Chapter 25- Ianthe, the slave.

“I am confused about something,” Iris said.

“What!” Ianthe did not want to entertain this cruel person. She could very much imagine that Iris wanted to torment her, or why else would she not simply knock her out and be done with it?

“I learned that Hecate is the most prodigious mage in the empire, being level 4 at 18, but you’re already a Level 5, doesn’t that make you better?”

“I am not from the empire, but you misunderstand something. I became level 5 at 19, and Hecate is only 18,” Ianthe answered her question as she swung her sword.

“Are you sure she will be level 5 before she turns 19?”

“Before she turns 19?” Iantha spat at this question, “She will turn level 5 in six days.”

“How are you so sure? I have observed her, but she had yet to show anything to assume this kind of confidence.”

Iantha chuckled and let out a breath; this person was completely unaware of the reality of this farce, “let’s ignore Hecate for a minute; why do you think Lady Lancaster is going along with this farce?”

“For the peace of Gracia.”

“Heh, You’re unaware.”

“Of what?”

“You think someone as shrewd as Lady Lancaster would be going along with this farce for free? Of course not, she stands to gain from here.”

“What?”

“That, I will leave you to figure out.”

Iantha then swung her sword again, making the stage quiver with the shrill noise. It would break after one more swing. How much time was left? And, more importantly, could she even break all six of them? Breaking the rods was tedious. Just so tedious.

“You have about 150 seconds left,” Ianthe was grateful for the notification. It instilled more impatience into her swings. The first of the six rods burst. 20 strikes with the white flame that was dying. Her hands were going numb.

“Well done, You have exactly 35 seconds to destroy its pair or this one will reform,” Iris intoned monotonously.

“What?!” Ianthe exclaimed, her face visibly flustered, her mouth opening and closing in disbelief.

I must win every battle; the price paid is irrelevant. The words of her father rang in her mind. Her grip on the sword tightened. Her jaw clenched as she channeled every ounce of mana she could spare into her left, and through it into the sword.

The nerves on her hand glowed with a white hue, becoming visible through her skin. The dying flame on her sword rekindled to a new blaze. Iantha's expression stiffened as she tried not to show the pain. Her hand from the shoulder felt stiff as if lacking blood. And there was a stabbing pain.

Mages can use mana to strengthen their bodies beyond humanly possible; however, there is a ratio of physical strength to mana enhancement. It is unrestricted by class. Let’s say if someone can physically lift 50 kg, then at level 1, they can triple it to 150 kg, i.e., the ratio is 1:3. This is called the optimal ratio for healthy mages with no physical disqualifications.

Of course, to reach that ratio, mages need to use mana. The consumption of mana and strength gain is, naturally, unrestricted. The more mana someone channels, the stronger they can become. But when a mage bypasses the optimal ratio, mana becomes a burden on the body that restricts movement, induces burning or stabbing pain, and may even destroy the nerves that mana channels through. Due to higher mana capacity, the higher level places their body under burden more frequently, leading to situation where cutting of hands may become necessary.

1:35 is the optimal ratio for level 5. If someone has trained their body, they can bypass this ratio. That is also the reason why someone like Iris, who has enough mana to lift a mountain, cannot even lift a heavy rock like Hecate. Her physical body lacks the capacity to reach even the optimal ratio.

Ianthe from the very start was at her optimal ratio. Now, the desperation for victory had made her reckless. And the burden that she placed upon her would lead anyone with lesser discipline to become physical disabled.

“Are you not taking this battle too seriously?” Iris questioned, her voice filled with genuine confusion.

“I must win every battle; the price paid is irrelevant,” Ianthe replied and dashed toward the second of the pair.

Another shrill noise reverberated through the Colosseum.

35 seconds later…

“Huff… huff…” Ianthe let out another ragged breath as she destroyed the second rod. Now, the outer barrier would shatter.

“Unfortunately, you were late by one second,” those calmly spoken words were one of the cruelest things she had heard in her life.

Iantha watched as the rod reformed. Her shoulder slumped, and she let out a pained cry. The sword in her hand fell to the floor.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Just give up now. I’m feeling bad for trying out this idea. I never intended this result, even if it is the most probable one in hindsight,” Iris spoke, her voice distant and uncaring.

“Give up?” Ianthe let out a hollow laugh, her eyes were blank, filled with conviction. She clenched the sword and straightened.

Our clan’s creed is Victory, even if it's the death you have to pay as a price.

Sis?

She’s dead. And she lost. Forget she ever existed.

I will win every battle, Sis. I will not be forgotten.

This is Isolde, a lady who is willing to save your mother, but you’ll have to go with her.

I have heard of your clan’s saying, I expect you to follow it to your grave. This bangle will remind you who you are… A slave, I expect you to behave as one.

You can no longer scream, cry, or shy away.

