The two men approached each other warily, the difference in their sizes apparent. The countess chuckled.

“Number 47 is quite unlucky,” she remarked.

“I’m assuming you’re referring to the thin one?” Dominic asked.

“Yes. He’s done well so far, but today he’s been summoned against Lady Elirie’s fighter, 58. She favors him greatly. You can see why.”

The man opposite to Number 47 was far larger and bulkier than he was. 47 wasn’t emaciated by any means—he was lean and lithe from what he obviously had to do to survive at the arena—but the other fighter made him look starved.

“Still, I hope he puts on a good show,” the countess said.

They charged. 58, holding a huge club, swung sideways. 47 leapt over it swiftly and ran in, closing the distance.

“Why isn’t 47 armed?” Dominic asked. The man was empty handed.

“Only the long-running fighters get to keep weapons,” she explained. “Sometimes we arm them for themed battles, but not for a random pairing like this. It’s bad luck that he got matched with one of the favorites.”

47 used his momentum to throw several punches at 58’s face. 58’s head bent back at the impact, but he quickly righted himself, cracking his eyes open and smiling.

From the front row, Dominic could feel the force with which he slapped then punched 47 away, almost with contempt. 47 flew backwards, rolling several times in the dirt before digging his fingers into the sand and forcing himself to a stop. He coughed, holding his abdomen.

58 was on him in a moment. He just barely managed to dodge, scrambling away as the club blasted a crater into the ground. 47 backed off, trying to make distance, but 58 was swift despite his size. His footsteps thundered as he followed.

47 could only put his everything into dodging the deadly swings of that massive cudgel. If he was a hair’s breadth off, then that would have marked the end of the game, and possibly his life.

The countess hummed, eyes fixed on the match as she appraised it.

“Not bad,” she said. “It’s quite nice that 47 is doing so well to stay alive. Dodging everything by just the tiniest fraction, that kind of danger keeps people on the edge of their seats. But a one-sided battle can also get boring.”

She glanced up at Dominic.

“What do you think, Lio?”

“It’s not bad,” he replied. “But I agree that it’s a little predictable.”

“What would you do to improve it, if you could?”

He pursed his lips.

“If the problem is that the winner is too obvious,” he said, “then I believe all you would have to do is make it no longer a one-sided battle.”

“Are you suggesting we level the playing field?” she asked.

Dominic hesitated a moment, focusing, trying to pick the right words. She wouldn’t want to hear anything about fairness.

“No,” he answered. “Doing something like giving Number 47 a sword would be of no use to him anyway. I presume he’s already used to fighting with his hands.”

He gestured calmly towards the two challengers, still locked in that life and death game of cat and mouse.

“I’m just thinking of possible outcomes. A one-sided battle is boring because the ending is known. So then the obvious way to make it interesting is to overturn their expectations.”

The countess smiled.

“Do you want to see 47 win?” she asked.

Dominic smiled back.

“Well, 58 winning would be meaningless.”

She laughed.

“I knew that you and I would get along, Lio,” she said. “I agree. I do agree, but…”

A huge, sickening, pounding noise resounded from the arena floor. Dominic turned his eyes to see 47 blasted backwards by a direct blow to the gut from 58’s swing. He bounced and rolled over the floor, this time not able to stop himself.

47 laid where he was, throwing up blood, barely having the energy to hold himself up by the elbows.

“…Even if it is the most interesting outcome, I don’t think it will happen today,” the countess said.

She looked on at 47 with pity.

“What a shame. I quite liked his performance.”

58 walked closer slowly, a smug look on his face. His footsteps boomed through the stadium. Dominic dug a nail into the skin of his own forearm.

He couldn’t do anything. Even if he healed 47, the battle would continue. He’d just get beaten again. And if he stepped out of his bounds as a spectator, he might never be allowed to return. He had to stay in the countess’s good graces. His goals were higher than this. He tensed his fingers, and dug deeper.

