Emotionless Swordsmanship Genius

Chapter 6: The Demon’s Child (1)

Capital of the Rob Empire, Pontania.

At the heart of the capital stood the imperial palace, the largest and most majestic structure in the entire empire. Its grandeur was accentuated by golden layers that shimmered in the sunlight, casting a golden hue over the entire area.

The palace housed the Emperor, his family, high-ranking nobles, and top officials. It wasn’t just a residence; it was the center of the empire’s administration, culture, arts, and power.

Inside, the palace walls and floors were covered in finely polished marble, with an array of decorations and statues displayed in every corner. But the inner sanctum, where the Emperor and his family resided, was off-limits to everyone except their personal attendants.

In a room with a breathtaking view of Pontania, Prince Merka and General Eugenia were deep in conversation.

“The boy slave was placed on a wagon headed to Palemon, one of the five convoys,” Eugenia reported.

“Palemon… are you certain he’s alive?” Merka asked, glancing at Eugenia with a furrowed brow.

“Yes. Many servants and soldiers saw him board the wagon. But now that he’s in Palemon, his chances of survival have decreased. It’s been over a week.”

“Of course… when they couldn’t kill him, they exiled him to that hell,” Merka muttered, frustration evident in his voice.

Both of them were well aware of Palemon’s infamous reputation, and the thought of Karon being sent there weighed heavily on them.

“Is there no way we can bring him back?” Merka asked.

“It’s out of our hands now.”

“Damn it,” Merka cursed, clenching his fists.

All decisions concerning the Colosseum were within Senator Montecorato’s authority, by imperial decree. If Merka intervened, it would only cause unwanted friction.

“May I ask something, Your Highness?” Eugenia inquired carefully.

“Speak.”

“Why are you so interested in that slave boy? He merely survived the Colosseum by luck.”

Merka, staring out at the city once more, gave a bitter smile and slowly nodded.

“True, it could have been luck. But I don’t think so. There’s something about him… When I met him, I sensed a hidden, savage energy beneath the surface.”

“Surely you don’t mean…,” Eugenia’s eyebrow twitched at the implication.

“Perhaps he’s like me,” Merka said, his expression serious.

Eugenia shook his head, clearly uncomfortable with the idea.

“That’s an overinterpretation.”

“Still, we have to find out, don’t we? Is there any way we can bring him back quietly?” Merka asked, looking back at Eugenia.

“Palemon is outside the direct reach of the empire’s influence. It won’t be easy. And even if it’s possible, it’ll take time. There’s no guarantee he’ll still be alive by then,” Eugenia said, his tone grim.

Merka was silent for a moment, deep in thought. Then, as if making up his mind, he slammed his fist down on the railing.

“Fine. Send a messenger to discreetly investigate whether he’s alive. If he is…”

Merka locked eyes with Eugenia and said with determination, “I’ll go and bring him back myself.”

“Your Highness, that’s…,” Eugenia began to protest but stopped. The look in Merka’s eyes told him that no amount of reasoning would dissuade him.

* * *

By the time Karon arrived at Palemon in the slave wagon, he had already memorized the layout of the area.

The dry air and fierce sandstorms hinted that they were near the desert, while the salty scent of the sea and the dried fish hanging around told him the ocean was close as well.

As they entered the dilapidated city, the cheers of the crowd grew louder. There was clearly a Colosseum here as well.

The wagon came to a stop in front of a large gray building, not far from the Colosseum.

The building had tall walls, over two stories high, and stretched far in both directions, suggesting it housed a large open area inside.

“Get the slaves out!” someone shouted.

A group of burly men, each scarred and holding whips, rushed out and dragged the slaves inside. One man in particular exuded an intimidating presence, his entire body covered in scars.

Once they reached the spacious courtyard, the slaves were immediately sorted by age.

Karon stood with a group of around twenty young slaves, waiting for what felt like hours.

Finally, two figures appeared on the second-floor terrace of a nearby mansion.

One was Batiah, and the other was a man Karon had never seen before, who had a sly, cunning look.

The sorting process began, and as Karon’s turn approached, he overheard a fragment of Batiah’s conversation with the cunning-looking man.

“…the one from the ‘Beast’s Assault’ in the Colosseum…”

Karon’s group was composed of men who all appeared much stronger than him. He was the youngest and smallest among them.

When the final group of five was sorted, Karon quickly assessed his four companions.

They were all taller and more muscular than Karon, likely in their early twenties. Despite their strength, one man seemed weakened by illness, and another had fractured ribs, making movement difficult.

Once the five of them were locked inside a narrow cell, Karon instinctively moved to the least noticeable corner, away from the others.

He could feel the heavy stench of blood and the faint traces of unwashed bloodstains in the cell.

“The rule is simple,” a voice echoed from outside. “Only one of you will leave this cell alive. If there’s more than one left by sunset, you’ll all be executed.”

As soon as the announcement ended, a small dagger was dropped through the iron bars and clattered to the floor, landing right in front of Karon.

Without hesitation, Karon kicked the dagger toward the man with the fractured ribs.

Clink!

“Huh?”

The four men froze for a moment, stunned. But it didn’t last long.

The man quickly grabbed the dagger, and the other three immediately lunged at him.

“Die!”

“Get off me!”

“Aaargh!”

In a matter of seconds, the cell became a frenzied killing ground.

The men fought savagely, slashing and stabbing each other, while Karon quietly helped the injured man defend himself, ensuring his survival.

When the bloodshed finally ended, three of the slaves lay dead, their bodies piled on top of each other.

