Rise of the Blood Prince: From Slave to Emperor

"Aslan, you crazy bastard! You're the real deal! I'm betting on you!"

"Aslan, I knew that guy was something special. Who cares about his background! He fights so entertainingly!"

"But he took too many hits. Look at all that blood. He won't last much longer."

"What are you talking about? Aslan's got the momentum now. Look at Abei's face—he's lost his composure, hasn't he?"

"That type of fired-up fighter is only meaningful when they've got weapons. Right now, I don't see any possibility of a comeback no matter how I look at it."

"Are you kidding? He's making a comeback right now!"

Even among the spectators, opinions were split. But one thing was clear—everyone was really enjoying this match.

'Why the hell won't he go down? At this point, he should really be down. Are my punches that pathetic?'

Abei couldn't understand it. He'd never once thought his punches were weak.

When Abei landed them properly, his punches could drop anyone.

The story about him knocking out all the fighters under Baskun wasn't empty talk.

That's how strong Abei's punches were, and they were well-conditioned too.

Torn and healed, hardened by repeated impacts. Fists that wouldn't be out of place being called rocks.

'Why the hell?'

When most people face situations they can't understand, they feel fear. What people commonly call getting spooked.

That was Abei's state of mind right now. Meeting an opponent he couldn't understand at all, cracks were forming in his heart.

Abei had properly learned technique from Baskun, but he hadn't yet learned what to do in situations like this.

He was still too young to learn such things. And his experience was lacking too.

So he made the worst possible choice.

He decided to abandon Baskun's instruction to maintain distance no matter what.

When Abei tried to break the distance and go in himself, Baskun, who was watching the match, shouted.

"No!"

But his voice was drowned out by the cheering pouring from the spectator stands.

Abei moved in a bit closer and planted his feet.

It was a preparatory movement to throw a punch with real power behind it.

Seeing this, Aslan smiled. Though it was hard to see through all the blood, Abei could still make out that smile.

'He's smiling in this situation?'

His opponent, with his face covered in blood and swollen up, was definitely smiling. But that smile wasn't one of resignation.

'That smile is...'

He felt something was wrong and tried to back out, but he couldn't. They'd already exchanged punches several times.

And the punches that had just come flying were different in quality from all the punches he'd taken before.

And for good reason—Aslan had been saving his energy for exactly this moment.

'How did his punches suddenly get so heavy!'

Until now, he'd only used minimal energy, and used that energy solely to withstand Abei's punches.

And the moment he confirmed Abei had planted his feet, he put energy into his punches.

The crowd was cheering and going wild, but only Aslan maintained his composure in this moment.

With a cool head, he reviewed the trajectory and timing of the punches Abei had thrown so far, looking for counter timing.

The first few exchanges couldn't clearly be said to have landed.

But gradually, the timing started to fall into place.

A full-blown slugfest.

The situation was already noisy with the crowd's cheering, but when the slugfest broke out, roars erupted that could flip the arena over.

Thud! Thud!

Abei's attacks grew duller while Aslan's attacks got sharper. The two faces still showed a stark difference.

One had just a bit of blood on him, while the other was mangled beyond recognition.

But the balance between the two started to even out. Abei's face also began to swell and bleed.

That's just how human skin is. Human flesh isn't a part that can be easily conditioned.

The strength and weakness of flesh is an innate trait you're born with.

More importantly, humans aren't protected by thick hide like beasts. After a few strikes, swelling and tearing were inevitable.

And if you were unlucky enough, one punch could turn everything upside down.

Thud!

"Ahhh!"

Abei screamed in pain. It was a sharp scream different from before.

Trained gladiators don't scream easily. When they do scream, it's usually their death throes right before dying. But now Abei had screamed.

Because Aslan's punch—specifically a middle knuckle strike with his middle finger slightly extended—had driven straight into Abei's left eye.

The eye was even weaker than flesh. Not just humans, but any living creature would writhe in pain when their eyes were attacked.

Aslan smiled.

Grateful to Abei for planting his feet and exchanging punches with him.

Thanks to planting his feet, he'd been able to land a clean hit on him, slowing down his movements.

And he'd been able to stick his finger into his eye.

Thumbing—a clear foul in modern combat sports.

But here, it wasn't a foul.

As long as you didn't get caught.

Timing it to avoid the referee's eyes wasn't that difficult for Aslan.

From the start, there had been a difference in mindset between Abei and Aslan.

Abei was trying to have a match, while Aslan was trying to survive.

That difference in mindset was creating these results.

Whoosh!

Thwack!

A counter that exploded powerfully.

Abei's punch cut through empty air while Aslan's punch struck his nose. And then the follow-up combination.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

It looked like wild swinging, but he was dealing precise damage. The reason for the deliberately big movements was that the fight was completely decided.

