Chapter 115

Chapter 115
Chapter: 115

Chapter Title: Judgment of Atala (18)

—

Yubik, the self-proclaimed King of the Arena, was convinced his mind was failing him.

The conclusion was logical. He was grappling with the shock of unprecedented physical agony and a massive loss of blood. What he was witnessing simply defied the laws of reality. Trembling, he tried to steady his shattered nerves by swigging from his flask of potent spirits.

Yet, the impossible sight persisted.

With a rhythmic metallic clatter, a relentless stream of gold bullion and coins cascaded into a pouch that seemed no larger than a rodent’s skull.

‘This is madness… it’s a trick… it has to be…’

Initially, he assumed the container was merely deceptive in its dimensions. But as the seconds ticked by, that theory crumbled. A massive hoard of wealth shriveled by a third, then a half, until nearly the entire pile had been swallowed—yet the small bag never bulged or showed the slightest sign of reaching capacity.

“What… what is this devilry? Did you cut a hole in the bottom? Lift it up! Show me!”

Responding with a casual shrug, Kadim hoisted the satchel. The stone floor beneath was perfectly solid. Without a word, the barbarian and the merchant went back to their work, shoveling the remaining riches into the void.

It wasn’t a trick of the light, nor was it a simple hole. It was a blatant, magical robbery. Yubik screamed until his voice cracked, cursing them, demanding to know what spectral force inhabited the bag to consume so much wealth.

Kadim acted as if the man were invisible, letting the vitriol roll off him. Only after a significant time did he pause, his brow furrowing with feigned concern.

“This is quite the dilemma.”

“What now? Has that demon-pouch finally reached its limit?”

“Far from it. We’ve barely reached the halfway point, but your gold has run dry. I suppose we’ll have to make up the difference with your gems and other trinkets.”

“…You what?!”

Disregarding his mangled state, Yubik lunged forward like a crazed beast, his mouth flecked with foam.

The outburst was short-lived. Kadim stepped into his path, his expression turning cold as he placed a heavy hand on the man’s shoulder.

“We had a contract, did we not? You agreed to fill this bag with gold. Everything is proceeding as planned, so why the hysterics?”

“No… you thieving dogs!! You didn’t mention the bag was a bottomless abyss… Grah… and besides! We said gold! You have no right to touch my other treasures… Nngh…”

“A fair point. I suppose the fault lies with you for being so poor in gold. If the bag remains empty, you’ll be the one defaulting on our agreement…”

“…?”

“Stay put. I’ll head back up and collect some more ‘gold’ from your other holdings.”

“…!!!”

Faced with the prospect of further “collection,” the Arena King was forced to concede, allowing his other assets to be tossed into the maw.

Ultimately, the ‘Inventory’ vacuumed up every scrap of value within the vault. As Yubik stared at the bare stone where his empire once sat, a broken, hysterical sound escaped his lips.

“Kuhaha… ha… heh… heh…”

The bag still had room to spare. Scanning the neighboring storage area, Kadim noticed bundles of parchment—the contracts for every slave in the estate. He stuffed those in as well, and only then did the pouch appear satisfied.

The weight of the bag was now like a mountain, but Kadim’s spirit felt unburdened. He gave a dismissive wave as he prepared to depart.

“I appreciate your honesty. Here—take this as a gratuity. Buy yourself a drink on me.”

A small object skipped across the floor, ringing out against a discarded bottle.

Clink, clink—tink!

A solitary 100-luden silver piece. It was the sum total of his remaining net worth.

Yubik stared at the coin until something inside him finally snapped. He slumped there, his dignity vanishing as he lost control of his bladder.

“Heh… hehehe… kuhhehehe…”

In that moment, Yubik Agrámendus—the titan known to the world as the Arena King—was erased. His stadium, his private army, his human property, and his vast fortune were gone. He was left a hollow shell in an empty room.

◇◇◇◆◇◇◇

Walking away from the raided vault.

While Kadim remained stoic, Duncan was a nervous wreck. He kept peering over his shoulder, his voice a frantic whisper.

“M-my lord… I know I’m the one who suggested this, but seeing him destroyed like that… it’s haunting. The arena is in ruins, his income is dead… shouldn’t we have left him a few coins to survive on?”

Kadim didn’t soften his tone.

“Don’t waste your pity. I told you before: this is the price of his sins. The lesson only sticks if you take every last copper. Besides, you heard him—he intended to use any leftover scrap to put a price on our heads.”

“B-but this haul… do I truly have a right to any of it? I just provided the information—you did the heavy lifting…”

“Information is the most valuable currency of all. I gave you my word you’d have enough to live in luxury forever. Your dream is within reach; why the long face?”

“I’m grateful, truly, but… it feels overwhelming. Living off the spoils of such a man feels… heavy on the soul…”

Kadim stopped and looked down at the merchant. Duncan went silent, fearing he had pushed too far. Kadim wasn’t angry; he was simply amused by the man’s internal conflict—the greed battling a lingering conscience.

