Chapter 13
A commotion broke out in the gladiator preparation room.
“What’s he doing?”
“Is that charcoal dust?”
The gladiators chattered among themselves as they watched Urich.
“Shut up, all of you. I have to concentrate on this.”
Urich made a cut in his palm and squeezed his own blood into the bowl which he filled with charcoal dust.
Drip, Drip.
The dark red blood dripped into the bowl. Urich mixed the two substances with his finger.
‘That should be enough.’
The blackish-burgundy mixture of charcoal and blood looked viscous. Urich examined the color and felt the viscosity of the mixture with his fingertips.
“A war paint… It’s been a while since I’ve seen one,” Sven muttered under his breath as he watched from a distance. Along with him, a few others realized what Urich was doing.
“Hah, look at that barbarian scum slathering that shit all over his face, that goddamn war paint,” Donovan grumbled as he spat on the ground. He had seen enough of the tribal war paint from his barbarian-exterminating days.
“Phew.” Urich held the bowl and knelt on his knees. He then closed his eyes and lathered the dark liquid on his face. He spread the darker, more charcoal-heavy portion around his eyes to make it look dark and used the red portion to paint a hoop around the nape of his neck.
“Woah, that’s pretty intimidating,” the watching gladiators remarked as they saw the progress of Urich’s war paint. Urich ignored their words and concentrated on finishing his job. With deft strokes, he painted a picture on his face. The dark bloody lines on his face resembled a demon. It was just an elaborate face paint, but it raised every single one of his senses, making him want to grab his weapon and charge at the enemies out of pure exhilaration.
‘I might very well die.’
Urich knew fully well what he had gotten himself into. He knew what fighting against five men alone meant from his past experiences.
‘But I have no intention of dying here, at least not yet.’
He wouldn’t have suggested the idea if he didn’t think he had a chance. Five-on-ones were difficult, but it was nothing that he couldn’t do.
“You’re up, Urich,” someone in the room announced his turn.
Urich opened his eyes from his medication. Amidst the dark bloody war paint, only his white eyes and teeth stood out. As he opened his long-closed eyes, he felt bathed in the bright light to the point that it felt painful. Urich stared at the spreading afterimage of the light.
“Dammit, Garold died.”
“Man, I knew he was going to die. He’s had diarrhea since this morning, that unlucky bastard.”
The blood-covered gladiators said as they returned to the preparation room. With them, all of the matches for the day were finished, except Urich’s.
“Win, Urich,” Bachman solemnly said to Urich as he patted his back.
Creak—
The battle gates opened, and Urich stepped into the sandy arena, swinging his sword.
“Ohoho, look at this weather. It’s nice,” Urich remarked as he spread his arms like wings and stared up at the sky. The crowd went berserk as soon as they saw Urich’s war paint.
“What is that on his face? Is it blood?”
“He looks like a monster, a monster!”
The crowd couldn’t take their eyes off the strange painting on Urich’s face.
Creak—
The gates on the opposite side opened, and the five prisoners walked into the arena.
“Keke, so if we kill that guy, we get our sentence commuted.”
These prisoners were not death rowers. Instead, they were long-term prisoners who volunteered for the fight under the condition of having their sentences reduced. All five of them were convicts who had been serving labor penalties such as mining and logging.
Clang.
The prisoners drew their weapons. Unlike the death row inmates who have no choice but to fight, these men volunteered to fight because of their faith in their own experience with weapons.
“Dammit, what a pain. These guys actually know how to fight. What the hell was Horus thinking with the matchup?” Bachman exclaimed in frustration as he watched from outside of the arena. Even he himself would have had a decent chance against five regular death rowers since not all of them knew how to fight.
“By the looks of their stances, they know how to wield their weapons. They probably put their names forward for a sentence reduction. Most of them are decent fighters,” Sven said while he put himself in his own shackles.
“Hah, look what he got himself into. They must’ve run out of death rowers,” Donovan cackled with his loyal group, which made Bachman frown.
‘If Urich dies here, Donovan’s going to stick his nose in the matchmaking again.’
Being lucky with matchmaking was an important part of earning a decent living as a gladiator. The more easier matches Donovan gave to his people, the harder the matches became for Bachman and the rest.
“Oh? I see you all have decent stances with your weapons.”
Urich raised his sword as he got into a lower stance. The five prisoners exchanged glances as they gradually closed their distance from Urich.
‘They were never trained to fight together. There might be five of them, but none of them want to jump in first. They don’t want to take the risk.’
Urich persistently assessed the prisoners. The outnumbering ones had every advantage to strike first, but they kept glancing at each other as if they were encouraging anyone but themselves to take the first attack.
“Fine, then I’ll go first.”
Urich aimed for one of the prisoners as he shuffled sideways. He added the momentum of his sprint into the stab.
“Hmph!”
The unfortunate prisoner raised his shield, but Urich didn’t seem to mind.
‘I can do it with this sword.’
Urich tightened his grip on the hilt.
Crush!
He leaped and stabbed. The sharp imperial steel blade penetrated the natural grain of the wood all the way into the prisoner’s heart.
“Hah, that is unreal! What an amazing steel.”
If his sword was made of the average, dull metal, it would have bent. But Urich’s imperial steel blade managed to pierce through the wooden shield without a nick.
