"The Lord Benefactors call the giant bear 'Bruto,' the lion 'Hades,' and the elephant 'Angela,'" Missandei explained softly to Daenerys. "The previous brown bear was Bruto XXVII; it died by a gladiator's spear. The current black bear has inherited the name, becoming Bruto XXVIII."
Daenerys pointed to a young girl with black hair slowly emerging from the tunnel. "What's her name? What does she do?"
The girl was about Missandei's age, no older than ten. She had a black bob cut, fair skin, and ordinary features. Her eyes were narrowed, and her cheeks, still holding a hint of baby fat, were crisscrossed with pale scars, much like the belly of a Bevor.
"Her name is 'Bitch,'" Missandei said. "She is an assassin raised by Lord Benefactor Grazdan Mo Erasi, and also a powerful gladiator."
"Bitch?" Daenerys murmured. "That fat pig has a lot of nerve. Or perhaps he's just that confident in his skill at training slaves."
Bitch was barefoot, wearing a short linen shirt cinched tightly at the waist by a belt. A thirty-centimeter dagger hung from the belt, and she wore loose, billowy harem pants.
Within a few words, the master of ceremonies had already stepped down, and the arena below witnessed the start of a battle that was absolutely mismatched.
The bitch seemed to be supporting her entire weight on one foot, while the other remained slightly suspended a few centimeters above the ground, her single-handed grip on the sword pointed at the giant bear.
"A Water Dancer!" Jorah exclaimed in a low voice.
The three-meter-tall black-furred bear completely ignored the girl who was shorter than its bent leg. Three sections of "sugarcane" could not satisfy its hungry belly. Instead, the "appetizer" only stoked its fire, making it crave to eat the sweet "sugarcane" again.
"Roar!" The giant bear opened its blood-red maw and bit down just as before.
But the bitch was not the girl tied to the wooden stake. She could not only dodge but also move with extreme agility.
Daenerys could hardly see what she had done, but her vision blurred for a moment, and the little girl appeared to the right of the black bear, letting it bite a mouthful of red mud.
Yes, a small pit the size of a washbasin had appeared on the soft, muddy ground.
Next, Daenerys finally saw the bitch's movements clearly. Like a nimble cat, she leaped onto the giant bear's right paw, then sprinted up its back, wrist, forearm, and upper arm, as if she were running a hundred-meter dash on flat ground. Like a gust of wind, she reached the giant bear's back neck, and the sharp sword in her hand plunged down.
"Damn it!" The moment Whitebeard saw the bitch's sprint, he guessed her plan. His face paled. "She's too small and weak! Her shortsword can't pierce the back of its neck—"
The entire sequence unfolded too fast. Before the old man's exclamation could even leave his lips, the sword had already struck. The result was worse than Whitebeard had feared: the blade seemed to catch on bone, its thin edge barely sinking into the flesh.
The giant bear roared in agony, a sound like a thunderclap. At the same time, its massive, cauldron-sized paw swung back to strike its own neck.
"Ah—!" Daenerys screamed.
The next moment, her cry cut off abruptly. The girl, who had been crouching on the bear's neck, was blown away by the gust from the paw like a falling leaf. But she didn't fall in the right direction—she landed squarely on the bear's face.
In the brief one or two seconds she descended from the sky, Daenerys saw three flashes of silver light.
"Awoooo—!" The giant bear wailed, one paw covering its face. Black blood soaked the fur on the back of its paw, while the other paw swung wildly, as if striking an invisible enemy.
By then, the girl had already retreated five or six meters. She once again assumed the Water Dancer's starting stance, one foot raised on its toes to support her weight, the other foot behind her, hovering just a few centimeters above the ground.
"Combining stillness and motion, stillness within motion... She seems to be standing still, yet she is already in the Water Dancer's footwork, striking first by acting last. She found her opponent's weakness and delivered a fatal blow in an instant." Whitebeard murmured, "I was wrong. This little Water Dancer is thinking three steps ahead. That sword thrust into the giant bear's nape used only sixty percent of her strength, yet it hit the bone, not the wrong spot."
The short sword in Bitch's hand still pointed at the frenzied giant bear, but now its tip was crimson, blood dripping from it. Between her and the giant bear lay a black nose the size of a fist—the bear's nose.
"The black bear's sight and smell have been disabled! What a ruthless technique. In an instant, three swords struck vital points, combining both power and speed," Great Bear exclaimed in horror.
"Hey, Bitch!" Grazdan suddenly stood up, leaning over the railing and shouting toward the arena, "Bitch, what are you still standing there for? The gentlemen didn't come to watch a bear howl. Kill it now, or be torn to shreds by it. There are over a dozen acts waiting to perform after this!"
"Bitch, kill it!"
"Bitch, kill it!"
The Master of the Games shouted into a copper megaphone. Gradually, the three thousand spectators rose from their seats, joining the chant. The roaring wave of sound seemed like a death curse, eager to drag an innocent child into hell.
"Beasts! Beasts!" Whitebeard's beard practically bristled with rage. His hardwood cane tapped urgently against the red brick floor—*tap, tap, tap*—betraying his inner turmoil.