It didn't take long for Abei's face to become similar to Aslan's.

Thump!

Abei collapsed with his mangled face.

The cheering grew thicker.

Abei tried to get up, but his legs had already given out. He stood up on trembling legs, but when Aslan approached and pretended to throw a jab while ducking low and throwing a hook.

A hook from a bizarre angle that seemed to twist his whole body.

It was a Russian hook.

Crack!

The punch landed precisely behind his ear and Abei lost consciousness and collapsed.

And couldn't get up.

"What did I tell you! I said Aslan would win! I said I felt a comeback coming!"

"Ah... Baskun, that crazy bastard."

"Why's Baskun's name coming up here?"

"Why did I bet money on that guy? Wasn't it because of Baskun's name? Shit. I put in all the money I'd saved up. This is really pissing me off."

"I'm definitely coming to watch all of Aslan's matches from now on!"

"Hehehe, that's right. I'll come back just to see him throw that bottle! It's the best!"

***

After finishing the match, Aslan grinned foolishly. Even though his head was spinning so much he could barely walk properly.

Seeing Aslan stagger back, Liscal threw out a comment.

"Crazy bastard."

But there was a strange smile hanging on Liscal's lips. He too was a man who had been a gladiator slave before becoming an overseer.

He knew just how amazing the match Aslan had just fought was.

He quickly took Aslan to the physician. As soon as Aslan entered the physician's office, he collapsed.

"Is he dead?"

"No, he's just exhausted. His breathing is fine. But..."

"It's because of the match. Don't think anything else."

"It was noisy outside, so it was this guy's match. What kind of opponent did he face to end up like this?"

The physician grumbled.

"He faced an amazing opponent."

"Did he win and end up looking like this?"

"He won. It was amazing."

"Oh... for those words to come from your mouth? So should I treat him like before?"

"No, treat him properly."

"I always treat properly."

"I mean use medicine."

"Huh?"

The physician stared directly into Liscal's eyes.

"Are you serious?"

"Yes."

"Wasn't he under special management?"

"He was."

"Is that okay?"

"Didn't I say it was an amazing match? It really was an amazing match. It moved my heart."

"Hehe... Then should I treat this guy like that from now on?"

"No. My kindness goes this far. I have a duty to follow my master's orders. When that crazy bastard wakes up, tell him this. Tell him when he wakes up, I'll buy him a drink. Not Luban swill, but proper wine from Airs."

"Hehehe... You're not joking, are you?"

"I'm not joking."

"Then can I use eyapul?"

"..."

At the mention of eyapul, Liscal's words stuck for a moment. Eyapul was a very expensive medicinal herb.

"You have something that expensive?"

"I do have it. Though I've never used it."

"If you use that, treatment would be possible?"

"That depends on this guy. It's not like last time when his tongue was cut... but the injuries are serious. Just how badly was he beaten?"

"I stopped counting after 100 hits. I'd guess he took about 300."

"He won after taking that much?"

"Yes."

"Damn... If it was that kind of match, you should have called me over."

"How could I take my eyes off a match like that? Anyway, eyapul... what the hell, use it."

"I was half-joking when I suggested it. You're serious."

"How much does that cost?"

"Probably... about a month's salary for you."

"Hah..."

"Still want to use it?"

"Use it. I said it once already. But like I said, from next time it's back to normal. Only the usual care I give."

"Of course. Of course."

"Damn... this is why I need to watch my mouth."

Liscal grumbled as he left.

Physician Berto just chuckled as he watched Liscal's retreating figure.

***

Aslan had to lie in the physician's office for two days. He was conscious but couldn't move his body properly.

Because he'd taken countless punches. Unlike his previous matches where he'd slipped to minimize damage, since he hadn't been able to do that, no matter how tough he was, no matter how much he'd used his energy, there was no way to avoid damage.

Even so, Aslan tried to stay conscious, and instead of just lying still, he practiced energy circulation breathing.

"Can you walk?"

When news came that he'd awakened, Liscal appeared in the physician's office. Aslan looked at Liscal.

Aslan had heard from the physician that Liscal had shown consideration for him. That he'd allowed the use of very expensive medicine.

Yet Liscal wasn't showing off about it at all.

'Maybe he's a better overseer than I thought, like Isaac said.'

"Not that way."

When they left the physician's office and he headed toward where his original room was, Liscal stopped him.

"Then where?"

"Your room's changed. Anyway, you've won three in a row, so you've earned that much qualification."

The room Liscal guided him to was wider and cleaner than before. And there was an awful lot of alcohol inside.

"This is..."

"The gladiator slaves brought it. They were apparently really impressed after watching your match. Word spread that you're a drinker, so they brought all this over. The stuff at the end there is what I prepared. It's different quality from the other guys' alcohol. Just so you know."

"..."