CH443 Red Rock Coliseum

***

The next morning, a group of Copper-skinned Orcs waited outside the doors of Alex and his expedition party, ready to escort them to the arena.

An optimist might say the Orcs were there to ensure no harm befell the party before the duel. A pessimist, however, would recognise that they were there to make sure no one attempted to flee the sacred challenge.

Whichever was true, Alex didn't care.

Ushered forward by the Orcs, Alex and his expedition party made their way toward the arena.

If there was ever a way to subtly announce to the world that duels were held here in the highest regard, it would be not placing one's residence or fortress at the centre of their territory—usually a territory's most prestigious district—but instead placing an arena there.

Built in a coliseum-style design, the arena was an open oval field surrounded by tiered stands for spectators. There was little separation between the combat grounds and the audience, but that only heightened the crowd's fervour. The promise of watching fighters beat one another bloody at arm's length was a powerful draw.

Contrary to Alex's expectations, the arena had not been opened solely for his proxy duel against Brieger the Desert Razor.

It appeared that scheduled fights were held here periodically—from first light until noon. Alex and Brieger's duel merely happened to coincide with one of those event days.

Alex and his companions were led to a raised platform overlooking the arena floor. It functioned as a private box of sorts.

Adjacent to it were roughly half a dozen similar platforms, clearly reserved for Camp Red Rock's major powers and any visiting figures of sufficient standing—such as Alex and his party.

Even as battles raged below, the spectacle within the audience was no less barbaric.

Scantily clad women moved between the stands, collecting bets and selling food. More often than not, spectators openly groped them as they passed. The women endured it with practiced smiles, as though such treatment were simply part of the job.

It was even worse in the private boxes.

In one such box, a fat, greasy old man pinned down a serving woman who had brought him a tray of food and mounted her openly, making no effort to conceal himself.

Her only saving grace was his brief two-minutes-long endurance.

Jeers erupted from nearby onlookers as the woman adjusted her clothes and walked away—expression blank, as if this were nothing more than another ordinary morning.

The atmosphere of the arena was enough to make even Kavakan frown in disgust, much less the more refined and civilised members of the expedition party.

Alex stole a glance from the corner of his eye, checking on Silver and his wives—the women of the group—to see if they were affected by the savage sights.

Silver remained as expressionless as ever.

As for his wives…

Zora leaned closer and murmured something to his other wives that nearly caused Alex to stumble.

"Don't worry. He's at least three times that size and last for far much longer."

Alex let out a wry chuckle.

'To think I was worried about them.'

Shaking the brief distraction from his mind, Alex led the group to take their seats in their assigned private box.

"Young Master Alex, you are here." A familiar voice called out.

Alex turned and, to his mild amusement, discovered that the private box to his right was occupied by Rolfe the Broker and Bram the Blood Blade.

He exchanged pleasantries with them—if such thinly veiled probing could be called that—before scanning the remaining boxes.

To his left, a few boxes away, sat Brieger the Desert Razor.

Unlike the previous night, the burly man was dressed only in a pair of trunks, his upper body left completely bare. His bulging chest and muscular arms were on full display, like a peacock flaunting its feathers.

He roared with laughter and cheered wildly as he watched the battles below, utterly engrossed in the spectacle. From his expression alone, Alex had no doubt that Brieger would have behaved even worse than the disgraced old merchant had there been a woman within reach.

Alex shook his head and returned his attention to the arena.

The battle below ended with the loser having his stomach ripped open, his entrails spilling onto the sand.

Rather than recoiling in horror, the crowd erupted into even louder cheers.

At that moment, Brieger glanced toward Alex—just in time to see him turn away with clear disinterest.

A vein bulged on Brieger's forehead as he misinterpreted the gesture as contempt directed at him.

Once the fight ended in such a gruesome manner, Brieger's lips curled into a cold smirk. He gestured sharply to an even larger man standing behind him.

"Go crush him," Brieger ordered.

"Arghhh!" The man roared in response.

He vaulted theatrically from the private box, crashing down into the stands below. Several unfortunate spectators were crushed beneath his landing before he strode toward the arena floor as if nothing had happened.

No one dared complain.

This was Brutus the Ogre—Brieger's most trusted enforcer, and his most brutal one.

"Outsider!" Brieger roared down toward Alex's box.

"Send out your man to face death!"

Alex yawned.

He barely spared the man a glance as he rested his cheek against his right fist, his elbow propped lazily on the armrest of his chair.

"Have you prepared my compensation?" he asked flatly.

The crowd erupted into shocked murmurs.

Who was this suicidal outsider who dared treat one of Camp Red Rock's powerhouses with such blatant disrespect?

"One mid-grade Berserk Stone." Brieger revealed, his voice ringing out.

The audience gasped in awe.

"Just one?" Alex replied with clear disdain. "That's all the confidence you have in your man?"

He snapped his fingers.

Behind him, Kavakan stepped forward and opened a pouch.

Ten mid-grade Berserk Stones glittered under the arena's light.

A collective breath was sucked in across the stands.

"Do you dare bet?" Alex asked, turning Brieger's challenge back on him with even thicker contempt.

Brieger froze.

He had never imagined that Alex would be insane enough to put forward ten mid-grade Berserk Stones on a proxy duel.

'Does money mean nothing to him?' Brieger wondered.

What he didn't know was that Alex wasn't gambling with his own wealth—but with money looted from others.

How could a pillager feel pain spending what he had pillaged?

After a moment of furious internal calculations, Brieger finally gritted his teeth and accepted.

"Fine," he said coldly. "Since you insist on giving me free money, I'll play with you to the end."

However, since he didn't have such wealth on hand, all he could do was give his word to the organiser—the strange Orc from the casino the previous night—that he would pay.

Alex looked at him with even greater disdain.

"After all that bluster, it turns out you're too poor—or too scared—to carry this much chump change on you." Alex shook his head slowly.

"Well, it doesn't matter. I don't want you using this as an excuse to run away later, so I'll indulge you."

Alex's unabashed contempt drove Brieger to the brink of rage.

He wanted nothing more than to storm down into the arena and smash Alex's skull with his own hands.

But he restrained himself.

He wasn't a fool. With how casually Alex flaunted such wealth, there was a strong chance the young man had terrifying backing.

Perhaps that backing couldn't stir the deepest waters of the Wildlands—but erasing a small fry like him would be effortless.

So Brieger forced himself to remain calm.

Alex turned his head slightly.

His gaze fell upon Sergeant Lopota.

In a calm, effortless voice, he issued a single command.

"Go on."

***

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