That guilt, however, was proof that Duncan wasn’t entirely lost to the world. Kadim had already formulated a plan for the excess.

“You’re right—it’s too much for a single man to manage. And frankly, it’s a burden to transport.”

Thud—!

The ‘Inventory’ hit the ground with enough force to make the stone tremble. It took the might of a barbarian to even shift it; a normal man would have been pinned beneath it.

Duncan turned white at the implication of carrying it, but Kadim merely rolled his shoulders and gave an order.

“Gather all the slaves from the grounds. Tell them to bring every sack and crate they can find.”

“…Sir?”

“We’re going to put this ‘loot’ to its proper use.”

Kadim produced the thick stack of slave contracts, fanning them out like a deck of cards.

◇◇◇◆◇◇◇

A parching wind swept across the landscape, drawing moisture from the skin.

In the desolate flats beyond the borders of Agon, there was nothing to break the force of the sandstorms. Despite the grit, not one of the three hundred Atalan soldiers in the line so much as winced.

“There is a truth I must share with you all…”

Goltaran stood before the ‘Indomitable Legion’ and laid bare the deception.

I am not the Great Warrior of legend… I am not the Horn of Agon, nor the savior of the tribes… I am not a mythic champion—I am the one who tore the arena to the ground… I am an exile from the city, stripped of support from the elders, and I have no artifacts or magic to offer you…

I am a man of no standing.

“…Because of this, any man who wishes to turn back may do so without shame.”

“…”

The initial response was a heavy, suffocating silence.

Then, ripples of movement broke the ranks. A low hum of voices grew into a roar of discussion. Goltaran closed his eyes, bracing himself for the inevitable betrayal and anger.

But the first voice to break through the din wasn’t that of a disgruntled soldier; it was the high-pitched cry of a child.

“N-no! Wait! L-Lord Goltaran! You aren’t a nobody!”

“…?”

“You’re a hero! You saved me… if you hadn’t stepped in… if it wasn’t for you… I would have been… I wouldn’t be here! *Gasp, huff…*”

The small girl ran forward, nearly tripping over her own feet in her haste, her chest heaving with exertion. Goltaran stared at her, stunned.

“You…? How did you get here?”

It was the child he had rescued from the arena’s blood-soaked sands.

She wasn’t alone. In the distance, a massive group of hundreds was approaching. They were the Atalan slaves of Yubik’s household, the very people Goltaran had dreamed of liberating.

Leading the column was a figure that commanded immediate respect.

The Demon Slayer, Kadim.

Kadim walked through the rows of armored warriors, ignoring their glares and drawn blades, until he stood before the chieftain. Goltaran’s mind was a whirlwind of confusion.

Before the barbarian could speak, Kadim broke the silence.

“I’m here to drop off some baggage.”

“…Excuse me?”

“You can’t expect to fight demons with a crowd like this following you. They’re your people; take charge of them. With your numbers, you should be able to manage.”

The explanation was characteristically brief.

Goltaran struggled to find words. He eventually asked how Kadim had managed to secure their release. The response was simple: it was his prize for the championship, and the legal bonds had already been reduced to ash.

Goltaran let out a faint, disbelieving laugh. It was poetic; Yubik had technically followed the script of their lie, even if the reality had ruined him.

Granting these people their freedom was the one goal Goltaran had valued above his own life. He felt he owed Kadim an eternity of gratitude.

Yet, his practical mind recoiled at the logistics.

“I am honored, but I cannot accept this responsibility. I have no home to give them—I am a marked man in Agon, a fugitive with no path forward.”

“Go to Delutana. Seek out Enrico Turis.”

Kadim handed him a sealed document. Goltaran looked at it, puzzled.

“…What is this?”

“A travel permit for the Golden Highway. Once he sees my mark, he’ll understand. He’s a high-ranking representative there—we have a history, and he knows your men are worth more than any mercenary company.”

“…”

With a single gesture, the problems of sanctuary and movement were solved. But one hurdle remained: the loyalty of his men and the cost of feeding such a multitude.

As if by design, those obstacles crumbled as well.

“He speaks the truth. Chieftain… Lord Goltaran… title or no title, you are our leader. You took us from the cages of the arena and gave us back our pride and a reason to fight.”

“Exactly! If not for you, the world would still see us as nothing more than beasts for entertainment!”

A handful of men walked away, unable to accept the loss of the legend, but the vast majority didn’t move. In their eyes, Goltaran was the only commander they would ever follow.

A lone warrior raised his fist, and a thunderous cry followed.

“Glory to Atala! Glory to our Chieftain who remains!”

“Glory to Atala! Glory to our Chieftain!”

The roar was like a physical blow, shaking the air. They beat their breastplates in a unified rhythm. Goltaran bowed his head, his jaw tight as he fought back the surge of pride and relief.

