By the Grace of the Gods (LN) - Volume 7 - Chapter 24

Chapter 5 Episode 24: The Ex-gladiator and What the Slave Merchant Was Hiding

~???’s Side~

“Not fair...” The first candidate muttered in disappointment as he returned through the door from the courtyard.

“Hey, wasn’t he the guy who...?”

“Picked the slimes? Yeah, no mistaking it... Don’t tell me he lost?”

The other slaves became animated at the sight of the man’s return. One of the employees, perhaps in an attempt to keep what awaited the remaining candidates outside as much of a surprise as possible, showed the first challenger out of the waiting room.

By the looks of it, he lost. Even if he had technically won, he certainly didn’t think he fought well. Slimes, eh... I’ve never faced any in the coliseum, but some advanced species are evidently more powerful or difficult to deal with. Ox Roade, having watched the first candidate walk past in silence, decided to not dwell on the thought any further. While he couldn’t deny some degree of curiosity about the matter, he didn’t sign up to fight the slimes. Instead of fruitless speculation, he thought of the boy he was about to battle. Four adults, each with a unique aura about them—a noble, two businessmen, and another one who’s clearly seen too many battles to be a businessman. And then, the sole child among them... He was the hardest to read out of that bunch.

While most considered brute force to be the only requirement for a gladiator, that alone did not get fighters far up the ranks. Popularity spoke volumes when it came to gladiating, with spectators often placing bets on their favorite gladiator. Crowd appeal and the number of matches they played directly influenced their play. No matter how fierce a fighter was, no gladiator would be considered as a household fighter without stardom to their name. Only once a gladiator achieved both strength and popularity did they mark their name in history.

Ox, as someone who had climbed close to the top of such an industry, had trained one particular non-combative skill through his years of gladiating—a good eye for character. It was something he had in common with the president of the very slave trader aiming to sell him as a product. His career of countless battles, glowing popularity, and establishing connections with nobles and merchants had helped him acquire this skill. He began to see aspects of his opponent’s character in each step or swing of their sword. It was an intuition that he had developed through decades of challenging himself. It led to him sensing every one of his opponent’s movements in mind or body, elevating his swordcraft as a result.

I kept honing that intuition, and my dual blading reached level 5 once I was into my thirties. Even after losing a hand, Ox Roade still prided his own ability with swords. A close second was probably his intuition, which had earned his confidence over the years. But now his intuition failed him when it came to Ryoma. Who is he...? He certainly looks like a child, but he was entirely comfortable among the adults, as if he was their age...like equals. But more than anything...he’s strong. The foreign man beside him seemed to have seen a fair share of combat, but that kid... Well, no sense dwelling on it any further. All I can do is show my strength with my swords, no matter who I’m facing.

More candidates returned one by one, all looking dispirited. Ox Roade watched them out of the corner of his eye, clasping his pair of sheathed swords, concentrating.

When the ninth slave returned, Ox quietly stood, placing his swords by his sides. “Just to be sure... I am allowed to use these, right?”

“President’s orders. He told me the clients are allowing it.”

“It’s not just one of his games?”

“I understand your skepticism. Apparently, the president was the one who suggested it, but this fight’s as real as they come. I double-checked with the client a couple of matches ago and he thinks you’ll perform better with weapons you’re familiar with.”

“Glad to hear... I appreciate your consideration,” Ox said, emptying his mind of thoughts not concerned with the battle ahead, just as he used to before stepping into the grand coliseum. With powerful strides, he proudly walked out into the courtyard.

“Thank you for your patience,” Ryoma welcomed him, still standing at the starting position of the combat area.

This fight will be anything but easy, Ox acknowledged. Ryoma was standing there as calm as could be, despite having fought four candidates in a row already. He had only one question to ask of his opponent.

“Why did you choose me?”

“It doesn’t matter who my opponent is. I will show you the way of my sword.” Ox’s simple answer implied that he was only going to speak more with his sword from this point on. He had already taken his position at the mark opposite Ryoma.