Jorah's face was grim. "The girl is too small. Even if she drives a sword through the bear's eye, it will be hard to kill it. But the bear... it only needs to hit her once."
"Lord Benefactor, your slave seems to have won. The duel was splendid. Perhaps we should move on to the next match?" Daenerys said softly to Grazdan, who wore a robe of pearl tassels.
"That Westerosi whore is a soft-hearted fool," her 'old friend' Kraznys whispered to the Lord Benefactor beside him. "The real fight has only just begun, yet she claims victory? Hahaha!"
The fat slave owner's coarse voice was booming; even when he lowered it, everyone nearby could hear. The little translator Missandei's face flushed a deep red, her large golden eyes filled with helplessness.
She hesitated, unsure whether to translate her former master's improper words for her new one.
"Tradition of the Sons of the Harpy: A duel in the arena, once begun, must never be interrupted," Grazdan declared sternly.
With a sharp gesture toward the host, he signaled the start. The host shouted to the surrounding guards.
*Clack, clack.*
A squad of crossbowmen emerged from the first tier of the spectator stands, fanning out above the arena. Their bolts were aimed directly at the bitch who stood hesitating below.
The girl noticed the crossbowmen and understood that Lord Benefactor was displeased with her caution.
She sprang forward on her toes, circled behind the massive bear, and drove a blade into its hindquarters. As the enraged beast spun around, swinging its paws, she ducked low and slipped under its armpit.
Now facing the bear head-on, she crouched and delivered a light kick to its fat belly. Sensing its enemy before it, the bear spread its arms wide and lunged—like a starved husband pouncing on his beautiful wife, who, clad in provocative lingerie, was still preening for him on the bed.
*Whoosh—*
The girl's crouched body sprang up like a coiled spring. Like an arrow released from a fully drawn bow, she shot backward three meters in an instant.
"Ah—" Daenerys shrieked. Though the girl had moved with blinding speed, she was still within the bear's reach. The next moment, the beast's massive head would crush her into a bloody pulp.
But Daenerys was wrong.
The girl's lightning-fast retreat came to a sudden halt. With a balletic pirouette, she pivoted to the bear's shoulder—a point lower than its head. The head struck the ground, missing her by a hair's breadth, its impact glancing off her clothes.
*CRACK—*
The crisp sound of bone shattering and the bear's agonized roar struck Daenerys's ears at the same time.
Looking back at the arena, the bear lay prone on the ground. Blood gushed from its wound like a wide-open faucet, rapidly soaking the earth. The bitch's face was deathly pale, large beads of sweat breaking out on her forehead and cheeks.
The bitch was crouched between the bear's outstretched arm and its head, her right hand bent at an unnatural angle, wedged beneath the black bear's neck.
The girl said nothing, struggling to crawl out from beneath the massive, convulsing body. The three-meter-tall black bear lay on the ground, its mouth gasping with a wet, wheezing sound, unable to ever stand again.
The arena fell deathly silent. The entire ordeal had unfolded so swiftly—almost too fast to blink—that the "Great Bear and the Little Girl" game was already over.
"How did the bear die?"
"Did the bitch win?"
"What did she do?"
Slowly, a low, buzzing murmur rippled through the arena. The Ghis were so ecstatic they were practically dancing in their seats.
"Not simple," Whitebeard said solemnly, his eyes fixed on the little girl limping toward the tunnel. "I overlooked one thing. She is no novice. Her experience is so vast it would make even an Ironborn feel pity."
Jorah nodded, his face pale. "She knew she couldn't pierce the black bear's hide. She had to use its own momentum, planting her sword on the ground directly in front of its forehead. Her right hand is likely ruined, and heaven knows how many bones are shattered."
"Hahaha!" Grazdan laughed triumphantly, turning to Euron. "Well? Thrilling enough for you?"
Euron's blue eyes still held a trace of shock. He nodded slowly, remaining silent.
"I told you the best was yet to come," the fat slave owner said to Daenerys. "That bitch is no ordinary girl. She's killed countless berserk bulls. Bruto XXVIII died a fitting death."
Daenerys's heart stirred. She recalled her first meeting with Kraznys, when he had told her that strength was not the most important thing. A bull was strong enough, yet it had been easily killed by a nine-year-old girl.
It seemed the girl he had spoken of was the bitch.
Only nine years old.
Suddenly, Daenerys sighed, feeling she no longer had the right to cry out, "Who dares claim to be more miserable than I?"
The world was a furnace, and countless souls struggled in its purgatory. It didn't lack one more, nor would it be any different with one less.
Afterward, a slightly more formal gladiatorial match took place—a team battle of ten against ten. Twenty bare-chested slaves hacked at each other with swords and knives. Blood splattered, severed limbs flew, and heads rolled across the ground.
The air was filled with incessant battle cries and agonized wails. Daenerys felt as if she had been transported into the world of *Braindead*, and the nausea made her want to vomit.
After the twenty-man melee, the red earth of the arena had turned into a muddy marsh, soaked through with blood.
Daenerys wondered if the red soil had not always been red, but had been stained crimson by the blood it had drunk.
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