had finally collapsed from exhaustion.
Four Tusken Raiders had grouped together, brandishing their scavenged gaderffii sticks with force, eliminating several nearby foes.
"Kid! Want to team up? Going solo won't get you to the finals," a human audience participant called to Rango.
Two others stood with him—also human.
"With you, that makes four of us. Once we make it to the final arena, it's every man for himself."
Rango looked at the towering fighters still battling nearby. He wasn't confident he'd survive alone.
Plus, they were all fellow audience members—not prisoners—so betrayal seemed unlikely.
After a moment's thought, Rango nodded and joined them.
"Haha, I knew you'd join us. I'm Mara—Mara Lansworth."
"We'd better clear out the rest quickly and move to the main arena," said the man with scruffy hair and a dark beard who seemed to be their leader.
"Agreed," Rango replied.
With a temporary alliance formed, the four of them began targeting the wounded. They weren't alone—several Tusken Raiders and a few Duros had also banded together.
The battlefield grew even bloodier.
Rango was shocked by Mara's combat prowess. Wielding a massive broadsword, the man cut down foes effortlessly—no one could match his raw strength. Rango began to wonder if he was even human.
As if sensing the question, Mara laughed and said, "I'm a cyborg. Got full mechanical augmentation. That's why I'm so strong."
Sounds expensive, Rango thought. Probably some corporate executive's bodyguard, trained at great cost.
Their four-man squad carved a bloody path through Arena Three. Eventually, only three factions were left, staring each other down.
To Amir's surprise, all four Tusken Raiders were still standing. They were skilled, but no one was bidding on them—probably because they were just too damn ugly.
The last group was four powerful slave gladiators. They had inflicted most of the damage on the black bear earlier.
Twelve fighters remained, locked in a tense standoff. No one wanted to make the first move.
"Time to go, little green buddy," Mara said, hoisting his broadsword onto his back and crouching into a combat stance.
"You guys better stay out of this! Just watch!" he yelled at the Tuskens—not that he cared if they understood. Then he charged at the slave team.
Everyone in the arena had witnessed the beardy giant's strength. The Tusken Raiders gave a few muffled cries and wisely stepped aside.
Rango and the other two followed Mara into the charge.
Amir tensed up instantly.
Two of the enemy fighters kept glancing at Rango, clearly planning something. They pretended to engage Mara, but were really waiting for Rango to step in.
Amir narrowed his eyes and stretched out his right hand.
The clash began instantly.
Mara's giant blade swept across in a wide arc, nearly disarming two opponents on impact.
As Rango approached, one of them met him head-on. The attacker's short sword was blocked by Rango's spear. But the other opponent, who'd pretended to go for Mara's teammates, suddenly changed course and drew a short dagger—aiming straight for Rango's side.
Rango was caught off guard—there was no time to dodge. His teammates were too far to help.
But just as the dagger thrust forward, it seemed to hit an invisible force. The attacker stumbled, his aim suddenly skewed—and instead of Rango, he stabbed his own teammate in the stomach.
Shhk.
The teammate who had been grappling with Rango looked down in shock at the blade protruding from his gut and the blood pouring from the wound.
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