The injured man, clutching his side and gasping for breath, was the last one standing.

“Hah… hah…” he panted, blood trickling from the wound in his side.

The man, clutching his fractured ribs, was breathing heavily, and his face was contorted in pain from the intense fight. In his other hand, the blood-soaked dagger trembled. He stared at Karon, the only other survivor, with a mix of curiosity and gratitude.

“Thanks… for helping me!” he said, his voice barely steady.

But at that very moment, his body lunged toward Karon, the dagger aimed for a fatal strike. Blood sprayed as the blade cut through the air.

However, Karon was ready.

With precision, Karon’s foot connected directly with the man’s side—right where the ribs had already been fractured.

Thud!

“Aaaargh!” The man screamed in agony, clutching his side as he collapsed, writhing on the ground.

Without hesitation, Karon seized the dagger from the man’s hand, gripping it tightly in both hands before driving it deep into his heart.

“You… you… planned this… all along… you devil…,” the man gasped, his eyes wide with shock as his hand weakly grabbed Karon’s collar. But soon, his hand fell limp, and he took his last breath.

Huff, huff.

Karon steadied his breathing, taking in the sight of the blood-soaked cell around him. Despite the gruesome scene, the sounds of battle and desperate cries from the other cells continued to echo across the courtyard.

Meanwhile, Batiah had been observing Karon’s cell the entire time. His face reflected a mix of intrigue and disbelief.

‘He deliberately kicked the dagger away?’

In fact, Batiah had secretly instructed one of his subordinates to drop the dagger in front of Karon. The subordinate had followed orders perfectly, but Karon had kicked the weapon away instead of using it.

Now, as Batiah watched the bloody spectacle unfold, he realized that everything had happened just as Karon had intended.

‘Did he assess all four men’s conditions beforehand?’

It was hard to believe that such a young boy could have calculated every move like that.

Of course, one could argue that it was all luck, that Karon had kicked the dagger out of fear. But Batiah knew better. This boy had survived the infamous “Beast’s Assault” in the Colosseum, and that was no small feat.

Altanic, who had been watching alongside Batiah, also glanced at Karon with a greedy look in his eyes. Then, he turned to Batiah.

‘He survived. There’s something about this boy,’ Altanic thought, too engrossed in studying Karon to notice that Batiah was still observing him.

‘This could be a goldmine,’ Altanic’s mind raced with possibilities.

* * *

As the sun set, the surviving slaves in each cell were left alone with the corpses until the next morning.

Blood continued to pool from the bodies, soaking the already damp floor. The stench of death grew stronger, attracting insects that began to swarm over the dead. Cold winds howled through the iron bars, cutting through the silence.

Thud! Thud!

Screams and cries echoed from neighboring cells. Some had lost their minds, driven mad by the sheer brutality and hopelessness of the situation.

In these conditions, the surviving slaves were being pushed to their limits, both physically and mentally. The goal was clear: to break them down and rebuild them into perfect killers.

Karon sat in his corner, enduring the overwhelming stimulation of his heightened senses. He replayed the events of the past, trying to maintain his composure. It was the only way he could keep from losing his mind.

The first memory that came to him was of the cloaked figures who had killed his parents. He remembered the massive figure with red eyes, hidden beneath the dark cloak, and the aristocratic man with blue hair and eyes who held the object.

“The Demon’s Orb…”

The words of the blue-haired man rang clearly in Karon’s mind.

“The Demon’s Orb has been retrieved. Let’s go.”

What was it? It was clearly something important, considering they had slaughtered everyone to erase all evidence.

That might make tracking them down easier—Karon needed to follow the trail of the Demon’s Orb.

If he ever managed to escape this place, his first goal would be to gather information on that mysterious artifact. And to face them, he would need to learn how to fight as quickly as possible.

Perhaps he could use this gladiator training ground to his advantage.

The next thought that came to him was the moment in the slave wagon, where he had felt a fleeting sense of comfort and warmth. It was the memory of the girl who had sat beside him.

Her image appeared vividly in his mind, down to the tears that had filled her silver eyes.

She had disheveled black hair and those brilliant, jewel-like silver eyes, with a diamond-shaped mark etched on her forehead. It was likely a tribal mark. Despite her ragged appearance, her smooth skin couldn’t be hidden beneath the dirt and dust.

Karon found himself thinking about her reunion, though he didn’t know why. Perhaps it was the longing for that warmth and comfort once more.

Then came the image of Montecorato, the toad-like man who had scarred Karon’s cheek.

Karon ran his fingers over the scar. If he ever saw Montecorato again, he would repay the man tenfold for what he had done.

Finally, his thoughts drifted to Prince Merka.

After his family had been wiped out, Merka was the only person who had shown him any kindness.

And then there was that feeling… a strange stirring inside him when they had met.

Karon still didn’t fully understand it. Any ordinary person would have easily recognized it as a sense of kinship, but for Karon, the feeling remained elusive.

*Ding, ding, ding! Ding, ding, ding!*

A bell suddenly rang out, snapping Karon from his thoughts.

He opened his eyes, realizing that the long night had finally passed, and the first light of dawn was creeping into the cell.

As the cell was illuminated, a training overseer came to inspect the survivors. When his gaze fell on Karon, he froze in shock.

Karon was sitting upright, perfectly composed, amidst the pile of corpses. His posture was straight, his demeanor calm, and his face showed no signs of madness or fear.

He sat there, the picture of eerie tranquility, while the others screamed or cowered in terror.

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