After an hour wandering all over the city in search of the guild headquarters in Cartag, I finally found the tavern with the hidden symbol of the mercenaries' guild.
Thanks to Neil Senpai and the others who had taught me to recognize that mark, finding it now was much easier. It was a coin with an axe and a sword intertwined, carved discreetly on the side of the tavern's sign.
I went inside the place, which was called Pello, and showed my membership badge. I reported to the person in charge, a burly man with a distrustful stare named Peleo, and told him where I had come from.
He looked me up and down, let out a nasal laugh, and said with mockery:
Peleo: —"Do you really think I'm going to believe such ridiculous nonsense?"
—But it's the truth.
The man clicked his tongue and pointed at me, as if wanting to make clear he was weighing every word I said.
Peleo: —"Sorry, kid, but it's impossible a messenger could've arrived this fast… Besides, what proof do I have that you didn't kill the real messenger and come here as a spy?"
—Damn, stop being paranoid. Call old Bang… he'll confirm I'm his messenger. (Wow, they really are cautious with messengers.)
The man narrowed his eyes, sighed with annoyance, and muttered almost to himself:
Peleo: —"Fine, I'll do it… but if it turns out you're lying, you'll pay with your hand for deceiving me, little slave."
—That's fine by me. (Hmm, I'd love to punch him.)
Peleo left for a while… well, it was almost two damn hours. I was already on the clock to make it to the Coliseum.
That's when an incredibly strong man walked into the tavern, so burly and hairy he looked like a bear. He moved as if the place belonged to him, and his mere presence made several mercenaries fall silent.
The man came straight at me and asked in a deep voice:
Frank: —"Hey, brat, do you know where Peleo is?"
—Yeah, he went in to speak with another manager a while ago. What's your name, sir?
The imposing man raised a brow, surprised.
Frank: —"You don't know me?"
—Nope. (Why does everyone assume they're famous?)
Frank: —"I'm Franklin Michelli."
—Sorry, who?
Frank: —"They call me Frank the Terror… nothing?"
—Doesn't ring a bell, sir.
The guy clenched his fists and growled, annoyed by my indifference.
Frank: —"Well, I'm the Mercenary King."
—The what?
Frank frowned, offended that I truly had no clue who he was, and finally spat:
Frank: —"Ignorant brat, I'm the master of the mercenaries' guild."
—Ah, so you're him! Great! Here, this is from old Bang. Okay, see you.
As I tried to leave, he grabbed my shoulder firmly, stopping me.
Frank: —"Not so fast, brat… did Bang send this?"
—Yeah, that's right. Anyway, I've got to go.
The Guild Master held me still against my will, unrolled the letter, and read it with close attention. His brow furrowed, a vein bulged on his forehead—he clearly didn't like what it said.
Frank: —"Listen up, brat. You'll go right back there and tell that old man not in his wildest dreams."
—Sorry, can't do that now. I need to get to the Coliseum.
The Guild Master's eyes widened with disbelief and he slammed his fist down on the nearest table.
Frank: —"The Coliseum? Are you kidding me? A brat like you? No… I'm the master of this guild. You'll obey me, miserable slave!"
—Listen, sir… with all due respect… (go to hell… no, I can't say that)… I'm telling you I can't, I've got a very urgent commitment.
Frank pointed at me like pronouncing a sentence.
Frank: —"If you walk out now, you little piece of shit… don't bother coming back."
—I'll only be a few minutes, I swear I'll be right back. (This is my boss? I hate him, he's a narcissistic asshole. How the hell can't he understand I've got something to do?)
And so I took off toward the Coliseum for the preliminary round.
I got there as fast as I could. Galio was at the entrance, seemingly waiting for me with the scroll in hand and a scowl.
Galio: —"Where were you, slave? You're late."
—Sorry, I got held up delivering something.
Galio huffed, then let out a weary smile.
Galio: —"Fine, you're lucky the crowd's in a very good mood."