Urich swiftly pulled the sword out of the dead prisoner and kicked him to the side.
“Attack him!” The panicking remaining prisoners yelled in unison as they finally rushed toward Urich together. Their spears and swords rained down on Urich, but Urich rolled on the ground several times to dodge every one of their futile attacks. His vision was spinning, but even when his sense of direction was breaking down, he didn’t take his eyes off his opponents. He grasped the axe that was sheathed by his thigh.
“Hmph!”
Urich threw the axe to the ground with so much force that it bounced off the sandy ground. The prisoners were unable to react to its unexpected trajectory.
“A-ahh!”
The ricocheted axe buried its blade in between the legs of one of the prisoners. The prisoner screeched in pain as he grabbed his mutilated groin, immediately dropping his weapon.
The rest of the prisoners’ attention broke for a brief second.
“Where are you looking? I’m right here.”
Urich grabbed his sword with both his hands and swung with all his might. His sword struck the head of the other prisoner like a club.
Crack!
Even though the prisoner was wearing an iron helmet, the sheer force of Urich’s swing was enough to break his neck.
‘I can’t believe how good this sword is.’
If it was any other average sword, the blade edge would have already gotten ruined or just bent completely. Neither was the case with this imperial steel sword.
“It really is… imperial steel…” Donovan said in shock as he scrambled to his feet. Back in his military days, he had a few opportunities to see the weapons forged with imperial steel. Weapons forged with steel that excels in hardness and ductility were one of the crucial reasons the Empire was able to dominate the entire continent.
“So that really is an imperial steel sword? That barbarian really has that?” A gladiator voiced out.
“Try what he’s doing with the swords we have. They’ll snap in a second. Do you want to test it out yourself? Huh?”
Donovan rolled his eyes. The gladiator who asked the question drooped his head in shame.
‘Where the hell did a barbarian like Urich get his hands on one of the finest swords known to man?’
Imperial steel weapons were almost impossible to come by in normal civilian life unless one was a noble. It wasn’t something a common gladiator could carry.
“You already got two down, Urich! Keep going!” Bachman exclaimed in excitement. Victory was close.
“If those five prisoners were trained men, maybe the remaining ones would still have a chance. But they’re just a ragtag bunch who are already terrified from the earlier attacks. Perhaps the war paint is doing its job, too.” Sven continued to watch the match with his arms crossed.
It was exactly as Sven said. The beastly roar of Urich, whom the war paint made look like a real demon, made the remaining three prisoners hesitant, giving Urich more time to reorganize and prepare his attacks.
“He dominated them with verve. That young man already knew how to deal with multiple opponents. He asked for this match out of confidence, not arrogance,” Sven belched out a laugh.
Urich was dominating the match despite the fact that he was severely outnumbered.
“Woaaaah!” Urich roared, swinging his sword wildly.
The prisoner raised his sword to block the blow.
Clang!
The skin of the prisoner’s palm was ripped off by the force of Urich’s strike. His helpless sword flung into the air.
“Argh!”
Urich swung his axe with his other hand. Blood poured from the prisoner’s throat as it was ripped open. Covered in blood, Urich’s eyes darted about in search for his next prey.
‘Two left.’
There were only two prisoners left. The remaining two were trembling in fear. Even if they knew how to swing a weapon or two, at the end of the day, they were only street fighters. Urich was a warrior who devoted his life to battles and wars. It was not a fair match.
“Come on, come at me! You have no choice anyway, right?” Urich mockingly said to the prisoners as he flicked his finger at them. He was right. Forfeiting was not an option for these two men. It was either victory or death.
“Ugh, ahhhh!”
The terrified prisoner darted toward Urich. His movement was unsteady like a newborn fawn.
Urich let out a deflated sigh.
“This wasn’t even worth all the effort. Boring.”
He slashed the prisoner’s belly, spilling his guts out onto the ground.
Woosh!
Urich lightly tossed his axe at the last standing prisoner. The blade sliced through his head with ease.
Crack.
He then bent over to pull his axes out of the fallen prisoners’ bodies. The blades glistened in the sunlight with their blood.
“Woaaaaah!”
The crowd lost their heads at what they had just witnessed. Urich responded to their cheer by raising his sword. He had slain five men with only purely brute attacks. It was no wonder the crowd was so excited. Even the nobles in the audience applauded his efforts.
“Yes, that’s what I’m talking about!” Bachman exclaimed in excitement as he pumped his fist in the gladiator preparation room. A few other gladiators joined him in the celebration.
Creak—
After the battle, Urich returned to the preparation room. His blood-covered face no longer resembled that of a human. The enemy’s blood on top of his already-terrifying war paint made him look even more demonic.
“What are you guys looking at, huh?” Urich chuckled as he wiped the blood off his weapons first before anything else.
Step, step.
Donovan walked up to Urich. Urich rolled his eyes to look at him, without turning his head.
“Looks like I’m the face of the Horus Gladiators now, aren’t I, Donovan?” Urich said casually. Donovan tweaked his lips and spat on the ground.
“Hah? We’ll see about that. But for now, congratulations. You are the official rising star of our squad,” Donovan said as he offered his hand for a handshake. Urich took the hand and rose to his feet.
‘A truce for now.’
Donovan chose to not pursue conflict. Instead, he decided to recognize Urich’s new position in the squad. Otherwise, one of them would have to die.
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