Kadim, observing the scene with a detached eye, signaled for the porters to bring forward their heavy packs.

“Don’t worry about the coin. Consider this a payment for taking these people off my hands.”

As the crates were opened, Goltaran’s eyes widened.

Gold bars, silver bricks, and precious stones spilled out—a fortune far exceeding any “fee.” Before he could protest the origin of the wealth, Kadim explained it was recovered from Yubik’s stores, ending with a stern caveat.

“This isn’t a gift. Use half to sustain your people. The other half must be kept under heavy guard. It belongs to the silent partner.”

Kadim pointed his finger toward a specific individual.

The merchant, Duncan, who had once stood against Goltaran with surprising ferocity.

Goltaran’s face turned stony as he marched toward the man.

Duncan went rigid, his mind spiraling through terrifying scenarios: Was he about to be executed? Was this revenge for the previous conflict? Did the barbarian know about the threats he’d made?

Instead, Goltaran dropped to one knee with a heavy thud.

“In the name of the ancestors, I give you my oath. I will protect your wealth with my life. Should any man try to steal it, I will take his eyes. Should any hand touch it, I will sever it.”

“Uh… wait, what?”

Duncan, trembling, stammered out that such extremes weren’t necessary, but Goltaran wasn’t finished.

“And I offer my deepest apologies for my earlier judgment. You were correct. I was a pretender, and he is the true Gre—”

A massive hand clamped over his mouth, cutting him off. Kadim’s eyes were cold and warning.

He tilted his head toward the troops. The message was clear: if the rank and file learned the full truth, the morale of the legion might break. The secret of the Great Warrior had to stay buried.

Goltaran understood immediately. Even if they were loyal to him, their fervor was fueled by the myth. He nodded, signaling his compliance.

Regardless of the title, Kadim was the man who had saved his people and funded their future.

Following their leader’s example, every warrior knelt, striking their chests in salute. The freed slaves threw themselves to the ground in reverence. The empty wasteland was suddenly a sea of people honoring a single man.

“Glory to the Demon Slayer!”

“May the ancestors guard the path of our brother!”

“Praise to the liberator of the tribes!”

“…”

Without acknowledging the praise, Kadim turned his back. Duncan, looking overwhelmed and awkward, scrambled to keep up. Even as the two figures became small dots in the shimmering heat of the desert, the crowd remained on their knees.

It was the law of the Atalan people: a debt of life is written in bone, never to be erased, even if the savior walks away.

Only after the travelers had vanished did the group begin to rise. However, Goltaran noticed the young girl was still standing, looking troubled.

“What is it, little one? Is something wrong?”

“…”

The girl he had saved remained silent for a moment. She hadn’t knelt with the others. Finally, she whispered her fear.

“Lord Goltaran, I have to tell you… I saw him… with the black axe. What if… what if he stole it from you?”

Goltaran looked into her wide eyes and let out a deep, booming laugh. He reached down and ruffled her hair.

“Since you told me a secret, I’ll tell you one. The truth is… it’s the other way around. That weapon always belonged to him. I was merely holding it while the master was away. It has finally returned to the hand it was forged for.”

Her jaw dropped. She realized the weight of what that meant.

“But Lord Goltaran… he’s so… frightening. Back at the manor, he killed the guards… even the ones who gave up. It was terrifying. I’m happy to be free, but… it’s hard to think a man that scary could be a hero…”

Goltaran looked up at the burning sun.

It was still high in the sky, the peak of day. But he knew the cycle—eventually, the shadows would stretch and the night would fall. A cold, dangerous night that required a different kind of protector.

“…The peace most people enjoy is bought with the blood and sweat of others. To stand in the darkness, to hunt the monsters so others can sleep—that is his path. If he hadn’t broken those mercenaries, they would be hunting us right now, wouldn’t they?”

“…”

“We shouldn’t fear him; we should honor him. His violence is the shield that guards us. The blood he sheds today is the water that will allow a new world to grow.”

The child lowered her head, though the fear didn’t entirely vanish. Goltaran searched for a way to make her understand.

Then, he noticed a flash of color in the dirt.

A vibrant shade that didn’t belong in the gray wasteland.

“Look. The signs of that new world are already here.”

“…!”

The girl saw it too. She gasped, her eyes lighting up.

“Are those… are those growing because of him?”

“Yes. A witch once cursed this land out of spite… and he delivered judgment upon her.”

“…”

Goltaran felt a sad smile touch his lips. The girl’s eyes were now bright with wonder.

The sun beat down with a ferocity meant to kill anything that dared to live. But the small green shoots—having broken through the cracked, dry earth—didn’t wither. They swayed in the hot wind, resilient and stubborn, defying the heat.

In a summer defined by the blood of the fallen.

Life was finally returning to the long-dead soil of Agon.