"It’s a scam..."
The man muttered the words dejectedly as he stepped through the door, returning to the villa’s interior from the garden.
"Hey, look at him."
"His opponent was supposed to be a slime... Is it possible he actually lost?"
The slaves waiting for their turn by the door began to buzz with whispered speculation. A staff member quickly prompted the defeated man to move along, likely to prevent any specific details about the fight from leaking to the others.
One of the slaves watched the scene in silence. Ox Road stopped his train of thought before it could wander too far. While he was curious, his opponent was not a slime. He discarded unnecessary thoughts and focused his mind on the boy he was about to face.
A noble, two merchants, and a fourth man who looked like a merchant but carried the hidden aura of a seasoned professional. Among those adults, each wrapped in their own distinct air of authority, there had been one child. Most importantly, out of all five, that boy’s presence had been the most impossible to read.
Gladiators were often thought of as people for whom strength was everything, but skill alone was never enough to reach the top. Gladiatorial combat was a popularity-driven business; matches were the subject of heavy gambling. Thus, popularity directly dictated a fighter's number of appearances and their pay.
A gladiator who could not captivate the audience remained second-rate, no matter how strong they were. In that world, only those who possessed both overwhelming strength and charisma were considered first-class.
Ox Road had climbed nearly to the summit of that world. Through years of discipline, he had cultivated a power beyond his swordsmanship. Coincidentally, it was the same "eye for character" possessed by Chairman Moulton, the slave trader currently putting him up for sale.
By experiencing countless matches and interacting with various nobles and merchants, Ox had begun to sense a person’s true nature through their footwork, the swing of their blade, and every minute gesture. It was a sensation born from single-mindedly pursuing the path of the sword. It allowed him to perceive the movements of an opponent’s heart and body, elevating his own techniques to a higher plane.
By the time he had crossed thirty, his sharpened senses had pushed his Dual Swordsmanship to Level 5.
Ox Road’s greatest pride remained his skill with a blade, even after losing a hand. If asked what his second-greatest pride was, he would have named that cultivated intuition. Yet, as much confidence as he had in that sense, it had failed to truly grasp Ryoma Takebayashi.
Just who was he? He looked like a child, yet his aura blended seamlessly with the adults around him. He sat among them as an equal. And more than anything... he was strong. The foreign man standing beside him was undoubtedly a master, but the boy seemed even more formidable. Ox realized that thinking about it wouldn't grant him answers. Ultimately, all he could do was swing his sword and show his worth. That truth remained the same regardless of the opponent.
As the other slaves entered the garden one by one and returned looking defeated, Ox Road gripped his paired swords—scabbards and all—and deepened his concentration. When the ninth candidate returned, Ox rose silently and buckled his cherished blades to either side of his waist.
"I’ll ask one last time," Ox said. "Is it truly acceptable to use live steel?"
"That is what the Chairman said," a staff member replied. "He obtained permission from the client himself."
"I hope this isn't just that man’s twisted idea of entertainment."
"I can't blame you for being suspicious. It was the Chairman's proposal, but it’s legitimate this time. He checked with the opponent again after the last match. Apparently, the boy said it would be better for you to use weapons you’re familiar with."
"I see. Then I am grateful for the consideration."
With a short nod, Ox Road recalled the mindset of his active gladiator days. He cleared his heart of everything but the fight. Stepping firmly, he walked out into the garden with a dignified stride.
"Thank you for waiting."
Ryoma was already standing at the starting position, looking as though he hadn't moved since the previous bout.
He certainly isn't going to be an easy opponent, Ox thought.
The boy’s posture showed no sign of fatigue after four consecutive matches; he was perfectly composed. Ryoma opened by asking why Ox had chosen to fight him.
"It is the same regardless of the opponent," Ox replied simply. "I only know how to fight with these blades. I am here to show my strength as a swordsman."
It was a concise answer that implied further words were useless; everything would be decided by the steel and the result. Ox took his place directly across from Ryoma.
