After the first round of the Colosseum matches, Leo's name was no longer unknown in the city of Lunaria.
In a single night, the tiny boy who no one had paid attention to became the talk of the entire city.
In taverns, in markets, even in narrow alleys where gamblers gathered… everyone spoke of the battle that had taken place the day before.
How could a boy who looked barely older than a child defeat a notorious fighter like Adolf?
Stories spread and opinions clashed.
Some saw in him a rare talent worthy of admiration, while others cursed him, having lost small fortunes betting on Adolf.
The skeptics insisted that it was nothing more than a stroke of luck, and that the boy would not survive long in the Colosseum.
Yet despite all the differences in opinion, everyone agreed on one thing:
This boy was not ordinary.
By the dawn of the second day of the fighting festival, Leo sat in his narrow stone cell, leaning against the cold wall.
He closed his eyes for a brief moment, trying to ignore the noise coming from the other cells, where the other slaves prepared for their upcoming battles.
But his attention was fixed elsewhere.
Deep within his body, he felt a faint stirring…
A familiar sensation slowly returning.
Mana.
The mana channels in his body, completely drained by the destructive spell he had used against the Baron, were beginning to recover—gradually, like a weak spring trickling over dry soil.
It wasn't enough to cast even the simplest spell, but their return brought him a measure of reassurance.
At least… they weren't gone for good.
Still, Leo knew the road to restoring his full magical power was long.
Before he could dwell on it further, the sound of keys clinking echoed down the stone corridor.
The guards forcefully opened his cell door.
"Get up. It's your turn today."
Leo didn't argue. He didn't speak.
He simply rose, grabbed his sword, and followed the guards through the dim stone passages leading to the arena.
The roar of the crowd grew louder with every step he took.
When he finally emerged into the daylight, he was met with the colossal Colosseum, packed with spectators.
Thousands of faces…
Thousands of eyes hungry for blood.
But his opponent this time was no ordinary fighter.
It was a woman named Elma.
Once, she had been one of the deadliest assassins in the underworld.
Assassinations, torture, countless crimes… until she was finally captured.
But instead of execution, she was sold into the Colosseum as a slave.
There, she did not cease killing.
If anything, she had grown to enjoy it even more.
Elma entered the arena with confident steps, her dark hair flowing behind her.
Her eyes shone with a strange glint… the glint of someone who found pleasure in the suffering of others.
Cheers erupted from the crowd.
Some began rooting for Leo, intrigued by the mysterious boy, while others shouted Elma's name, demanding she tear him apart.
The two faced each other in the center of the arena.
Before the fight officially began, Elma leaned forward slightly, examining Leo like a child inspecting a new toy.
Then she smiled.
A cold, twisted smile.
Her voice was low, filled with a morbid anticipation:
"I can't wait to tear those beautiful eyes of yours from behind that mask."
A shiver ran down Leo's spine, though he didn't fully understand why.
It wasn't fear… it was something else.
This was the first time he had faced this kind of human—a person who found delight in pain itself.
She tilted her head and asked him,
"What's your name, little one?"
Leo replied calmly,
"I don't give my name to your kind."
Her smile widened.
And at that moment…
The starting bell rang.
Elma vanished.
Almost no one could see her.
But Leo felt the air shift behind him.
In an instant, she appeared like a ghost, her dagger flying straight toward his back.
Leo lifted his sword immediately.
Metal clashed against metal with a sharp sound, yet the attack was too fast.
The dagger slipped past his defense, leaving a cut on his back.
It wasn't deep… but it was a clear message.
This was no ordinary battle.
Elma was a true assassin, her speed surpassing most fighters Leo had ever faced.
Her attacks came in storms: vanish… appear… stab… vanish again.
Leo could read her strike paths thanks to his incredible analytical mind.
But the problem was not in his mind.
It was in his body.
His body was simply not trained enough to match a professional assassin's speed.
Each strike he blocked with difficulty… each strike leaving a fresh wound.
Until the small cuts piled up.
Finally…
Leo fell to one knee.
The crowd erupted in cheers, thinking the end had come.
Elma approached slowly, her eyes glinting with excitement.
"It's time to get my new toy," she said, smiling.
But in that moment…
Leo smiled.
A calm smile.
She froze, curiosity flashing across her face.
"Why are you smiling?"
Leo raised his head and said,
"Because… I'm done."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Done with what?"
"Analyzing your style."
Elma laughed, bursting into a cold, harsh sound.
"Hahaha! You arrogant little brat! Are you saying you've learned an assassination style that took me ten years to perfect?!"
In the next instant, she vanished again, appearing behind him and attempting a single strike to decapitate him.
But this time—
Leo raised his sword.
And blocked the strike completely.
Elma's eyes widened.
Then, the two surged across the arena with astonishing speed.
Their movements became so fast that the crowd could no longer track them…
All that remained was the sound of clashing steel echoing through the Colosseum.
Sparks flew… feet pounded the ground.
And then something began to change.
A cut… then another… then a third.
Blood began to flow from Elma's body.
Inside her, a single thought echoed:
Impossible…
How could this boy learn my style so quickly?
Could… could he surpass me?
Finally, the two stopped.
Leo stood silently… while Elma was covered in wounds.
She wavered for a moment…
Then collapsed, unconscious.
Silence fell over the arena for a short moment…
Then the Colosseum exploded in thunderous cheers.
At that moment… a new hero was born.
From that day forward, no one in the Colosseum dared underestimate Leo.
They had realized that this small boy hid a terrifying talent.
Beyond his magic… he possessed a rare gift in swordsmanship, an analytical ability that allowed him to study any fighting style and replicate it after a brief observation.
A skill, if he devoted his life to it…
Could have made him the greatest swordsman in history.
But Leo did not think of that.
After the match, he was returned to his cold cell.
He sat on the floor in silence, tending to his wounds with simple means, preparing for what might come next.
Elsewhere in the Colosseum…
The officials in charge of the matches gathered around a long table, their faces dark with frowns.
They were not discussing Leo's victory.
They were discussing something else…
How to get rid of him.