Rise of the Blood Prince: From Slave to Emperor

A week later, Isaac had his match. As a gladiator slave, Isaac was known for alternating between sword and axe. Today he was carrying an axe, and his severed arm had a sword about 50cm long fitted into it.

His opponent was holding a short spear just over 1 meter long.

The gladiator slave matches were categorized pretty systematically.

Fighting only with fists? That's a boxer slave—a "fist slave."

Bare-handed fighting where any attack was allowed? That's a fighting slave—a "rage slave."

Fighting with just a sword? That's a sword slave.

And fighting where any weapon was allowed? That's a gladiator slave.

Isaac used to be a sword slave, but now he had to fight in the gladiator slave matches. His prosthetic arm was inevitably considered a weapon.

So Isaac fought with the sword and axe attached to his prosthetic, while his opponent carried a short spear—a more expensive weapon.

Aslan was watching the match through the iron bars of the semi-basement. Chira and Oben were beside him.

"You made it? Isaac's back has really gotten so much better. Thanks. I'll definitely pay back this debt."

Oben said gratefully.

"It's because Isaac worked hard at it. It'll get even better."

"You practically saved his life. That guy's back was getting worse and worse. But to see this kind of improvement in just a week? That's amazing."

Screech!

While they were talking, the short spear aimed for Isaac's stomach. Isaac slipped to the side and pressed down on the spear with his prosthetic sword. Isaac's face twisted—that's how much effort he was putting in.

Swoosh!

The tip of the spear hooked into Isaac's side. A clear wound appeared on his stomach, and blood flowed down.

But you know what they say—give flesh to take bone.

Isaac actually took the wound to his side as an opportunity and pushed forward even more.

Then he drove his axe into his opponent's forehead. After that, he finished him off with his prosthetic sword.

The prosthetic sword went in and out three times while his opponent was falling. After confirming his opponent was completely dead, Isaac let out a big breath.

It was a sigh mixing relief at surviving another match with the joy of victory.

And then came the cheers from the crowd.

This was a match where they saw blood and even witnessed death.

Gladiators often cry surrender when they get seriously injured, but this match had no surrender—that's why the crowd loved it even more.

"Now it's my turn."

Oben said. He seemed happy that Isaac had won. There was an injury, but for gladiator slaves, that level of injury was nothing.

He knew from experience that those kinds of wounds couldn't be fatal. So even though Isaac was injured, nobody looked worried.

Oben was also a veteran gladiator slave with plenty of experience under his belt.

"Oben."

"Yeah."

"Don't put all your strength into it."

"?"

Oben, who was about to grab his weapons and head out, looked confused.

"I'm talking about controlling your power."

"What do you mean...?"

"If it's hard to understand right now, just think of it like this—attack weakly twice, then strongly once. Don't think about anything else, just focus on that."

It was sudden advice, but Oben didn't take it badly. The advice Aslan had given Isaac wasn't just about improving his back. There was stuff about footwork too.

And today's match proved that advice was spot on. Isaac's opponent today was that tough.

By general opinion, it should have been a disadvantageous match for Isaac. But he won with just a shallow wound to his side.

Oben didn't say anything more and just nodded.

And Oben also easily won his match. It was an even smoother victory than before.

***

The advice given to Isaac and Oben was effective. That effectiveness was only possible because Isaac and Oben were skilled gladiator slaves.

"Got your third match lined up?"

Isaac and Oben's attitude toward Aslan had clearly changed. They'd shown favor before, but now they were showing trust.

"Yes. It's tomorrow."

"You're cutting back on drinking, right?"

"Yes."

He wasn't cutting back at all. Actually, as his internal energy grew, the amount he drank was increasing. But Aslan answered that he was cutting back.

"This time there are rumors it's a boxer under Baskun's wing. He's still youth division, but just being under Baskun means you've got to be careful."

"Baskun's name keeps coming up."

"They call him the boxing king. A guy who dominated even martial arts with just his fists. I saw him just once."

"Is he strong?"

"He's a monster."

"I see."

"You don't seem too nervous? Baskun's a real monster. There are rumors he even uses mana breathing."

"Hey, one-eye. No need to be scared of Baskun. He's retired."

Isaac chimed in from the side.

"Still, you should be nervous. Baskun's a real monster. He beat down five gladiators wearing just gauntlets."

"Gauntlets are arm guards, right?"

"Even if they're specially made gauntlets, it's tough to face proper weapons with them. But Baskun was relaxed even when five guys rushed him. How long did the actual match take? Three minutes? Not even that."

If it was that level, it really meant there was a huge skill gap. Just beating five weapon-wielding gladiators with punches already meant he wasn't ordinary.

Aslan realized there were strong fighters to be careful of in this world too.

