Swordsman

"We can't keep killing each other."

Once he had drawn most people's attention, Oeno spoke hesitantly.

"If we aren't required to kill each other in regular bouts, then we shouldn't strike at each other without mercy."

"What happened to Yochula... must not happen again."

As he said this, Oeno looked with concern at Yochula, who was curled up in a corner.

Yochula showed no reaction. He was immersed in pain, and the only thing he cared about now was calculating when he might see his mother again.

"Again?" someone spoke up. "You made this suggestion last time. I thought you would have learned your lesson after humiliating yourself."

"That's right. The arena doesn't say we have to kill each other in regular bouts. They'd rather save our lives to expend during large-scale battles or festival celebrations, but they haven't forbidden us from slaughtering each other either. What right do you have to forbid it?" someone else said.

"I'm not forbidding it. I'm appealing to you..." Oeno said to the two gladiators who had openly opposed him. "Please..."

Kleist watched the two people Oeno was "begging" with cold eyes.

She knew full well that Oeno was not truly begging these two to accept the no-killing rule. He was begging them to be smarter and preserve their own lives.

"Shut up, old man."

"I won't agree to that no-killing bullshit. In large-scale battles, we're comrades fighting side by side, sure. But in regular bouts, we're enemies!"

The two remained firmly opposed.

Angron looked toward Qin Xa.

Qin Xa sat cross-legged, eyes closed, without making a sound.

Yet through a third-person viewpoint shaped by psychic power, Qin Xa observed everyone's reactions at the same time.

Some clearly disagreed as well, but they were calmer. Or rather, they had spent more time living lives outside the arena, which had made them more calculating. They could see that Oeno had a reason for raising this previously rejected suggestion again, so they remained cautious.

Others simply did not care about the proposal at all.

There were also those who pretended to care, because they were better at observing. They had noticed what lay in the young primarch's undisguised gaze.

But that was fine.

The no-killing rule was only the first step.

"I've always supported Old Bear."

A loner who sat in the corner all day spoke up.

"I don't want to take part in any of your escape plans, whether it's Caesar's or anyone else's. Whenever they try to escape, I don't join them..."

As he spoke, the loner swept his gaze over everyone, trying to help Oeno persuade them. "I don't consider any of you friends either, but I don't want to kill anyone, and I don't want anyone to kill me. We really should consider Old Bear's suggestion carefully."

"Does refusing to follow the no-killing rule mean you want to kill people?" someone challenged.

"I think it does," the loner said. "If you don't want to be killed and don't want to kill anyone, why wouldn't you support the no-killing rule Old Bear proposed?"

The challenger was momentarily speechless.

Qin Xa looked at the loner and felt that he was, at the very least, a normal person.

This person might not take part in anything the gladiators did, but at least he would support something beneficial to everyone because he did not want to die.

"Why won't you accept it?" Oeno was somewhat angry, and afraid for those who refused. "Do we really have to kill each other when we aren't required to?"

Seeing that they remained unmoved, Oeno turned to Qin Xa.

His eyes conveyed one meaning to Qin Xa: he truly hoped Qin Xa would try to persuade them.

When they saw Oeno looking toward Qin Xa as though asking for his opinion, the gladiators looked at the man who had carved Triumph Cords for each of them after killing the Plebeian Butchers last time.

"..." Qin Xa did not say a word. He did not even open his eyes.

"I oppose it too," another person stated clearly. "Sorry. If I can achieve a better record in the arena and gain greater renown, I can leave this hell sooner."

Oeno frowned. "By stepping over the corpses of those who share your suffering?"

"Either someone kills me, or I kill someone else. Even if I have to step over other people's corpses, I still have to get out," the man replied.

Oeno was at a loss.

After a brief silence, Old Bear turned and swept his gaze across everyone present. "Those in favor, raise your right hand."

When his gaze fell on Yochula, Oeno changed his words. "Those opposed, raise your hands."

Those who opposed Oeno could not even be bothered to raise their hands to show their disagreement.

Qin Xa noted the ten people who were clearly opposed, then looked toward the schedule on the wall.

This afternoon, he would take part in his first regular bout, and none of those ten people would be either fighting alongside him or facing him as opponents.

Qin Xa was in no rush. With one glance at the schedule, he saw that Angron and Kleist would at least get a chance to team up with those ten people.

A moment later.

The heavy footsteps of Security Automata passed through the gate and into the cave.

Qin Xa rose and walked toward the gate.

The bout was about to begin. As before, the Security Automata would escort the gladiators to the armory to collect weapons, then take them to the arena to fight.

But after the gate opened today, the Security Automata stopped on both sides of the passage, as though they were lined up to welcome some important figure.

Then a man dressed in magnificent clothes strode through the path between the machines and entered the cave.

"Ahem." The man cleared his throat, holding his head high as his disdainful gaze passed over every gladiator before settling on Qin Xa.

"Before you stands the arena's manager, the honored servant of the Tark Family. Kneel and pay your respects!" the machines declared in unison with cold synthesized voices.

Qin Xa looked down at the manager. "An honored servant of the Tark Family? I thought you'd have more grandeur than this."

The manager held his head high and met Qin Xa's eyes without the slightest fear. In his eyes, every one of these gladiators was merely a puppet under his control.

Apparently, more important business was at hand, so the manager did not dwell on matters of etiquette or bother arguing with these uncultured gladiators.

"Your schedule has changed. Today, you will face a Praetorian Guard," the manager said. "This Praetorian Guard bears the honorific title Swordsman."

Qin Xa frowned.

"Oh, you haven't heard that title. That's fine, but you will learn how badly this man wants to kill you." The manager smiled. "Let me give you a hint. That group of Slave Catchers you blew up in the desert that day..."

"Your parents were among the Slave Catchers, so you brought Swordsman here to avenge you?" Qin Xa said.

"Don't interrupt." The manager wore an expression that said, You're dead. "Swordsman is my nephew."

"Fine. Dig a bigger hole. Tomorrow, you can hold a joint funeral for your brother and son. Saves trouble." Qin Xa walked past the manager. "I saved you trouble, so you owe me a favor."

The manager was clearly not skilled at trading insults, so Qin Xa's words choked him into taking two breaths to recover.

Then he watched Qin Xa's retreating back and delivered a cold announcement. "An important figure is coming to watch your bout. He said you may make one request."

Qin Xa had not intended to pay attention, but after thinking of something, he stopped and turned around. "I want to bring ten people."

Bringing ten people was an absurd request.

And the ten people Qin Xa wanted to bring into the arena were the ten who refused to obey the no-killing rule.

But the manager seemed to have a reason he had to agree, so he nodded. "Any ten besides Angron. Pick as you please. They're all going to die anyway."

Qin Xa turned and began searching among the gladiators.

The manager lowered his head without even looking at Qin Xa, using his little finger to dig at his ear.

"Not even a thank-you?"

"Looks like your gladiator friends never told you that no matter what sort of person comes here, they must curry favor with this place's masters—curry favor with your masters."

"If I want you to die in pieces, all I need to do is pick up a pen and arrange a gauntlet for you on the arena schedule. Understand?"

The manager flicked the earwax from beneath his fingernail away.

"Forget it. I'm not a petty man. Make your preparations. I'm going to greet my master first. A slave like you can be rude, but a superior person like me cannot."