"No matter who comes my way, one hit is enough; what a big statement. Nothing less would be expected from the Arena's first and only victorious orc."

As Marcos muttered silently, the audience looked after Alyon, who had just come to his senses and left the Arena through the door he had just come out of. The orc didn't just get the first win; he did it by hitting his opponent just once.

"Let the next fight begin!"

Quintus was yelling at his staff, and two childhood friends were looking at each other and laughing.

"Do you like it very much? I assure you that his fighter will never fight in this Arena again, no matter whose school the dies are clumsy. You are just lucky, Niko."

"Okay, okay, calm down. You said luck, right? What if the orc wins again, then what?

Although Niko seemed to want to calm down his angry friend, he did not hesitate to add salt to his open wound.

"I'll laugh at that, old friend. That orc will face a real gladiator and be victorious; how is that not possible?"

"I will invest fifty thousand gold for this to happen!"

Marcos made his offer, interrupting while the elders were speaking, but his gesture would infuriate Quintus.

"Fernandez, your kid is a total bum just like you. He doesn't know where or how to talk!"

The leader of the Cervantes family had disapproved of his child's move, but he had no intention of letting this fat boy, whom he knew as a small child, in any way.

"Fathers are like sons, they say, Quintus. I heard your boy lost a bet he made at the slave market the other day. I think the luckiest person in this regard is Niko, who always knows how to make a profit thanks to his beautiful girl in the world!"

As the atmosphere gradually tensed, the ranks of the noble families exchanged vindictive glances at each other. Meanwhile, the city lord, who always pretended to be indifferent to what was going on, would say without turning his back, "I'm interested in that orc too, why don't you fight again?"

Although Quintus was always self-righteous, he turned into a docile watchdog when it came to the City Lord.

"Very well said, sir. I immediately instruct them to fight an experienced gladiator!"

The chubby man, who was moving quickly towards the warriors' place to solve the problem himself, stopped at the top of the stairs when he heard his name.

"Dear Uncle Quintus, my bet on the orc still stands. Wouldn't it be a pity that no sane person would come across bullshit like me?

Marcos was a minor, but he wasn't going to let anyone bully him. As the City Lord indirectly supported the bet, he had decided to go after Quintus, who had just insulted him.

'I'd better teach you a little lesson, but your father may not be too happy about this. I'm betting a hundred thousand gold; will you be able to afford that much?"

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

"The younger nephew always needs to learn from this uncle, but I don't need my father to settle the bet; my own money is more than enough."

The young man did not take a step back, even if he was the Arena's owner opposite him.

"I did not expect to find such a valuable ore here, except for my estimation!"

Nafız murmured, looking at Marcos. Who, with his diplomatic tone and agile answers, cornered an older man.

Quintus, who came to his wife, who had a charming beauty, turned to his friends and spoke with a big smile on his face.

"A little later. I'll watch your luck leave you!"

"Nafız, will your friend be able to escape death this time, too?

"Little lady, don't worry. Whoever his opponent is, he will not die so easily!"

Nafız gave a confident answer to the question asked by the timid voice of the young girl watching the competitions in her litter covered with tulle.

Before the two comrades arrived in Parthenia, they made a plan, and unless it were a life-or-death situation, everyone would fend for themselves. Nafız had already understood that her friend was not in any danger in the face of the warriors in the Arena.

‘’Antuan! Antuan! Antuan! ‘’

As the crowd shouted his name in unison, a handsome gladiator with two swords in hand stepped onto the blood-soaked sand. With his sun-blackened skin and bare upper body, he was captivating the female audience.

The gladiator aroused the crowd with a few small sword tricks and ostentatiously saluted the place where the noble families and city lord were. On the other hand, Alyon was coming to the middle of the Arena, rubbing the wood in his hand.

"Quintus, if you had put the champion of your school in front of the orc. Wouldn't Antuan be a little weaker?"

Fernandez took the opportunity to make fun of his friend, who had confronted the orc with a well-known gladiator in the Arena.

"No crying, you would have thought about the end of this while father and son were talking!"

His son Epiphanes looked tense as Quintus yelled at his friends. Others might attribute this to his father's argument, but he also bet on the family budget without telling anyone.

"Fat ox that escaped from the slaughterhouse! Don't be afraid; you won't even know how you died!"

Antuan intended to provoke the vacant orc into an attack, but his opponent was unlike any of the orcs he had fought before.

When the flamboyant gladiator finished, Alyon yawned for a long time, opening his huge mouth and pointing his two giant front teeth forward. Throwing his stick out of his hand as he did in the first fight, the orc shut his mouth and turned to the gladiator who had called out to him.

"Are you talking to me?"

Antuan, the beloved boy of the Arena, lost himself when he heard the laughter coming from the stands. His opponent was an underrated orc, but he dared to humiliate him in public.

Antuan, who started to swing both his swords with the desire to kill, did not leave the opportunity to make a move against his opponent. Cutting! Stud! Cutting! Stud! Alyon was in a difficult position as the killing blows rained down on him.

Drops of sweat appeared on the side of his face as he stepped back slowly and with small steps. Antuan became more and more airborne as his opponent continued to fight to the point where he could not respond, and he became more and more excited by the magic of the cheers from the Arena.

When he decided there was no need to defend, he planned a combined attack to finish the job. While making a stabbing motion from the waist level with the sword he held in his right hand, he took a position to hit from the top down with the sword in his left hand.

Alyon had been waiting for this move. He climbed on the sword that was about to pierce his body and clamped his opponent's right arm between his left arm and his torso.

While everyone thought that Antuan would prune the orc with the sword in his left hand, Alyon joined the fingers of his right hand and struck his enemy's body like a spear.

After exchanging blows in the blink of an eye, a sword slowly fell to the ground. Antuan was greeting the Arena by turning around as he always did, but this time things had changed.

An arm as thick as a tree branch had pierced his trunk, and the shadow of the finger pointing to the sky fell on his face. Alyon was recklessly celebrating his victory as his body lamented over his opponent's shoulder.

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If a person is trapped and has no choice, he attempts to decorate the traps inside.

John Steinbeck