Sword Devouring Swordmaster Chapter 13 : Chapter 13

Chapter 13. Arena (3)

Before I entered the circular arena, a strange old woman asked a question.

“Fighter, what na will you use in the Arena?”

It was a rather abrupt question. When I looked puzzled, the old woman added,

“You are unfamiliar with this place, aren’t you? In the Arena, no one uses their real na. Here, everyone casts aside everything from the outside world and exists only as a fighter. That’s why they all give themselves new nas.”

A new na. At her words, several nas briefly crossed my mind. Strong and magnificent nas, elegant words often found in bard songs, or stylish foreign phrases.

“Is that so?”

But in the end, I chose only one na.

A na erased from history, yet once greater than anyone, stronger than anyone, a na once praised by all as the sword itself. A na I had heard to the point of exhaustion from my father since childhood.

When I spoke that na, the old woman furrowed her brow.

“Is it from so knight novel? I’ve never heard of such a word.”

To her question, I simply grinned. I looked at my teacher floating in the air. For so reason, he wore a peculiar expression.

The old woman muttered,

“Liam… a peculiar alias.”

And in that mont, the boy Arhan vanished. In his place, the gladiator Liam stood anew.

***

No one expected much from matches between Bronze dal holders.

Such matches were usually slotted in as fillers to let the audience rest between bigger, more thrilling battles, or to kill ti if the main events were delayed.

「Their eyes are filled with boredom.」

I had already heard of this, but hearing it and experiencing it firsthand were vastly different. I read the faces of the spectators seated high in the circular arena.

Boredom, irritation, deep sighs, a hint of anger.

Many hurled jeers and boos, demanding this pathetic match end quickly so they could get to the fights they wanted to see.

“Boo—!”

Instead of fervent cheers, applause, and roaring shouts, there were jeers and ridicule.

To be a fighter with no expectations placed on him was miserable.

I looked around at the sand spread across the wide circular arena, at the dust rising, at the countless blurred silhouettes of the crowd beyond the haze. The sky had darkened into evening, and instead of blazing sunlight, there was only the soft glow of moonlight and starlight.

「This is how the weak are treated in the Iron Kingdom. It is a land ruled by the law of strength.」

I pulled the rusty, heavy helt over my head.

This helt was a tradition carried over since the days of the old arena. Fighters wore them to conceal their faces, to exist only as fighters.

「Wearing this filthy old helt hasn’t changed a bit from the old days.」

A musty sll wafted out as the helt pressed tightly onto my head. It was suffocating just enough.

The helt’s heavy weight sank onto my neck. I swung my head side to side, adjusting to the pressure, then got used to the narrowed vision.

When the process was complete, I drew Needle from my waist.

That long, slender blade had beco familiar in my hand. The mont I gripped its hilt, my heartbeat cald. Over the steady rhythm of my heart, another heart began to beat—slow and deliberate. The 「Mana Heart」 was readying itself for the fight to co.

「Young descendant.」

“Yes.”

「Now that you fight under my na, you must not suffer even a single defeat.」

His words strangely eased my tension.

“I intend to.”

I did not find the lack of expectation pitiful. Rather, it was a familiar feeling.

It had always been like this.

—Arhan, at least you must run away. Flee far from here. My son, please…

No one had ever expected anything of .

—Curse your family. To think the Karavan still clings to life on this continent…

My hated enemy dismissed . He took everything from before my eyes, yet spared my life, only to spit those cruel words—curse my family.

—Young master, you must forget. Only then can you survive.

The butler, the nanny, even my mother—they all told to run. To forget. To treat it as if it had never happened, only then could I live as a human. No one expected anything of . My vengeance, they thought, was nothing but a child’s vain fantasy.

So this situation, of being ignored and dismissed, was far too familiar.

Perhaps that’s why…

“The rookie gladiator Liam, and his opponent, the massive warrior with three consecutive victories—Ter!”

…a streak of desire rose within .

“Let us now begin this match between novice fighters!”

