Emotionless Swordsmanship Genius

Chapter 7: The Demon’s Child (2)

His eyes were emotionless, and his presence felt so faint it was as if he were a ghost. It felt like there were five corpses piled up in the room.

The training officer’s face momentarily hardened, then twisted into a scowl.

In nearly twenty years of being in this place, dealing with all kinds of slaves, it was the first time he had felt such an unsettling chill.

But the fact that it was a mere child causing this reaction enraged him.

“Bad luck, huh? Ugh!”

The officer spat in the direction of the iron bars where Karon sat, then proceeded to inspect the other solitary cells.

When the sun had set, there were ten survivors. By morning, only six remained.

One had died from injuries, two had committed suicide, and one had gone mad.

Six survivors were actually considered a good outcome. Sometimes, not even three made it through the night.

Thus, the first trial ended.

As the morning bell rang, gladiators began to lazily wander into the training grounds.

Each one was muscular, and they all looked at the ten solitary cells from a distance, exchanging words among themselves with curious expressions.

Once the officer finished his inspection and left, the gladiators all seemed to approach the cells at once, as if by unspoken agreement, to check on the slaves.

The one who drew the most attention was none other than Karon.

Despite the crowd gathering around him, he sat atop the bodies, avoiding the blood-soaked floor beneath.

“Is he even alive?”

One of the gladiators, who sported a well-groomed mustache, squinted his eyes in doubt. The man next to him chuckled in response.

“Would a corpse be sitting like that?”

“But how did the kid survive?”

“I heard he was the only one to survive a beast attack in the Colosseum. This should’ve been easy for him.”

“Still, he’s way too young.”

The mustached man cocked his head, eyes narrowing in disbelief. He almost felt like challenging the boy himself.

By now, rumors about Karon had spread among the gladiators. It was likely some of the soldiers from Tripolas’ unit had been boasting while drunk.

The servants had probably overheard, and eventually, the gladiators heard as well.

For Karon, this was not a good thing. Being the center of attention meant he would inevitably become a target of someone’s envy.

“Is that the one?”

Suddenly, a shadow fell over the bars as a gladiator, a full head taller than the others, approached.

The gladiators standing near the cell quickly stepped aside.

He had a gruff voice, hair neatly shaved on both sides and swept back, and his muscles were balanced rather than overly bulky.

Thick eyebrows and slightly downturned eyes gave him a cold, imposing look.

His name was Gletch.

In his early thirties, he was currently regarded as the top gladiator in Palemon.

“I think so. He looks like he could die at any moment, though,” said the mustached gladiator, still unfazed. His name was Utallo, and he was considered Gletch’s equal in skill, though he had stepped back from the position of the top fighter.

“The capital’s Colosseum must have fallen pretty far if a bloody brat like this lucked his way through a match. Hah!”

“Well, the kid must have faced death multiple times to get this far. No one could make it here by luck alone.”

Utallo spoke calmly and thoughtfully, but Gletch remained unconvinced.

Up until now, no slave that young had ever survived all the trials and earned the title of gladiator.

“Hmph! He won’t survive the final trial, anyway!”

“Yeah, it would be tough at his age.”

Utallo nodded in agreement, his gaze returning to Karon.

The boy had no muscles to speak of and was scrawny. It was a miracle he had even survived this long.

Yet what unsettled Utallo was the boy’s expression and eyes.

There was no fear or tension in his indifferent face.

And his empty, unreadable eyes—they gave no hint of what he was thinking.

A question popped into Utallo’s mind.

‘He survived a beast attack. So why wasn’t he raised in the capital? Why send him all the way to this remote place?’

“Everyone, step back!”

At that moment, an overseer from the main building appeared, followed by several officers. Behind them trailed a line of servants, ready for work.

The gladiators, now observing from a distance, watched the scene unfold with great interest.

“Stick your hands out of the bars.”

At the officer’s command, Karon and the other survivors promptly extended their hands through the iron bars without resistance.

None of them dared to defy orders, knowing that they could lose their sanity if they remained in the cells any longer.

Click!

As soon as all six slaves were shackled, the iron doors swung open simultaneously.

The slaves, blood-covered from head to toe, stepped out slowly.

Having survived the brutal survival test, they all exuded a fierce and bloodthirsty aura. It was clear that only the strongest had made it through.

Among them, only Karon stood out for being small and young. Strangely, he was the only one whose presence was completely undetectable.

As the slaves emerged, the smell of rot filled the training grounds. It was the stench of bodies that hadn’t been washed in days.

“Take them away.”

At the overseer’s command, the officers linked the shackles of the slaves to a long iron chain and began to lead them away.

With all of them chained together, they had no choice but to follow.

Meanwhile, the servants who had followed started cleaning the solitary cells, removing the corpses.

The place they were being led to was the underground quarters where the gladiators lived.

As they passed through the maze-like underground tunnels, Karon memorized everything he saw, from the armory to the storerooms. He had no chance of scaling the high outer walls, so he would have to escape through the inside somehow.

After a long walk, they arrived at a large bathhouse. The long tubs were filled with knee-deep water.

“You’ve got five minutes! Clean yourselves as much as you can!” one of the officers barked.

They loosened the chains slightly, allowing the slaves to scrub the blood from their bodies in a hurry.

The stench of blood filled the underground bathhouse, and the water quickly turned red.

It was as if they were desperately trying to wash away the memories of the horrific ordeal. Only Karon stood still, staring blankly.

One of the officers, noticing this, moved behind him, ready to kick him into action, but before he could, Karon slowly moved and began scooping water to wash himself.

