Rise of the Blood Prince: From Slave to Emperor

Rocom's words that there was something were true. Isaac's group was training in front of Aslan.

Now Aslan was their teacher.

It would be laughable for anyone to see these guys, who had rolled around enough in the arena to be treated as veterans, now learning from a boy who hadn't even graduated from youth division.

But Isaac and Oben were serious. They were training while asking Aslan about everything from one to ten.

After one round of training ended, they settled down. Aslan was sipping wine straight from the bottle.

"I got a match scheduled."

"Yeah? Who this time? I don't think there's anyone left who wants to face you."

"Well... from the next match on, I'm going into combat matches."

"What?"

Isaac jumped up.

"No way. You must have heard wrong. Youth division can only participate in boxing matches. At least that's how it has to be in Airs."

"That's what I heard. Liscal has no reason to lie."

"No...!"

Oben and Isaac looked at each other's faces and froze.

"It's fine."

"It's not fine!"

Isaac yelled angrily.

"Combat matches are different from boxing. They're gladiator matches with bare hands. Most people die. The referee doesn't intervene just because you're down. It's basically a match where they tell you to kill each other with bare hands."

"I know. It's not as soft as boxing."

"It's more cruel and dangerous than you think. Sometimes barbarians from the archipelago come out too."

"I still said it's fine."

"Among the archipelago barbarians, there are guys who eat people. If you lose..."

"Do I get eaten?"

"...Yeah."

Aslan's face showed composure. And he continued speaking. Isaac and Oben calmed down after hearing his words.

"Then..."

"Combat suits me better than boxing. Watch the next match. It'll get more interesting."

Since it wasn't someone else but Aslan saying this, Oben and Isaac had no choice but to believe him.

It had been over a month since they'd properly learned techniques from him.

Too much had changed in that process. Not only their condition, but even their physical abilities had improved from before.

And that wasn't all.

Other gladiator slaves said they looked healthier. They themselves recognized they'd gotten stronger.

So Isaac and Oben had sometimes thought Aslan had a natural talent for teaching.

But that wasn't it.

Aslan didn't just have a natural talent for teaching—he was just strong.

Very much so.

And he would get even stronger in the future. His internal energy was accumulating meaningfully.

"Liscal must be getting heavy pressure from above. This isn't usually his underhanded style..."

Oben said.

"I know. And it's not all bad. Actually, it's good. Among the nobles, there are quite a few cases where they start watching from combat matches, right? They basically throw around silver coins because of their pride."

"That's right. Most of them only watch the main events, but occasionally some come to see from the combat matches. Then it's good. Because they throw around a lot of money."

"That's why I thought it was good. I'll be able to make more money than now. As you know, my ransom is very expensive."

Aslan's ransom was very expensive, unlike other slaves.

First, when gladiator slaves enter the arena, they're basically sold for high prices. Being a gladiator slave itself meant you were physically strong enough to enter the arena. But when you add a status like crown prince of a ruined kingdom like Aslan, the ransom skyrockets.

So Aslan's ransom was set very high right now. But it wasn't an amount he couldn't pay back.

If he kept having matches at this pace, he could definitely pay his ransom and escape slave status.

==

Rumors spread that a big event would be held in District 3.

It was a rumor that a combat match league for those under 20 would be held. Not boxing matches, but combat matches.

If boxing matches were about pounding your opponent's upper body with fists until they fell, combat matches were more cruel. You could use any part of your body. Even biting was allowed.

Just one thing.

Kicking the groin wasn't allowed. It wasn't for protection. They said there had been matches with groin-kicking rules, but the rules were revised because matches ended too quickly.

But telling people not to kick groins during life-and-death fights was meaningless. So groin protectors were provided in combat matches.

'What did they put inside? The fit is better than I thought.'

Aslan wore the groin protector.

It was very similar to those used in modern combat sports, but the difference was that this one was made of steel. When he tapped the outside, it made a clear sound.

It seemed designed so that if you attacked wrong, the attacker would get more seriously injured.

When he wore the steel protector, his center of gravity changed slightly, but Aslan adapted immediately.

All the other slaves worried about his first combat match, but he wasn't worried at all.

Actually, he was more confident in combat than boxing.

"Aslan! It's match time!"

==

Aslan followed Liscal while holding a bottle that was about two-thirds full. By now, the entrance performance of throwing the bottle had become his trademark.

Crash!

When Aslan came out to the arena, drank all the remaining alcohol, and threw the bottle, the spectator stands heated up passionately again.

Then the player introductions began with amplification magic.

"The star combat fighter of Dian Arena! Fists faster than lightning! Speas! And his opponent, the drinking boxer! The gladiator slave from the ruined kingdom's crown prince, Aslan! Today is Aslan's first combat match! Everyone please enjoy!"

He'd grown enough to be prominently featured in the main matches, which usually had about six fights. So the introductions about him were getting more elaborate.