"Then, on my signal."
Ryoma accepted the silence and drew the Slime Katana from his hip. In that instant, Ox felt the atmosphere shift.
If an enemy were in range, they’d be cut down the moment that blade left the sheath, he realized.
From that single motion, Ox revised his assessment of Ryoma upward yet again. He drew his own left-hand sword with his remaining right hand. The blade was a dull, lusterless gray like polished stone—thick and remarkably sturdy. Its shape was reminiscent of a heavy meat cleaver or a scramasax.
Both fighters instinctively enveloped themselves in Qi, reinforcing their bodies.
"Begin!"
The first strike would decide it.
Ox closed the distance in a flash, delivering a thunderous vertical slash. Ryoma met the strike with his katana, parrying it with perfect precision. The two separated with a sharp metallic ring, neither needing a second prompt to create space.
Ryoma felt a surge of genuine admiration. He was stunned by the speed that defied the man’s massive frame, but even more so by the staggering weight of the blow. He realized the power came not just from the man’s physical strength and Qi, but from the weight of the weapon itself. He marveled at the skill required to wield such heavy steel so effortlessly—especially considering the man used to handle two at once.
Ox felt the same respect.
Not a single nick on his blade, Ox noted. He can use Qi, and his technique is flawless.
Ox’s swords were forged from Heavy Rock Steel, a metal unique to this world. It had the color of stone, a hardness exceeding iron, and a density greater than lead. They were custom-made for a physically gifted Ox-kin who had pushed his body to the limit and reinforced it with Qi. For an average person, merely holding one would be a chore; in the hands of a master, their weight became overwhelming destructive power. If Ryoma had parried incorrectly, his weapon would have been shattered.
I see why the others look the way they do, Ox thought. Anyone who took the information they were given at face value would be in despair right now. Was this Moulton’s doing? The man truly has a wicked streak.
Despite his misunderstanding of Moulton's motives, his recognition of Ryoma's skill was absolute.
I can’t win this with only one blade...
He calmly assessed his situation and the gap in their skill, then lunged forward.
"Ooooh!"
He let out a guttural roar as he closed the distance in a single bound. He had lost a hand. He had judged that he couldn't win as he was. But so what? Was that a reason to surrender? He had faced disadvantageous odds and superior foes countless times before. Every time, he had resisted with everything he had and come out alive.
"Ngh!"
His wordless, beast-like roar carried the weight of his entire life’s conviction. He threw his whole being into the heavy strike, successfully forcing Ryoma to take a step back.
"Hah!"
Without a pause, Ox released his grip, and the sword flew toward Ryoma. While Ryoma batted away the projectile, Ox drew the second sword from his right hip. Two blades began to assault Ryoma, as if to prove that his true essence lay in the relentless, lethal coordination of twin swords.
"Ryoma-kun!" Reinhardt shouted.
The exchange happened in a heartbeat. Reinhardt’s voice was a fraction of a second late, and while the two merchants couldn't even process the movement, Fei spoke up.
"It's fine. The Master avoided it."
There was a trace of relief in Fei’s voice. The two combatants seemed to separate for an instant before devolving into a frantic, high-speed blur of steel.
"Wait, what just happened?" Serge stammered. "Before that... the sword..."
"One of 'em's floatin' in the air!?" Pioro cried.
It was exactly as they said. A sword followed Ox Road’s movements as if held by an invisible hand extending from his missing left wrist.
"It’s likely Telekinesis," Reinhardt explained. "No-Attribute Magic used to move objects. He must be using it chantlessly to serve as a replacement for his left hand. Just now, he threw one sword to create an opening, then attacked with the other. Then he 'caught' the thrown sword with magic and slashed upward from below. With magic, you can ignore physical distance to a certain degree."
