"...and on the other side, a madman who believes himself to be a nobleman from Morchima, Vaelen! Beside him, the northern barbarian Ulfrik, who can barely speak our language!"


    When Ragnar and his team reached the center of the coliseum, the cheers, which had started as the fat man introduced Vaelen and Ulfrik to the crowd, turned into laughter.


    Vaelen was a skinny, blonde, long-haired man, somewhat handsome. As he walked towards the center of the coliseum, he carried himself like a true nobleman. Ulfrik, on the other hand, was the complete opposite—standing at two meters tall, with short brown hair, and a bulky build. Despite his size, he appeared younger compared to Vaelen. Both of them, dodging the laughter and fruit peels thrown at them, made their way to the exact center of the coliseum, standing face-to-face with Ragnar and his team.


    "Three against two. Not very fair," Vicar said, forming a sentence much longer than expected from him.


    "Or maybe the two of them are as skilled as the three of us, my friend," Namor replied, pulling an arrow from his quiver and placing it on his bow.


    Ragnar had been smelling something foul ever since stepping onto the blood-soaked sands of the coliseum. It wasn’t the scent of blood, dead bodies, or shattered organs—no, this was much more disgusting, and at the same time, oddly familiar. While the crowd might have been oblivious to it, overwhelmed by the scent of sweat from the cramped spaces they were sitting in, for Ragnar, it was unmistakable.


    The fat man turned away from Vaelen and Ulfrik, addressing the crowd, arms spread wide. The coliseum was a circular arena, surrounded by marble seats where the audience sat.


    "Today, we have a surprise for you all!" he shouted. The crowd erupted in excited cheers.


    The man smiled, unbuttoning his shirt to let in a little air from the scorching sun. He scratched his hairy belly.


    "Our final fight will be unlike anything you''ve ever seen before! A spectacle, something you won’t find anywhere else!" The man puffed out his chest proudly and spun around, his brown captain''s hat damp with sweat.


    "From lands not visited for years, a creature that lost its way and wandered into our trap!" He gestured towards a passage different from the ones Vaelen and Ragnar''s teams had emerged from.


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    "A creature bathed in the poisonous clouds Selemene unleashed over Pollum!"


    Ragnar''s eyes went wide. He turned his head to look at Namor. Namor’s face was obscured by his white crow-beaked mask, but Ragnar could sense that his friend was just as shocked as he was.


    Ragnar’s gaze quickly flicked to Vicar. The brainless fool was chewing his cud and staring blankly, waiting for the man to finish speaking. He looked as if he were silently saying, Stop talking and bring out the man we’re going to kill!


    When Ragnar turned his attention back to the fat man, he caught a glimpse of Vaelen and Ulfrik drawing their weapons, looking fearfully towards the other passage. The skinny man drew two swords and twirled them expertly, taking up a defensive stance. The massive barbarian behind him carried a sword that was nearly as tall as Vaelen himself.


    "Allow me to introduce you to Pollum''s flesh-eating monster!" the man shouted. He was practically jumping with excitement. The crowd screamed with joy and anticipation.


    With those words, the door to the third passage was lifted. The crowd, overcome with excitement, screamed in ecstasy.


    First, four guards emerged from the dark passage. Each of them carried chains as thick as a human arm, and they moved in different directions, hanging the chains up with effort. Then, the creature they were holding in chains appeared, dragged along. It looked humanoid, but far larger and taller. Its left arm extended from its elbow into another arm, while its right arm was completely missing, clearly severed in some battle. Curved claws protruded from its fingers, and its black skin was riddled with deep, bone-exposing wounds, yet no blood leaked from them. Its jaw hung down to its chest, lined with hundreds of razor-sharp teeth. Its eyes were empty, devoid of spirit, as if it were a wandering soul. Despite this, it seemed aware of its situation, gripping the chains with its hands and trying to resist being dragged along.


    "Holy shit," Vicar muttered, pulling his shield and mace from his back.


    "So the stench came from you," Ragnar spat after clearing his throat. A mix of excitement and fear took over his body. It felt like a chance to take revenge for his home and family, yet he had seen these creatures tear armored knights apart before, and that image made the axe in his hand tremble with fear.


    The crowd groaned in disgust at the foul, corrupted form before them. The fat man laughed again. "Then let the game begin!" he yelled excitedly. As he spoke, the crowd, which had fallen silent, erupted into cheers once more. The man, clutching his belly with one hand, quickly ran toward the passage Ragnar had emerged from.


    With the man’s passing, the gates Vaelen and Ragnar had come through slammed shut. The guards dragged the creature into the center of the coliseum. As it drew closer, it looked even more exhausted, as though it could barely stand. It constantly cradled its belly and held its head low. The guards released the chains and quickly retreated back to their passage, which immediately closed behind them.


    The crowd quieted down, suppressing their excitement, and waited for the first move.


    Ragnar pulled a dagger from his belt and held it in his left hand. He twirled the axe and dagger in his hands, leaning slightly towards the creature.


    It was personal now.