Leo now walked burdened by an obstacle far more dangerous than any physical wound…
A complete inability to use magic.
The brutal price imposed by the modified spell he had unleashed to defeat the demonic Baron was no trivial matter. The spell had drained his mana channels to the brink of rupture, leaving his body like an empty vessel stripped of its very essence. After careful calculation, Leo estimated that he would need at least an entire week before he could wield magic again.
One week…
In a world that showed no mercy to the weak.
For the first time since his reincarnation, Leo was truly defenseless.
No magic.
And no trained body capable of compensating for its absence.
Yet waiting was a luxury he could not afford.
Time was running short, and his current body would not endure much longer without aid. Thus, he made his decision—to head toward a destination fraught with danger:
The Elven Forest, in search of the roots of the World Tree required to create the elixir.
A mission bordering on suicide.
The first reason was simple: the elves revered the World Tree with absolute devotion. To them, it was the origin of their existence—the soul of their race itself. Even approaching it was considered sacrilege… let alone attempting to take part of its roots.
The second reason was far worse.
The elves' hatred toward humans.
In their eyes, humanity was nothing more than a greedy and destructive race—bringing war wherever it tread and consuming nature without restraint. A human entering their territory was less a traveler… and more a corpse awaiting judgment.
And yet… Leo did not hesitate.
To reach the Elven Forest, he would need to cross three cities in succession:
Lunaria, then Nektar, and finally Blumod.
Six days to reach Lunaria.
Three more toward Nektar.
Two days to Blumod.
And four additional days to the borders of the Elven Forest.
A long… perilous journey for a man who had lost his greatest weapon.
Leo set out toward Lunaria, avoiding attention whenever possible. But fate—as cruel as ever—had no intention of favoring him.
Along a deserted trade route, his path was intercepted by a caravan that was not truly commercial in nature.
Slave traders.
Before he could react or escape, a treacherous blow struck the back of his head. Darkness swallowed his vision, and consciousness faded into silence.
When awareness returned, the first thing he sensed was the stench of rot and dampness.
Cold restraints bound his wrists. Rough stone pressed against his body.
Slowly lifting his head, thunderous sounds reached his ears—
Cheers.
Shouting.
Bloodthirsty laughter.
As his focus sharpened, a booming voice pierced through the chaos:
"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the Annual Slave Combat Festival!"
Leo's eyes narrowed slightly.
The structure surrounding him resembled a massive coliseum, its stands overflowing with spectators who had gathered not to witness skill…
…but blood.
The announcer continued excitedly:
"Our first match! The Iron Fist who crushes all opposition—Zoror! Facing the Deadly Scorpion—Dauzin!"
The crowd erupted into madness.
Inside the arena stood two men condemned to death—yet to the audience, they were nothing more than entertainment.
The battle ended quickly.
Dauzin was brutally crushed beneath Zoror's blows, and the stadium exploded with applause and celebration.
Some smiled.
Others placed bets.
Blood soaked the sand without meaning.
At that moment, as Leo was escorted toward the fighters' waiting area, he muttered inwardly with disgust:
"…How revolting."
Only then did Leo fully grasp the ugliness of humanity.
He perceived a darkness within mankind he had never truly understood—even in his previous life as Alovenus.
Not monsters.
Not demons.
But humans themselves.
Their ability to turn suffering into spectacle…
and agony into amusement.
He could describe it only as disgusting.
It was not long before his turn arrived.
A rack of weapons was placed before him.
He examined them silently… before selecting a medium-length sword.
Balanced.
Simple.
Sufficient.
He was led into the arena amid waves of ridicule and mocking laughter.
A child?
This was the next fighter?
The announcer's voice roared once more:
"And now! Our undefeated star—the master of twin daggers… Adolaf!
And opposing him… a newly captured slave ready for slaughter… powerless… Leo!"
Laughter exploded throughout the stands.
"He's finished!"
"He won't last a second!"
But Leo heard none of it.
His gaze remained fixed solely upon his opponent.
His mind began to move.
Analyzing stance.
Weight distribution.
Breathing rhythm.
Muscle tension before motion.
His analytical ability reached a terrifying extreme—
as though incoming possibilities unfolded before they occurred…
as if the near future itself briefly revealed its shape to him.
The referee struck the bell.
Adolaf lunged forward with lethal speed.
The audience held its breath, awaiting the inevitable end.
But—
In the next instant…
The man stopped.
Thin lines of blood suddenly appeared across his body.
Confusion spread through the crowd.
When did that happen?
Leo moved with precise steps, evading every attack before it fully began—as though his opponent were an open book laid bare before him.
Adolaf roared in fury.
"You bastard! Stop your tricks!"
He charged wildly.
One step.
A flash of steel.
Then—
He fell.
Unconscious before even realizing his defeat.
Silence descended.
A heavy silence the coliseum had not known in years.
A defenseless child…
had defeated one of the arena's stars.
And for the first time…
the crowd did not know how to cheer.