To beco, even for a fleeting mont, the shining star of the circular arena, drawing all eyes and cheers…

“This sacred duel is dedicated to the goddess of justice, Lady Refri!”

***

My first opponent’s na was Ter. As his introduction “the massive warrior” suggested, his build was enormous. Seeing him reminded of a bear I’d once glimpsed as a child.

And compared to him? My body was thin and small even next to ordinary n. My build was delicate, almost feminine, and my weapon—a thin blade better called a needle—was a stark contrast to Ter’s massive greatsword. To the audience, the victor was already decided.

The difference in physique and weapon was too stark. To them, this must look less like a gladiatorial duel and more like a wild match—man against beast.

“Liam? What a shitty na, brat.”

Even I could see it. Ter, with his heavy footfalls and savage grin, looked closer to an ogre than a man.

“I’ll make you an offer.”

“……”

“Throw away that ridiculous sword and helt, and dance to the clap of my hands. Then I’ll be rciful and let you live.”

It was blatant mockery.

I lowered my voice and spoke,

“I heard in today’s Arena matches it’s an unspoken rule not to take each other’s lives.”

“It is an unspoken rule. But ? The three fighters I’ve beaten so far—I snapped every one of their necks with my bare hands.”

Through the slit of my helt, I saw the madness glinting in Ter’s eyes.

“An unspoken rule is not an absolute law, boy. Back in the Zernia Mountains where I was born and raised, n who lost a duel had to die. Surviving after losing was considered shaful.”

“……”

“But you, you’re so pitiful. Snapping your neck wouldn’t even be fun. Better to use you for so amusent. Shake that girlish body of yours and give us all a laugh.”

From his words, I gleaned that he was a barbarian from the mountains.

Zernia Mountains. Likely one of the ranges in the northern Iron Kingdom.

With that clue, my suspicion began.

I studied his muscles.

‘That’s not a body forged by systematic training.’

His muscles bulged like a wild beast’s, but they lacked balance. They were ford by a harsh life, not discipline. His large fra ca from natural bone structure, not refined conditioning.

They were not the armor-like muscles of true northern warriors.

‘No need to target only vital weak spots. Wherever I stab, I can make a hole.’

The human body was imperfect. One hole in the wrong place and it crumbles. Ter’s body was not as formidable as it seed. But suspicion never stopped.

‘Why the taunt? Was he really uninterested? No. Every word and action has a reason.’

I focused on his taunt—“give up and I’ll let you live”—and the fact that he had already fought three matches. This barbarian had not reached the realm of the superhuman. Which ant he must have accumulated damage.

That was what humans were.

My suspicions stripped away the facade. Beneath the shell was a battered man, injured sowhere, exhausted after three fights.

What I had to do was simple.

Find the weakness. And bite down relentlessly.

Call coward if they wish.

“I’ll make you an offer too.”

To everyone, I was the weaker one.

Perhaps it was no prejudice—it might even be the truth. I didn't even think I was strong.

“Take back what you said. Take back calling my na pathetic.”

So I would fight as the weak do.

I was no knight.

Not the process—only the result mattered. That was my sword. That was my weapon.

“Then I’ll give you a painless death.”

I deliberately acted the part of a spoiled, trembling young noble—pride wounded, voice shaking. And it worked. Ter sneered, glancing at the crowd for their reaction.

And—

“Ha, this brat—”

I didn’t miss the opening.

“Graaah—!”

My hand shot out like lightning. Needle pierced its mark.

Blood sprayed.

“Aaagh!”

Two of Ter’s fingers, those gripping his greatsword, dropped to the sand. His face twisted in pain as his massive sword wavered. Already huge and unwieldy, it was impossible to hold properly with just three fingers.

“You little shit—!”

Blue energy wavered around Ter. Unlike the intruders who had once co to my village, Ter was a seasoned fighter, with three victories under his belt. He was also a 「Sword Beginner」.

But instead of pressing forward, I kicked up sand with my foot. Dust clouded the air. Ter coughed harshly.