==

Speas was fighting in a perplexed state. He'd heard rumors about a crazy guy in youth division who fought after drinking poison.

But the combat fighters just dismissed those rumors as entertainment. Boxing and combat were clearly different domains.

Actually, from their perspective, boxing was like child's play. Although there were occasional cases of people dying from boxing, it wasn't that frequent.

But combat was different. Though not as much as gladiator fights, a considerable number of casualties occurred.

You could pound a fallen opponent, plus all techniques including choking and breaking were allowed. Getting injured was natural, and it was easy to kill or be killed.

So Speas laughed when Aslan drank alcohol and struck a pose.

He intended to clearly show the rookie that combat was different. And wasn't he a proper boxer who participated in adult matches?

He wasn't that nervous to begin with. Though he was only 18 years old, he'd fought over thirty boxing matches and over twenty combat matches.

Yet Speas was intact without any disabilities anywhere. That meant he was that skilled.

But the current situation was enough to perplex him.

An incomprehensible situation was unfolding.

Thud!

Another counterattack.

A kick hit Speas' abdomen. It wasn't that strong an attack, but it felt sharp. Like being poked with an awl.

It was natural.

Since he'd concentrated energy at his toe tips to stab, it would be strange if it didn't hurt. Over time, there would be a small bruise the size of a toe on his stomach. That meant the force was that concentrated.

Concentrated force was scary.

Humans were beings who could die from just one needle going in wrong.

Though he couldn't pierce through people like a needle, he could accumulate damage.

"Damn! Speas, what are you doing!"

"See? Even in combat matches, Aslan is still Aslan. I told you to bet on Aslan, right? Now he's going to finish it in one shot!"

"Speas, try landing a proper hit! How can you not land even one hit!"

"You didn't drink with him, did you?"

"What did you do the night before? Why are you so weak!"

While receiving jeers from the crowd, Speas bit his lips hard. It wasn't easy. When he tried to attack, his opponent would twist and dodge in unexpected directions, and when he tried to go in properly from there, he'd just lie down completely.

Speas was a combat fighter whose specialty was standing fights. He was especially famous for using his fists well.

Speas' style was responding well at all distances—long range, mid range, and close range.

Especially dirty boxing, where he'd grab an opponent's arm or back of the neck and pound them, was one of his specialties. A technique that ended things if you got caught properly.

He was confident he could knock down anyone once he grabbed and pounded them. That's how confident he was in his strength.

But this was his first time facing such an opponent. It would be nice if he'd at least stand properly, but he kept wobbling and wouldn't stand straight even once. Plus he took strange postures and even rolled around, which was maddening for Speas.

Drunken Fist.

Freed from the constraints of boxing, Aslan was properly displaying the Drunken Fist that was learned as basics in the Drunken Immortal Method. So to those who didn't know, he looked like someone fighting while properly drunk.

"Damn it!"

Finally unable to bear it, Speas made the worst move.

Attempting to break his own distance and go deeper to grab his opponent.

Usually, dirty boxing was a technique that worked when you naturally closed distance during combat. If you openly went in from long range like Speas was doing now, it was bound to be read.

Moreover, since he wasn't a professional grappling stylist, that attempt was naturally read and bound to be blocked.

Speas tried to grab the back of Aslan's neck and almost succeeded.

Crack!

The moment he grabbed the back of Aslan's neck, a strange smile appeared on Speas' face.

But as mentioned before, this was a bad move. With his arm extended long to grab the neck, from Aslan's perspective, it became the perfect state to break it.

He struck the straight elbow from bottom to top, using the principle of leverage. Moreover, he put internal energy into it, and the timing was precise.

Just moments before, he'd been drooping and looking lifeless. His eyes were so hazy you'd wonder if he was really fighting.

But when the opportunity came, the drooping movements were nowhere to be found. And his eyes also shone sharply like awls.

Crack!

A dull sound was heard. The cleanly broken elbow bone had pierced through the skin and emerged.

Speas let out a scream.

A scream mixed with surprise and terror.

Conversely, the arena instantly became quiet.

If this had been a boxing match, the fight would have ended here, but this was a combat match. The referee looked at Speas with his broken arm and had no intention of moving at all.

Aslan didn't hesitate. He'd learned painfully in the martial world how dangerous it was to have halfhearted sympathy for enemies.

Whoosh!

He leaped in almost flying and thrust his forehead forward.

Headbutt.

The human head was both the most vulnerable part and the hardest part.

Thwack!

With a dull sound, Speas' jaw shook greatly.

And then he collapsed slowly.

He couldn't close his mouth properly, so teeth poured out. Not only were his teeth broken, but his jaw was dislocated too.

Speas collapsed with a horrible face in an instant.

It was a terrifying sight, but the spectators only flinched for a moment before cheering again.

That's right.

This was what Airs was like.

A place that would send cheers as long as whoever won did so spectacularly and cruelly.

Then countless coins poured into the arena—enough that "raining money" was the right expression.