The Butcher

Two days passed in the blink of an eye.

Caesar's body had been buried, and the arena staff hadn't come looking for the corpse. They were happy to let the gladiators stay with the dead until it rotted down to bones, adding a bit more gloom to the cave.

The lights inside the cave killed the bacteria that bred during decomposition, keeping the gladiators from falling sick and dying outside of combat.

This arena, this planet called Nuceria—their technology soared above the clouds, while their morality sank below the earth.

It wasn't until today, two days later, that this beast-like existence stirred with a hint of change.

"What are they doing out there?"

Oeno lay weakly on the cold rock, using his tattered shirt—once covering his upper body—to tightly bind his abdomen.

Aside from Qin Xa and Angron, the other gladiators were sprawled out in every direction, their breaths faint and shallow.

Oeno had said before that there'd be a feast day before the match, but two or three days prior, they'd stop handing out food to starve the gladiators.

Now everyone was collapsed from hunger.

The thunderous cheers and shouts from outside reached every ear, but most here didn't even have the strength to stand up and peek through the window.

Qin Xa was sitting cross-legged with his eyes closed, leaving only the one unaffected—Angron—to go see what was happening.

So Angron stood up, walked to the window, and looked out.

"There's a ceremony in the arena. People are gathered inside."

Angron relayed what he saw.

"Five people riding mechanical warhorses have entered the combat zone, but they're not fighting each other—they're parading around like they're basking in glory."

"Then more people on biological warhorses came, following behind those five riders on mechanical steeds, all gleaming with gold."

After describing it, Angron looked at Oeno and asked, "Are they High-Riders?"

Hearing this, Oeno forced out two weak, hollow laughs. "They're not High-Riders... They're here to fight in the arena. Next match, they'll probably be fighting alongside us."

Angron tilted his head, clearly confused why those riders—if they were also gladiators—could strut around on their horses showing off, while he and the others were locked in a cave and starved.

The gladiators' hunger-fueled negativity tormented Angron, gnawing at him.

"They're not gladiators, even if they're joining the fight." As if knowing what Angron wanted to ask, Oeno answered directly.

"Not gladiators?" Angron's eyes flickered with doubt.

"They're nobles. Nobles below the High-Riders. Some young masters from noble families come to the arena for thrills."

Oeno spoke weakly.

"Their families outfit them with powerful armor and weapons, forming a team of these young masters who all want to chase excitement in the arena."

"Those ones you mentioned on mechanical warhorses—they're probably noble brats from the Tark Family. The ones behind them on regular warhorses are their household servants."

"The name of these little bastards' team? The Plebeian Butchers."

Oeno finished, and Angron stared out the window with a heavy heart.

Qin Xa, who had been sitting cross-legged in meditation, opened his eyes. "Plebeian Butchers? What the hell kind of name is that?"

Oeno could only convey a bitter tone in his voice. "The name's disgusting, but they're still the stars among noble teams in Nuceria's arena."

Qin Xa wanted to curse, but the words died in his throat. He closed his eyes again, focusing on exploring his psychic power.

"Why don't the people of Nuceria fight back?"

A voice full of endless confusion reached the gladiators' ears.

Hearing this, they strained to turn their gazes toward Angron.

"The people of Nuceria have fought back," Oeno said.

"No... no..." Angron shook his head. "I don't mean whether anyone's fought back before. I mean... if a noble team's name is the Plebeian Butchers, and they're that blatant about it, why don't all the people of Nuceria rise up together?"

At this, even Oeno, with his philosophical bent, lowered his head.

It wasn't that he had no answer—it was that his answer leaned toward finding it in people's character and thinking.

Most of Nuceria's people were used to being enslaved by nobles, and the Nucerians themselves were easy to enslave.

That was Oeno's answer.

"Maybe..." Oeno lifted his head, locking eyes with Angron, his expression indignant. "The ones who fought back were either killed or locked up in arenas like us. The ones left are too scared to defy the nobles—like livestock penned up. The brave ones got butchered for meat, so the ones left are just cowards."

Angron's tightly furrowed brow relaxed just a fraction, as if he understood.

"Bullshit."

A slightly cold voice came from beside Oeno.

Angron and the others turned to the speaker, just as they had to Oeno.

Qin Xa opened his eyes again, fixing his gaze on Oeno. "Brother, I'll admit you're good at thinking. You've got the makings of a philosopher, but only a little. And on this matter, you're dead wrong."

Hearing the rebuttal, Oeno wasn't angry. He'd only given it a simple thought, settling for a passable answer when he couldn't find one.

He listened quietly, signaling Qin Xa to continue—he wanted to hear what this educated man had to say.

"We want to escape from the arena—is it to die, or to get ourselves out of this mess?" Qin Xa asked the group.

"What the hell kind of question is that!"

The female gladiator who had once planned to leave the cave with Qin Xa and Caesar to gather information let out a furious shout.

She didn't think this was a question at all.

"We're trying to get out of this mess, not to die," Oeno said. "Obviously, pal."

"So there you have it." Qin Xa nodded. "The High-Riders of Nuceria have monopolized technology. This world reeks of barbarism and ignorance everywhere, like a world full of primitives, yet the tech used by the nobles is so advanced it's despair-inducing."

"The nobles here don't even need a massive army to build a military foundation for their rule."

"And iron men like the Security Automata won't betray their users or show mercy—they've become the nobles' most loyal butcher knives."

"In an environment like this, if people's goal in resisting isn't to die, but to actually change something, then enduring and waiting for variables is a necessity."

"This is a matter of material conditions and objective circumstances—you won't find answers from personality or mindset."

With that, Qin Xa looked at Angron.

Angron nodded thoughtfully.

The gladiators were also lost in thought.

But for mortals, the thinking lasted less than two minutes, because the hunger threatening to consume their reason left their brains barely able to sustain basic physiological functions.