Arena

"Those warm-up victims were rebel prisoners?"

Inside the cave, the gladiator watching the combat zone let out a cry of shock. Hearing this, Oeno rushed to the iron bars, gripping them with both hands as he peered toward the fighting area.

He hadn't been able to see the warm-up victims alive—he only saw scattered fragments across the ground.

Oeno's eyes anxiously scanned the red sand of the combat zone. He spotted a survivor buried beneath the debris, and the tension on his face eased slightly.

The survivor crawled out, and only then did Oeno and the other gladiators realize he had lost both legs below the waist.

The survivor writhed on the ground.

In the gladiators' eyes, a long red object dragged behind him from his waist.

Seeing there was still one alive, one of the Servant Knights brought by the Golden Armor Knights moved.

That Servant Knight spurred his horse toward the survivor, his lance raised.

"Damn it..." The survivor let out a wail, no longer trying to find a weapon, but instead laboriously turned to face the audience.

He took a deep breath.

That breath transformed in his rage-filled chest, finally erupting as a roar surging up from his throat.

"I fuck every last one of the High-Riders' families!"

The next second, the survivor became a corpse hanging from the Servant Knight's lance.

The Servant Knight's modified arm easily lifted the lance with the corpse dangling from it, galloping across the red sand.

The corpse on the lance was like a banner, a warning.

The gladiators witnessed this moment—some burned with indignation, others remained indifferent, and a few even thought the warm-up was pretty cool.

The warm-up was over. Now it was the gladiators' turn.

The lights inside the cave began to flicker.

The gate opened.

Rows of neatly arranged Security Automata stood holding electric batons, waiting for the gate to fully open.

The gladiators turned and walked out.

"I think we're all going to be killed by them." Angron caught up to Oeno, looking at his grim face. "What weapons will the arena give us?"

"We won't all be killed." Oeno gritted his teeth in reply. "They'll keep a few who perform well, and then the killing will stop."

Angron nodded slightly.

"The killing won't stop." Qin Xa said meaningfully.

The gladiators filed out of the cave, supervised and beaten by the Security Automata, herded like sheep toward a room along the corridor—the Armory.

To Angron's great disappointment, the Armory had nothing good—just a bunch of cold weapons.

The gladiators were used to it. They went over and grabbed whatever they were good at or liked.

One weapon was especially popular among the gladiators here—the Trident.

In the end, all the good weapons were snatched up, not even a shield left, before Angron hesitantly picked what he thought was usable—a Two-Handed Axe.

Qin Xa took a weapon after Angron, casually grabbing a sword.

In his hand, it looked like a dagger.

Walking out of the Armory right behind Qin Xa, Angron kept staring at him.

From this man, the Primarch saw a quality—selflessness.

But he didn't know that Qin Xa wasn't all that selfless; he just felt he didn't need a real weapon.

Along with the other gladiators, Qin Xa was escorted by the Security Automata to the gate leading to the combat zone.

The gate slowly rose.

Red sand and flying dust appeared in view along with the light.

"Finally! Finally! The main event is coming!"

"Let's give a warm welcome to the gladiators!"

"And the highly anticipated, heavily bet-upon rookie, An-An-An-An-An—Angron!"

"..."

The Maggot Eye flew above the combat zone, broadcasting the announcer's shouts.

Qin Xa stood among the gladiators' ranks, speaking to them.

"Once that Maggot Eye finishes its drawn-out announcement, like pissing on an electric fence... we all need to stick together."

"I know those rebel prisoners grouped up and got wiped out instantly, but if we scatter, we'll be hunted down one by one by those riders."

With that, Qin Xa began a more detailed assessment of the enemies they were about to face.

Hearing Qin Xa's words, a female gladiator turned back and asked, "Why should we listen to you? Just because you're a big bastard?"

Qin Xa followed the voice and saw that the gladiator challenging him was the one who'd wanted to go gather information with him earlier but couldn't because Caesar's head exploded.

"What's your name, lady?" Qin Xa asked politely.

"Kleist," the female gladiator replied.

"Alright, bitch." Qin Xa looked at Kleist and said, "If we both survive and win this arena fight, you'll come kneel before me and thank me, then apologize for your rudeness here."

Hearing that, Kleist rolled her eyes at Qin Xa and flipped him off.

The gladiators were escorted by the Security Automata through the gate and into the combat zone.

Beneath their feet was red sand; above their heads, the black night.

Before them stood the opponents they'd face in the coming battle.

Qin Xa hadn't fought a single bout yet, and the gladiators didn't think they should listen to him, but his words served as a reminder—don't make bad choices out of fear.

Scattering out of dread, following the example of those rebel prisoners, might indeed prevent the Golden Armor Knight from wiping them all out with a single charge on his scorpion, but being spread out would just get them hunted down and killed one by one.

With Angron here now, sticking together and fighting as one would at least let them die with some dignity, not like a hunting party.

The gladiators clustered together, forming a square formation.

Most of them had experience, so they knew what to do against cavalry and could influence others to follow suit.

After some time spent forming the square, those with shields raised them, creating a shield wall.

"Use my shield." Oeno looked at Angron, who stood in the front row beside him, and handed the shield over.

"This thing looks softer than my body hair." Angron shook his head with a bitter smile, then hefted his two-handed axe one-handed, ready for battle.

At that moment, Qin Xa furrowed his brow slightly and retreated to the back of the formation, putting the others in front of him.

He had his reasons for doing this.

He needed to leave space—if things went badly, he had to ensure he wouldn't be the first to engage the charging enemy.

"Is that all?"

At the very front, Kleist raised her shield with one hand while keeping her middle finger up at Qin Xa with the other.

"Your guts are inversely proportional to your size."