Ianthe visibly shook as the pain that followed came crashing down in her mind. The pain that will come if she gives up. She would rather die on this stage than lose and return. She will not lose again, for the sake of her sanity.

“If this is how my master wishes to say she is bored of me, so be it,” Ianthe sliced her right palm, covering the edge of the blade with blood. “I will rather die here leaving a scar on you.” So that you will remember me.

“For my lust for Victory—” Iantha’s mouth clamped shut, and her arms were forced apart. Ianthe could not move. The strings. Ianthe realized. She knew of the event that took place in the Castle. She should’ve been faster, but knowing that Iris had no intention of moving, she thought it would not matter. And she was very aware of her intention.

“Don’t you dare!!” Iris’s voice was filled with anger, alarm, and worry.

Iantha forced open her mouth, string-cutting her lips from every angle. As long as she speaks two lines, the Vow will be in effect. The vow of the soul. The price she was willing to pay for victory.

….

Iris watched Iantha cut open her arm as dread settled in her heart. A coldness, unlike that of ice, settled in, a chilling feeling from the Abyss, the one who takes the price in return for power. She was not prepared for this. Her opponent was willing to wager her soul for the strength to win.

Iris did not understand why. This was not a serious match; she was level 6. Losing to her was the obvious outcome.

Iris conjured the string and sealed off her mouth. “Don’t you dare!!” Her voice filled with fear.

She was not afraid that she would lose. The fact that someone was willing to use the Vow of Soul was scary. It brought back nightmares. This was what Winny used to save her; this magic showed how much Winny loved her. She tortured Lihn for weeks because of this magic. It was heinous. Yet, it was the display of love. This battle was not worthy of something filled with so much conviction. She was not a worthy opponent for Ianthe to use something like this. This was a pastime for her. She never thought she would drive her opponent to this edge.

Her horror grew as she saw her tear open her lips through the thin blade-like strings. Iris looked into those hollow eyes. They were thinly focused on victory. She did not understand this madness.

Iantha opened her mouth to speak, and Iris panicked.

“The lust for—” Before Iantha could complete the sentence, Iris vanished from her spot and appeared above the rod in front of Iantha. Her hand condensed with mana, glowing. She slammed her hand into Iantha’s abdomen.

[Disruption]

Disruption was a a basic spell that broke the flow of the opponent’s mana.

There should have been a shock rising from her back. She should have screamed in pain and passed out. Yet, no such thing happened. Iantha gave her bloody grin. Strings dug into her arm as she forced a swing of the blade; the strings broke.

“You’re level 4!” The blade came crashing down on her neck.

Zap!

The blade cut through the air, and blood sprayed like a broken pipe from Ianthe’s hand.

“Wha—” Iantha gasped as she saw Iris vanish from her.

“I, for a moment, lost myself in panic,” Iris said as she sighed. She was restricted to level 4. Disruption would only work if she had equal or higher mana than Ianthe.

“Are you that afraid of the Vow of Soul?” Iantha asked, her voice barely recognizable as the blood dripped down from her torn lips. She fell on her knees as the string around her body vanished.

“I am, but for a reason different than what you may think. Regardless, the battle is over.”

“And you’ve lost,” Iantha said, as she spat blood. The blade fell from her hand. “You moved from your spot.”

“You misunderstand something— If you break the barrier and make me move, there are two conditions. You made me move, but the barrier still stands.”

“You expected that you may need to move.”

“I did. I am no fool.”

A little hope that had risen in Iantha’s eyes died. She tried to grab her sword again. Her hand could not hold onto it. They were starting to swell from all the cuts and excessive mana channelling.

“Why must you win?” Iris asked, “I do not understand, I am level 6, losing is the obvious outcome. Yet, you’re willing to wager your soul for the victory.”

“I–” Iantha looked at the stands and clamped her mouth shut.

“If you’re afraid of someone listening, rest assured, the Void Room cannot be breached without my knowledge. No one but I can hear you.”

“I would rather die here, than… than return to my master after losing,” Her hollow eyes shivered. Iris could see the fear she held for her master. Why? Iris decided not to ask. Ianthe raised her left arm, showing the red bangle.

Slave.

Iris’s jaw clenched. She had not paid attention to this. She stepped closer to Iantha, grabbed her hand, and read the command.

I must win every battle, the price paid is irrelevant.

She could not believe someone would write something so cruel as a slave command. If she were to defeat Ianthe here, or the referee announces her as the victor, this command would kill Ianthe on the spot. Was Ilona aware of this?

“Are you Isolde’s slave?”

“Yes…”

Iris observed the rune and bangle. She cannot destroy the rune. But… she could alter the ownership and change the slave command.

“Not anymore… I have yet to ask Ilona my price for victory. I will take you as my slave… Of course, just to change the slave command,” Iris channeled mana into the bangle; it changed to purple. I will fight every battle to live.

“Sleep.”

Ianthe fell on the floor like a puppet with its strings cut off.