—Wait, let me put on my helmet.
Galio: —"That's not what I meant, slave. They've had enough blood today… come back tomorrow first thing."
—Alright, thanks.
Once I finished my business at the Coliseum, I went straight back to the Pello tavern. There I found Frank again, in a heated argument with Peleo.
When he saw me, the Guild Master scowled and jabbed a finger toward the door.
Frank: —"Get the hell out of here!"
—Hey, I was only gone five minutes… am I going to deliver the message?
Frank slammed his hand on the table, cutting me off.
Frank: —"Sorry, brat, but I don't work with people who don't take me seriously."
—What are you trying to say?
Frank: —"You're fired, you little shit."
—Sorry, but I refuse that decision.
The man stepped closer, his shadow swallowing me whole.
Frank: —"So what now, little piece of crap? You going to threaten me?"
—No… (Oh wait, I've got an idea).
The guy laughed loudly, a booming laugh that shook the walls.
Frank: —"Hahahaha!… get out of my guild."
—Alright, ex-boss… if I see you at the tournament the day after tomorrow, I'll humiliate you. If you plan to go to the Coliseum, for your reputation's sake, better not.
Frank narrowed his eyes, his voice turning into a roar heavy with pride.
Frank: —"What, the tournament? You think a little shit like you won't get killed?"
An aura of power radiated from him. Intimidating, crushing. Peleo, standing too close, collapsed unconscious on the spot. The man reined his aura back in moments later, looked down at me with contempt, and spat:
Frank: —"I don't need to bother with someone so insignificant. Do you really think a kid like you would even get invited?"
—No… but I'll earn my place by tearing through the preliminaries.
Frank: —"That's impossible, brat."
—How would you know? Someone of your status wouldn't even show up to something so irrelevant.
The Guild Master smirked, acknowledging my insolence.
Frank: —"Looks like you've got some sense, little devil. Only one question: how will you even register?"
—Does it matter? You'll know when you see me.
Frank, with sarcastic tone and in front of every mercenary present, declared:
Frank: —"If you manage to beat me —which I highly doubt— I'll hand you the title of Guild Master. How about that?"
—You'll regret those words. (Another reason to beat the crap out of my ex-boss.)
He burst out laughing again, waving his hand like brushing off a fly.
Frank: —"Hahaha!… get lost already. What, you expect to sleep here tonight?"
—You're throwing me out on the street?
Frank: —"That's your problem, not mine."
—Fine, see you at the tournament the day after tomorrow. (I hate this damn society.)
***
Three Hours Before Brian Was Fired
At the main entrance of the Coliseum, the iron gates creaked open slowly with a metallic groan. A caravan of mercenaries rolled in, dragging behind them enormous cages reinforced with black bars of imperial steel. Each step of the captive beasts made the ground vibrate.
At the front, riding a dark stallion, came a burly, hairy man clad in light armor, a reddish cape billowing in the wind. His trimmed black beard and hard eyes made it clear he was no ordinary soldier.
Galio raised his hand in greeting.
Galio: —"Greetings, Mercenary King… —he said with calculated tone—. I see you've completed the task."
The man dismounted, smiling with confidence.
Frank: —"The Goblings were child's play" —he said, slamming a hand against one of the cages, where dozens of small gray and green creatures screeched in fury, clawing at the bars with sharp nails.
He paused, remembering the three men he'd lost during the capture.
Frank: —"But the Troll…" —he gestured toward the largest cage, bound in chains and glowing runes—. "That one cost us blood. We caught it in the eastern caverns, near the swamps of Gerdan."
Galio approached, giving the interior a quick glance. The monster slept curled up, breathing like thunder at rest. A hulking mass, nearly four meters tall, with muscles like tree trunks and grayish skin that looked like living stone.
Galio pulled out a heavy leather pouch and handed it to the mercenary. The metallic clink inside left no doubt.