47, arched over in pain, a pool of blood and vomit below his face, looked up at his opponent approaching. Dominic didn’t tear his eyes away from him. His mana smelled of sand and grit and stone. Perhaps it had been different before he’d come here, but now all that remained of the man’s weak aura was the scent of the arena. It was pitiful. Dominic hated himself more.

“Looks like he’s deciding already,” the countess remarked.

58 had held up a thumb towards the audience, asking for a verdict. The ending was obvious. From almost everyone: thumbs down. For a fight with such a disparity in power, what they desired wasn’t chivalry or skill. They wanted to see 47 get hit.

58 raised his club. 47 glared up at him, and suddenly Dominic felt the man’s mana flicker.

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He leaned forward in his seat, lifting his nail from his arm. The corners of his lips ticked subconsciously upwards.

In a split second, just as 58 was bringing his weapon down for the final strike, 47 shot upwards like an arrow. He didn’t reach out with his hands to punch or slap—he wrapped them around 58’s neck and latched his teeth onto his throat.

47 bit down with so much force that Dominic almost recoiled back in his seat. He could feel everything, after having focused so intently on him. 58’s airways were crushed. His arteries stretched and snapped. His skin split and a fountain of red spurted out—covering 47’s face, filling his mouth, and decorating the already blood-soaked ground.

“Yes!” the countess shouted, forgetting her noble demeanor. “This—this is…!”

She clenched the armrests of her seat, absolutely fixated on the almost beast-like fight that was going down. 47, clinging unyieldingly onto 58, kept sinking his teeth deeper. The larger man floundered, trying desperately to pry 47 off, failing clumsily in his shock at what was even happening.

“Did you know something like this would happen, Lio?” she asked, looking towards him, excitement still evident.

“…I didn’t,” Dominic replied honestly.

“You have a knack for this. An ending like this…! Really, we don’t get them often.”

She calmed herself and drew the book she had picked from back into her lap.

“It’s a shame we’re going to have to alter it a bit, though,” she remarked.

Dominic’s expression immediately darkened.

“Alter it?” he asked.

“Yes,” she replied, nodding. “After everything, I am still a noble, and 58 is owned and favored by Lady Elirie. I have no reason to antagonize her over such a minor affair. It’s a shame that we can’t go with your ending, but…”

She found the page she was looking for and touched the seal on the paper.

“…This might also work.”

The slave seal on 47’s back, clearly visible with its striking black color, suddenly faded to grey. In the same instant, his arms went slack from around 58’s neck, and he fell limply to the floor. Dominic could tell that he wasn’t dead, but he was extremely weak. The magic in the seal that had been keeping him alive had deactivated. 58, holding his throat, looked down at 47 in anger and stepped mercilessly on his leg.

The bones snapped without resistance. 47 screamed in pain.

58 looked up to the crowd and held up his hand again. Decide this man’s fate.

This time, there was a mix of responses. Some wanted to see more. Perhaps the fight 47 had put up had convinced them of his worth. But the majority still wanted him to end it. The underdog had fought back and then been beaten by the champion again. The countess had been right. This too, was an entertaining ending for them.

58 raised his club once more. 47 heaved on the sandy floor, unable to lift a finger, barely able to even breathe on his own.

This was not the ending Dominic wanted.

Suddenly, 58 froze mid-swing, arm unmoving above his head. His grip slowly loosened, the club slipping from his grasp and tumbling to the ground. The hand holding his throat fell away, slack at his side. He collapsed heavily to his knees, then keeled over.

The crowd was totally silent for a split second, taken by complete surprise at what had just happened. 58 had fallen unconscious, blood from his neck still pooling out onto the ground. 47 was lying prone next to him, also incapacitated. A perfect tie.

The stands went wild. They roared. It wasn’t the kind of ending they had asked for, but this, too, was an outcome worth celebrating. It was something they almost never saw. Something original. Something passionate. Something desperate. This was what they had come for. Even though many of the voices from the stands spoke of regret and anger—come on, dammit, he almost had him!—it didn’t matter. This was an ending they wouldn’t forget.