“Ready when you are, then,” Ryoma announced, having accepted Ox’s response. Ryoma drew his slime sword.

Ox astutely sensed a change about Ryoma. He can cut with that sword on the draw if anyone’s in his range. Ryoma had done nothing but unsheathe his sword, and Ox was already adjusting his estimation of his opponent. He, too, drew one of his swords with his right hand—the only one he had.

Ox’s sword was of a matte gray, stone-like color; it was much thicker than most blades, and obviously quite durable. Its shape resembled that of a machete or a butcher’s knife. Ryoma was reminded of a seax blade he had seen in his previous life. Both fighters used energy mediation effortlessly to strengthen their entire bodies.

“Begin!”

First blood! Ox closed in on Ryoma, unleashing a vertical slice. Ryoma met the swing with his sword, making a confident parry. As a loud clang echoed through the courtyard, the fighters put some distance between each other, as if out of mutual respect.

Ryoma, for one, was astonished by how fast Ox could move given his enormous stature, and even more so by the immense force with which he’d swung his blade. Ox had earned his silent respect. He imagined how much time and effort the man must have spent to wield the pair of extremely heavy swords (which had contributed greatly to generating such a force for the attack) at the same time, given that he only had one hand now.

Ox had a similar impression. Not a scratch on his weapon, he noticed. Even without his energy, the attack would have been parried by technique alone. Ox’s swords were made from refined heavy stone, an ore unique to this world. In addition to its rock-like color, it was more durable than steel and heavier than lead. Specially made to be wielded by a highly trained and energy-boosted ox beastkin, the sword was almost too heavy for an ordinary man to even hold aloft, let alone wield. Multiplied by the velocity at which Ox swung his sword, its incredible mass generated catastrophic damage. If Ryoma had parried less than perfectly, his weapon would not have withstood the exchange. Ox’s intuition had allowed him to catch on to all of this in a matter of seconds. No wonder the other candidates came back acting like that. Those who took him at face value must have been horror-struck. Is this all Moulton’s idea? That weasel.

Albeit with a partial misunderstanding—one that Mr. Moulton had definitely earned—Ox was now sure of Ryoma’s strength. I have no chance of winning, he thought. Not with one sword... With a detached estimation of their strengths, he still stepped forward. Ox roared and leaped toward Ryoma. So what if he had lost a hand, or knew that he stood no chance against Ryoma? Neither of those was a reason for Ox to lay down his sword. He had survived numerous battles where he was disadvantaged or faced against those stronger than him. Each time, he fought against the odds with every fiber of his being.

Ryoma felt Ox’s roar, along with the man’s force of will that seemed to epitomize the life he had lived. With the swing of his mighty sword that he had put his whole life into, Ox managed to force Ryoma to take a step back.

In a split second, Ox let out another roar as his sword cut through the air, flying at Ryoma’s face. While Ryoma knocked down the blade that had come much too close for comfort, Ox drew his other sword. As if to demonstrate his style of wielding two monstrous swords in quick succession, the pair of blades closed in on Ryoma.

“Ryoma!” Reinhart called, a moment too late for his warning to have any effect, while the two merchants were unable to even react.

The two fighters had clashed for an instant.

“No need to worry. Our boss is all right,” Fay noted with a hint of relief in his tone. The fighters disengaged for a moment before jumping into a furious back-and-forth of the blade.

“What’s happening now...?” Serge muttered. “One of his swords is...”

“Floating in mid-air!” Pioro finished. Indeed, one of Ox’s swords was floating at a set distance from Ox’s stub, as if it was being held by an invisible hand.

“Kinesis, most likely,” Reinhart explained. “Neutral magic that uses magic energy to move objects. He must have cast it without an incantation, using it in place of his left hand. He had just made an opening by throwing his sword, forcing Ryoma to knock it down. Not only that, but he retrieved the sword, keeping the momentum and swinging upward. Magic has a little more reach than a physical hand.”

