At this point, the other side had clearly noticed Kirk's little scheme and called a timely timeout to adjust their tactics. They still had twelve people left to fight: four ordinary gladiators, three Elite Gladiators, and five Gods of War. Kirk was now strong enough to toy with ordinary gladiators with ease. If he used this shameless stalling tactic to recover his health every time he faced one, it would be like handing him four bottles of all-natural, side-effect-free full-heal potions!
During the timeout, the organizers naturally wouldn't make the audience sit around doing nothing. Even the NBA knew to fill timeout breaks with pretty blonde women in miniskirts. So the eleven Contractor slaves led by Little Fatty made their dazzling entrance as extras!
The slaves' gladiatorial match naturally wasn't one-on-one; the audience didn't have that kind of patience. They wanted to see a spectacle. Each side sent out thirty slaves, and they began a chaotic—well, a massive melee.
As soon as they met at the edge of the arena, Kirk casually handed Little Fatty the deep-blue Roman Legion Shield, but he refused it. He said his fighting style didn't suit a proper shield like that.
Kirk didn't press him. Little Fatty had too much pride to be forced into anything. He was so confident, though—let's see how he held up.
The two sides formed their lines, then crashed into each other with the ferocity of a Super Bowl final...
Five minutes later, Kirk was grinning.
Little Fatty sashayed through the crowd, wiggling his butt as he ran around. Everyone was supposed to have an assigned opponent, but this guy ignored the rules and made a point of attacking other people's opponents.
In fact, Little Fatty only met the Contractor standard in one attribute: stamina. In everything else—strength, agility, and