"The Master deflected the first one, then stepped in to press the advantage," Fei added. "He suppressed the right-hand sword and the man's movement, then twisted his body to dodge the left-hand strike from below. Even though he thought the man only had one sword, he reacted perfectly in that split second."
The fierce match continued even as they spoke. The physical right hand and the magical left hand created a whirlwind of steel. The gusts of wind generated by the blades brushed against Ryoma’s cheeks. Three or four exchanges occurred in a single breath. A direct hit would be devastating. It was a storm-like barrage, but Ryoma received it like a willow in the wind, parrying the strikes and hunting for an opening.
"Ah... magnificent... truly magnificent," Moulton whispered.
"Oresto," Reinhardt said, turning to him. "I'm sorry to ruin your moment of awe, but I think you owe us an explanation."
Serge and Pioro were also casting sharp glares at the slave trader.
"An explanation? I merely recommended an excellent slave to my client. This is simply the result of that recommendation."
"There seem to be several things you failed to mention about this 'excellent slave,'" Reinhardt countered.
"Ya didn't say a word about him usin' magic to wield two swords, did ya?" Pioro added.
"I believe I told you that he was 'obsessed with the sword' and that he 'could not swing a blade like he used to,'" Moulton replied nonchalantly. "Perhaps my phrasing was a bit open to interpretation."
Moulton continued with a casual air. "As the Duke noted, he uses Telekinesis. However, as you all know, while beast-kin have incredible physical strength, they have very little mana and poor compatibility with magic. This Ox-kin is no exception. He is giving his all against Master Takebayashi, but unfortunately, he can't keep this up for even three minutes. He isn't able to exert his full original power, either. Once he's finished, he’ll be so drained of mana he won't even be able to stand. Mana potions can only do so much; depending on the strain, he might collapse entirely."
That was why Moulton had said he "couldn't swing a blade like he used to." The fact that a man with no talent for magic had forced himself to learn a way to fight that approached his former glory was, in Moulton's words, "the fruit of his obsession."
"I see," Reinhardt said. "So, what’s your angle? I’m not saying he isn't impressive, but surely you could have found a buyer if you had explained this properly from the start."
"As I said from the beginning, I judged him to be the best fit for Master Takebayashi. Ox won't complain about a workplace where he can use his skills, especially if his master is stronger than himself. But more than that... I noticed that Master Takebayashi has very few people who can stand beside him as equals."
Reinhardt’s eyes widened at the deliberate addition. Serge and Pioro also looked on in surprise.
"The more I learn about that boy, the more mysterious he becomes," Moulton said. "His behavior and his way of thinking are one thing, but his abilities are far too high for his age. He has people like you to associate with as friends, but he has almost no one with equivalent technical skill, especially in combat. From what I’ve gathered, he spends time with children in the slums, but that is a relationship of teacher and students. For a child his age, is that really healthy?"
"...Are you saying you were concerned for Ryoma-kun's growth?" Reinhardt asked.
"He is at a sensitive age. Ideally, he would be working hard alongside peers his own age, but it would be cruel to expect that kind of strength from other children. In that case, I thought it would be beneficial to place someone with similar skill and ambition by his side, even if it has to be as a slave."
"I never thought I’d hear those words from you, Oresto," Reinhardt admitted.
"I figured ya were just messin' with the kid 'cause ya wanted to watch him react," Pioro said.
"How rude. Observing people is indeed my hobby, but I have no intention of hindering a child’s development. On the contrary, I believe one should cherish the experiences and happiness that can only be found at that age."
Moulton spoke with a sincere, almost solemn tone.
"I see," Reinhardt said. "My apologies for doubting you."
"Of course, I also hope he becomes a regular client so I can observe his growth even more closely," Moulton added.
"Hold on! It was about that after all!? Give me back my sympathy!" Pioro shouted.
"Oresto, you really are something else," Reinhardt sighed.
"Keep it within reason, please," Serge added.
As they voiced their exasperation, Fei—who had never taken his eyes off the garden—announced the end of the match.