“Boss deflected the thrown sword, stepping toward Ox and attacking to stop his feet and right sword. He dodged the left sword from the ground with a lean. Don’t think the boss expected the second sword to come into play. Sweet reflexes.”

Even as they commented on what had just happened, the match continued at full speed. Ox’s physical and magical hands, each wielding a sword with devastating blows, generated breezes that blew past Ryoma’s cheeks. Ox’s flurry continued, unleashing three or four swings during every beat of combat, each of them potentially lethal. Ryoma was dodging and parrying all of them like a leaf in the wind, striking back during the few openings that Ox allowed.

“Oh... How incredible...! Truly sublime!”

“Sorry to interrupt your little show, Orest,” Reinhart interjected. “But you owe us some explanations.” Serge and Pioro silently joined into the accusation by glaring at the slave trader.

“Explanations?” He innocently parroted. “I have merely recommended slaves that I think are suitable for my clients, the same as I always do.”

“Don’t you think you’ve left out some of the details from your recommendation?”

“You didn’t say anything about dual-wielding with magic, at the very least.”

“I recall disclosing that he was obsessed with swordcraft, and that he could no longer dual wield like he used to after losing a hand... Perhaps I was insufficiently clear,” Moulton said without a hint of guilt. “As you’ve illustrated, Duke, he is using the neutral magic Kinesis. And as you all surely know, beastkin, in exchange for their powerful physique, hold little magical energy within them, making magic an unfavorable tactic. He, of course, is no exception. He’s giving his all against Mr. Takebayashi... But he can’t keep that up for three minutes. Plus, his swordcraft isn’t as good as it used to be before he lost his hand. Once he runs out of magical energy, he won’t even be able to stand, let alone fight. Medicine can only do so much, and taking medicine mid-combat isn’t always practical...” Moulton went on to explain that Ox really couldn’t dual wield like he used to, and that he had only achieved a fighting style even remotely resembling his original through the use of magic incompatible with him, out of his sheer obsession with the sword.

“I see,” Reinhart said. “Then what’s your end goal? He may have some baggage, but given all that context, I find it hard to believe that you haven’t had any potential buyers take an interest in him before.”

“As I’ve maintained from the beginning of our meeting, I think that he is a perfect fit for Mr. Takebayashi. Ox won’t complain as long as he works somewhere he can use his swords, especially if his employer is stronger than him. But more than anything...” Moulton paused theatrically. “Mr. Takebayashi has far too few equals.”

Reinhart widened his eyes in surprise, as did Serge and Pioro.

“The more I learn about him, the more curious I become,” Moulton continued. “His mindset is one thing... But his abilities are so far advanced beyond his age. I’m sure he has friends who are equals in a social sense, like any one of you. But there aren’t too many individuals out there with skills comparable to his, especially regarding combat. My research shows that he occasionally spends time with children of similar age in the slums, but I’ve also heard that he acts more like a tutor to them. What do you think that sort of thing does to a child his age?”

“Are you telling me...you’ve been concerned for Ryoma’s emotional development all along?” Reinhart asked incredulously.

“He is at a difficult age. Ideally, he would have a rival his own age, but one can’t expect to come across two children of his age and skill level. The best I could do was allow him to consider having someone with at least a similar strength and thirst for improvement in his life, even as a slave.”

“I never thought I’d hear something like that from you, Orest.”

“So you weren’t just teasing Ryoma to get a rise out of him?”

“My! That is most uncalled for! I certainly enjoy watching people, but I have no intention of sabotaging the healthy development of any child. In fact, I want children to cherish all the experiences and happiness that time will soon take away from them,” Moulton declared with all sincerity.

“I see... I apologize for doubting your intentions.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t mind making him a regular so I can observe him more closely.”

“The truth comes out, eh?! See if I ever have sympathy for you again!”

“Orest, you’re a real...”

“Just...don’t overdo it, all right?”

As the three adults finally expressed their grievances and exasperation, Fay, the designated observer of the match, finally called a stop to it.