Dominic retracted the last traces of his mana, erasing all the evidence that he had ever moved. No one was allowed to know that the giant had fallen asleep because of anything besides simple blood loss.

The countess had already risen to her feet, a look of awe on her face.

“Amazing,” she said, watching even as the two were put on stretchers and taken out of the arena. “Amazing. A fight to be remembered.”

“It looks like I came on a lucky day,” Dominic remarked.

“Indeed. We don’t see events so beautifully done this often.”

She sat again, still smiling widely, beaming with pride.

“Or perhaps you are my lucky charm, Lio,” she said, turning to him. “Would you like to take charge of the next fight?”

“Me?”

“Why not?”

The countess put the book on the table between them and pushed it towards him.

“Go ahead, choose,” she said. “Any two. Actually, how about this—you don’t own anyone yourself yet, do you, Lio?”

Dominic shook his head.

“No.”

“I figured it was like that. So let’s do it like this.”

She pointed towards the book, her manicured nail glinting in the artificial light of the arena.

“I’ll pick one, and I’ll let you pick the other,” she said. “If yours wins, I’ll let you keep them.”

Dominic raised an eyebrow.

“You’ll hand over ownership?”

“I promise.”

He glanced down at the book, then drew it closer to him.

“I’ll take you up on that offer,” he replied.

The countess smiled.

“I’ll look forward to your choice.”

Dominic opened the thick catalogue and flipped through the pages. This was a chance. He didn’t need to choose a fighter, but someone to take away from the arena.

The mana signatures passed under his nose quickly. He was lucky that the seals on the paper were connected to the people on the other side. He could tell who they were by the smell. The affinity of magic they had, the strength of their combat skills, their physical might—those details didn’t matter. What Dominic was looking for was their age. If he had the chance to take one person out of there, then he’d much rather it be a child.

He stopped at one. The ink on the paper hummed with energy, an expansive seal decorating the page. The mana had not yet been thoroughly soaked with grit and blood and rust. It was dusted with all of those things, but underneath there was still soil, old brick, fruit trees. They hadn’t been at Maylia Arena for too long.

“Are you interested in that one?” the countess asked, glancing over.

“Tell me about them,” Dominic requested.

“Number 110,” she replied. “He’s a new acquisition. He’s only played a couple times due to his age. You can’t get a whole lot out of the ones that immature, and sometimes the audience dislikes seeing kids in the arena. Do you see that mark at the top of his page?”

She pointed towards a symbol like a half moon above the seal.

“That means he’s a half demon,” she said. “I guess that’s why we kept him despite his weakness. Gladiators with demon blood have high potential since there aren’t a lot.”

Dominic tapped the page, then turned to her.

“I want this one,” he said.

The countess smiled.

“Alright.”

“I’d like to state one condition, though.”

She studied him for a moment, then gestured broadly with her hand.

“Go ahead.”

“Instead of taking him if he wins,” Dominic said, “I’d like to have him now.”

“Now?” the countess replied, raising an eyebrow. “If he loses, you’ll have wasted my offer.”

“I’m okay with that,” he answered.

“If he loses, I won’t offer you another slave again,” she said.

“I’m okay with that too.”

“Hm…”

She took a moment longer, then finally nodded.

“Alright, I’ll allow it,” she said. “Put your hand on the page and inject your mana into it.”

Dominic placed his palm on the paper and did so. The seal glowed gold, then faded back to black. He felt something like a thread of mana connect to his heart.

He looked down at his chest, then back up at the countess.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You’re very welcome, Lio.”

Dominic nodded.

“In return,” he replied, “I’ll give you a good show.”

The countess smiled, then laughed.

“Of course! I’m looking forward to it.”

She clapped her hands together in excitement.

“Come on, let’s begin.”