Then I focused.

“Y-you, I’ll rip you apart—!”

Through the haze, I saw it: his stance faltering. Each ti his right foot touched the ground, his knee wobbled, his ankle trembled. My suspicion had been correct. He was injured—his right leg.

The mont I confird it, I targeted only that side. Forced him to fight on it.

I would not fight him head-on.

I would bleed him out slowly, strike with Needle again and again, draining his strength.

I did not let my guard down.

I was weak.

One blow, and I would be broken.

This long, slender blade and I were the sa.

“Urrrgh…!”

His swings grew slower. His right leg shook visibly, sweat poured down his face. His breath broke. His 「Mana Heart」 faltered.

“You dishonorable wretch!”

“I’ll say it once more. Take back what you said about my na.”

Ter glared at .

But I only aid Needle at him, twirling its point now and then at his hand or knee.

The standoff was wholly in my favor. His greatsword was heavy, his body bleeding and injured, draining strength just by standing. anwhile, I was unhurt, conserving stamina.

Finally, he croaked,

“…I… I take it back. So now—”

His voice had no strength. The loss of will was palpable. That mont, the mories of the lady rcenary I had fully digested stirred. Her way of finishing off an enemy cornered.

My lips moved.

“I’ll make you another offer.”

My mouth twisted in a mocking smile.

“Throw away that ridiculous sword and helt, and dance to my clap. Then I’ll spare your life.”

It was his own words, thrown back at him.

“Y-you…!”

His face flushed red, eyes bloodshot, screaming. He looked ready to charge.

I raised my foot as if to kick sand again.

“—!”

The instant he saw it, he instinctively leaned back. The mory of the earlier sand blinded him. He even shut his eyes for a mont.

And that ended the fight.

“Khuhh—!”

Needle shot out like lightning, piercing his right leg. Not one stab, but many, like stitches. The sounds of thread pulling through cloth echoed as muscles and nerves tore. His leg collapsed.

“Aaagh!”

He flailed his greatsword, but it was wild, weak, off-balance. I didn’t dodge. I inhaled deeply.

The steel heart thundered.

“Hu—”

Mana surged around . I thrust Needle head-on into his swing.

Clang—!

Needle deflected his greatsword sharply. Then I kicked his chest.

Thud!

The giant toppled helplessly into the dirt.

I planted my foot on his chest, Needle aid at his throat. But I didn’t strike. Instead, I looked to the stands.

I was asking them.

Live, or die?

“Uh…”

Silence filled the arena.

Then a voice cried out,

“Damn, I bet on the kid and it paid off tenfold!”

With that, cheers erupted.

“Liam! Liam! Liam!”

For a mont, I beca the star of the arena. The one no one expected, now their hero.

As I listened to the cheers, joy mixed with bitterness.

‘…I wished for this once before.’

When I had bought a crossbow and sought vengeance on the Swordmaster, I had dread of slaying him and saving everyone myself. It was a boy’s foolish fantasy. Reality was cruel. I lost everything, unable to save anyone.

‘Ah.’

In the crowd’s faces, I saw illusions. My dead villagers, my parents, the butler and nanny who left . Faces glowing with pride and tears of joy.

But it was just a stupid fantasy.

They were gone. I had failed.

“……”

That is why I must beco stronger.

No—why I could not afford not to.

“The little gladiator, Liam!”

The little gladiator.

That was the first nickna I earned in the Arena.

***

In the two days after, I fought three more matches. Four duels in three days. But it was no problem. I fought efficiently, ended fights without dragging them too long, and took no real injuries.

It was thanks to suspicion. Never allowing the smallest variable. Now I was beginning to understand Liam’s words—that suspicion was a talent.

After my fourth victory, I returned to register for my fifth match. That was when the receptionist spoke to .

“You’re the little gladiator, right?”

“Yes.”

“The Arena has decided that a Bronze dal no longer suits you.”

As always, she smiled kindly.

“You’ve been offered a chance to fight for the Silver dal. Would you be interested?”