He didn't know exactly how skilled those enemy gladiators were, but if Baskun faced five gladiators at Isaac and Oben's level, then calling him a monster was pretty fitting.

"He's still youth division, so he won't be quite at Baskun's level. But he'll be strong. Baskun doesn't teach boxing to just anyone. Since he lost last match, this time he'll send out the real deal."

"Guess I should go to bed early."

Aslan replied calmly.

"Still, I think you can win. Taking that much punishment and still going for a comeback—you can't do that without being born with nerves of steel. You might not have known, but when you pulled off that comeback victory, we all cheered right here. If we were that excited, imagine how the crowd felt? There'll probably be more people coming to watch you tomorrow than the previous match."

"About tomorrow's opponent though."

Isaac said. He was chewing tough bread multiple times before swallowing.

"What about tomorrow's opponent?"

"Maybe if you ask Liscal, he'll tell you?"

"Liscal doesn't like this guy."

Oben admitted.

"He probably doesn't dislike him? Have you seen that guy hate on slaves? It's probably just because of work. And he dislikes this guy, not you. Ask him. He'll grumble but tell you. Or take him a bottle of booze."

At Isaac's words, Oben jumped up and headed somewhere. They could move freely around the inside of the arena without the guards stopping them much. That meant they were veterans who'd been rolling around this scene for a long time.

About 20 minutes later, Oben came back with a grim expression.

"What?"

"Apparently he's talented enough that Baskun thinks of him as a successor."

"A guy like that is in youth division?"

"Yeah. Must be incredible. Looks like he beat up all the boxers under Baskun."

"He did that while still in youth division? Isn't that too much of an exaggeration?"

"No need to exaggerate. He's still a rookie. What's the point of exaggerating that? And is Baskun the type to exaggerate?"

"But why is Liscal setting up matches like this? Is there really something going on? Aslan?"

Isaac asked. Aslan didn't think it was particularly secret, so he told them honestly.

"Apparently there's some high-ranking person who wants to stuff and mount me."

"Stuff and mount? What's that?"

Oben asked.

"That's... catching animals alive and hanging them up just like they were when they were alive..."

Isaac trailed off. Oben felt sick to his stomach hearing that.

He'd experienced the Empire's brutality and cruelty countless times, but this was the first time he'd heard something like this.

"Liscal must have gotten orders from above too... so that's why he's arranging matches like this?"

"Don't worry. I'm not planning to lose. I'm going to get out of slave status first."

"What are you going to do after you get out?"

"I haven't thought about that yet. First, I'll deal with tomorrow's match."

Aslan actually comforted Oben and Isaac, whose expressions had hardened. The two thought Aslan was really strange.

Was it because he was born with a different status? No, more than that, they thought his fundamental nature was different.

Aslan had a power that drew people to him.

Oben and Isaac clearly felt that power through that conversation.

***

Rocom was sitting with Baskun.

Baskun.

About 190cm tall with long, lanky arms and legs.

An angular jaw.

Long hair down to his shoulders.

Though he'd been retired for a long time, there still wasn't an ounce of fat on his body.

He was sitting in his chair with perfect posture.

"This time will be different."

Baskun said.

"I believe it will be. Luck only works when there's a reasonable skill gap. Since it's not a sword match, there won't be any cases where a blind blade screws things up, right?"

Rocom gestured for him to drink his tea as he spoke.

Baskun wasn't in a great mood.

Because of the mishap in the last match, his reputation had been tarnished.

He didn't teach boxing to just anyone.

When he took disciples, he judged their potential. The criteria for judging potential was solely his eye for talent.

There was nothing set in stone for choosing talent.

After retiring, he'd tried to raise boxers of various styles, and they'd all shown decent results.

But this time, problems arose before he could even show results.

And it was a situation where he'd even taken money to provide a boxer, so he couldn't say anything even if shit hit his face.

That's why he was having a serious meeting with Rocom.

"Don't worry. Abei is the one who'll follow in my footsteps. Among my disciples, he already has no equal in boxing."

"You're saying that rumor is true?"

"That kid's goal is higher than mine."

"Higher?"

"I dominated martial arts through boxing. But that kid is thinking about sword fighting too."

"Haven't you fought and beaten sword fighters before? Multiple ones too."

Rocom asked. Then Baskun answered with a firm expression.

"Even so, I never fought the top-tier sword fighters. My disciple wants that."

"..."

Rocom's mouth dropped open.

What Baskun just said meant his goal was to dominate the sword fighting world with his fists.

"That's his level of talent. So what do you think will happen in tomorrow's match?"

"..."

"One thing I'm worried about though..."

"What's that?"

"I'm worried he might beat him up so bad that the crown prince's face gets too messed up."

"Don't worry about that. The person hired by the client has been watching every match. The contract won't fall through just because he gets too banged up."

"Well then, that's a relief."