He had sensed the officer’s presence.

The officers exchanged glances and muttered to each other.

They called him things like an unlucky bastard or the child of a demon. Childish insults, really.

Their conversation reached Karon’s ears, but having grown accustomed to being regarded as a monster since childhood, he felt nothing.

After they washed themselves, they were each given a worn-out piece of cloth, barely enough to cover their essential parts.

As Karon wrapped the cloth around his body, he carefully hid the necklace his mother had given him within the fabric. It was noticeable, as his upper body was exposed.

With their bodies barely covered, the group was led to the dining hall on the first floor.

Though old, the space was quite large, but it felt eerily empty since the gladiators had gone out for morning training.

The slaves were given a single glass of water, a piece of hard bread, and a bowl of soup filled with unidentifiable bits and pieces.

But they were in no position to be picky.

After days without proper meals, even this seemed like a feast to them.

While the other slaves devoured their food in a frenzy, Karon ate his slowly, chewing each bite thoroughly.

The sudden intake of food caused some slaves to struggle with digestion, their stomachs churning in pain. However, Karon, who had eaten calmly, seemed unaffected.

After their meal, they returned to the training grounds and lined up in front of the building.

The officers removed the chains, leaving only the shackles, and stood before them. In front of them stood Marcus, the overseer.

His body was covered in scars, and as he coiled his whip, he surveyed them before shouting loudly.

“You’ve just been reborn. Forget the idea of being human. To survive here, you must become beasts. Shame, guilt, and pride won’t help you survive in this place.”

His voice rang out like a hammer to the brain. For Karon, whose senses were sharper than others, it was nothing short of torture.

“Your trials aren’t over yet. But for today, rest well. Conserve your strength and clear your minds. Starting tomorrow, you’ll experience hell like you’ve never known before.”

Crack!

Marcus whipped the ground forcefully, then signaled the officers with a glance. The officers began leading the slaves back to their solitary cells.

“Only those who pass all the trials can walk the path of a gladiator!”

Roar!

Marcus shouted at their retreating backs, and the surrounding gladiators let out a roar, as if proudly boasting of their own success.

Karon was locked back into his cell, his indifferent gaze watching them.

The cell had been cleaned thoroughly.

* * *

Once the six slaves were locked back in their cells, the training grounds began to fill with gladiators.

It was time for training.

The slaves who had recently become gladiators were moving boulders, scaling high walls, and repeating various strength exercises.

It was clear they had trained for more than just a day or two, as they expertly lifted the heavy stones and logs.

Thud! Whack!

In one area, under the watchful eyes of the overseers, they were practicing various attack and defense techniques, honing their skills through repetition. The more seasoned gladiators engaged in sparring matches, using practice weapons of all kinds.

The highly trained gladiators showcased sharp attacks, rapid responses, strategic ambushes, and solid defense all over the training grounds.

Karon sat in the center of his solitary cell, staring out through the iron bars. To an observer, he seemed to be sitting idly, but in reality, the opposite was true.

His heightened senses were working at their peak.

He observed the movements of the seasoned gladiators without missing a single detail. Every motion they made was vividly imprinted in his mind.

Simultaneously, he mentally adjusted the movements to fit his own body type, refining and enhancing them, even imagining sparring with an opponent.

Despite holding multiple thoughts at once, there was no confusion or blockage in his mind.

He never forgot a movement he saw and could seamlessly adapt them to the situation, improving them fluidly.

He was so focused that sweat began to bead on his forehead, but to the officers, he merely appeared to be weak and frail.

Training ended only when the sun began to set.

Once the gladiators returned to their underground quarters, Karon finally closed his eyes to rest.

Of course, true rest was out of the question.

The persistent stench of blood ingrained in the solitary cell continued to torment him.

Thud!

At that moment, a tray containing hard bread and a bowl of soup was pushed through the slot beneath the bars.

Even though he was a slave, if properly raised, he was considered a valuable asset, one that could be sent to the capital’s Colosseum instead of Palemon’s Helum Arena.

At the very least, they provided the basic necessities.

In fact, recognized gladiators had their own rooms, ate meat, and occasionally even had women sent to them.

For Karon, this was an invaluable opportunity to recover his strength.

Though the food was incomparable to what he had eaten while traveling with his parents’ mercenary band, it was a luxury compared to the times he had starved while being sold as a slave.

Karon chewed the hard bread diligently, focusing all his efforts on regaining his strength.

* * *

The next morning.

Gladiators, having eaten a hearty breakfast, gathered at the entrance to the training grounds, exchanging words and passing slips of paper among themselves.

Among them were Gletch and Utallo.

“I’m betting three hundred shillings on the little demon.”

Utallo handed a slip of paper to a weasel-like, skinny man. The man glanced at him in surprise.

“Utallo, what’s gotten into you?”

“What’s the payout?”

Utallo asked directly. The man quickly calculated the money and replied.

“Let’s see… The little demon’s odds are five to one.”

“Good.”

By now, Karon had earned the nickname “Little Demon” among them.

Gletch, who had been leaning against a pillar nearby, squinted and asked, “What? You’re betting on the kid? Yesterday, you said he looked like he could die at any moment. I bet on that third guy with the blonde hair. He looks strong enough at a glance.”

“We’ll see soon enough.”

Utallo smiled enigmatically as he gazed at the training grounds.

There, the six slaves stood with large logs chained to their necks.

For Karon, the smallest of them all, he would have to drag a log nearly his own height.

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