Galio: —"Five hundred gold coins, as agreed."
Michelli smirked, weighing the bag in his palm.
Frank: —"Fair deal. The Empire always pays well." —He gave a mocking half-bow—. "Enjoy your little show."
Galio: —"I'll be waiting for you at the tournament, Mercenary King."
Frank: —"As you wish. Tell that idiot Acrisius I expect my cut."
Galio: —"I'll see to it."
With a gesture, the Mercenary King ordered his men to move out. The caravan rolled away, leaving behind the echo of the Goblings' guttural screeches and the deep rumble of the Troll's breathing.
Imperial soldiers took hold of the cages, pushing them into the underground passages that led straight to the heart of the arena. The Goblings banged against the bars, shrieking with murderous desperation; some even tried to coordinate, biting and ramming the bars all at once. The metal held, but their rage was palpable.
Galio watched with a crooked smile. Then he turned on his heel and made his way to the underground prison.
Inside, the air was damp, silence broken only by ragged breathing. Slaves and gladiators sat chained, their eyes empty, some whispering prayers.
Galio strode in with firm steps. His boots echoed against the stone, and every fearful gaze fixed on him.
Galio: —"You're lucky" —he announced coldly, looking down on them—. "All the beasts have been fed for today."
A murmur of relief rippled through the room. But Galio's cruel smile froze it instantly.
Galio: —"That doesn't spare you from this afternoon's fight." —He paused, letting the words sink in.— "They've just brought in monsters for tomorrow's spectacle. A Troll and several Goblings. Congratulations, you'll get the first taste. I wish you a happy death."
Silence fell. Some gladiators clenched their teeth, others dropped their heads trembling. They all knew what it meant.
These weren't mindless wild beasts.The Goblings fought in packs, brutally coordinated, using a cunning simple yet effective.And the Troll… the Troll was a force of nature.
Two hours passed.
The roar of the Coliseum was deafening. Under the scorching sand, the gladiators were shoved out of their cages. They barely had time to lift their rusted weapons when a gate opened and the Troll strode out with heavy steps, each one shaking the ground. In his hands he carried an improvised maul of stone and iron, but even his fists alone could smash skulls like fruit.
The crowd screamed, howled with joy, as the first gladiator charged at him. One swing of the maul sent him flying, his body bursting against the sand like a broken, blood-soaked doll.
Among the fighters was one man barely set apart by a scar across his cheek. His voice was firm as he tried to rally the others with a desperate shout:
—"Surround the monster! If we strike together, maybe—!"
He never finished. The Troll spun suddenly, swung the maul, and slammed it into the ground. The man and two comrades became nothing but a smear of flesh and shattered bone. Orders turned into screams of terror.
Then the Goblings were unleashed, and chaos erupted. The creatures shrieked, swarming the gladiators, biting at ankles, pouncing in packs upon single targets. Their coordination was chilling.
In groups of five or six, they leapt on isolated gladiators, climbing up their backs, tearing throats, ripping chunks of flesh with the precision of a trained pack. The sand turned into a crimson feast.
The men fell one after another. Crushed by the Troll. Ripped apart by the Goblings. Blood pooled dark across the arena floor.
The Troll tried to strike at the stands, but the magical barrier stopped him.
The crowd only roared louder in delight.Every scream of agony was music.Every shattered body, a tribute.
High above, Galio never looked away. When a trembling scribe approached with a wax tablet, he spoke with calculated calm:
Galio: —"Write this down: the audience loves the Goblings. Open with them tomorrow."
The scribe swallowed hard, scribbling quickly as another scream tore through the Coliseum.
Galio smirked dryly and added, before turning to leave:
Galio: —"And tell the blacksmith to reinforce the bars. I won't have those rats ruining my show."
Galio simply watched, unblinking, like a general taking notes in the middle of a massacre. But even so, he had to make his way back to the entrance… to register each participant who dared show up for the preliminary rounds.