Before I entered the circular stadium, an unfamiliar old woman asked me a question.

"Fighter, what name will you use in the Arena?"

The question came rather out of nowhere. Seeing my puzzlement, she added,

"You don't know much about this place, do you? No one uses their real name in the Arena. Everyone takes a new name to signify that they've cast aside everything from the outside world and exist here solely as fighters."

A new name.

At her words, a few names briefly came to mind. Strong, impressive names, elegant words that often appeared in the songs bards sang, or stylish expressions from foreign languages.

"Is that so?"

But in the end, there was only one name I chose.

A name that had vanished from history, yet had supposedly belonged to someone greater and stronger than anyone else—a swordsman once praised by all. A name Father had repeated until I was sick of hearing it, ever since I was little.

When I spoke that name, the old woman furrowed her brow.

"Is that the hero of some chivalric novel? I've never heard that word before."

I only grinned at her question, looking at my master floating in the air.

For some reason, he wore a curious expression.

The old woman murmured,

"Liam... What an unusual alias."

In that moment, the boy Arhan disappeared.

In his place stood a new gladiator: Liam.

* * *

No one looked forward to matches between Bronze Medal holders.

When several major, exciting matches were scheduled, Bronze matches were slotted in as breaks between them. They were also often used to fill time when the main event was delayed.

「They all look bored.」

I had known that already, but hearing about something and experiencing it firsthand were entirely different. I read the expressions of the spectators seated above the vast circular arena.

Boredom, irritation, deep sighs, a little anger.

Many hurled insults and jeers, demanding that they skip this worthless match and hurry up with the gladiators they wanted to see.

"Booo!"

Instead of enthusiastic cheers, applause, and roars, there were jeers and insults.

Such was the misery of a fighter from whom no one expected anything.

I looked at the sand covering the broad circular arena, the dust rising from it, and the wavering figures of countless spectators beyond that dust. Evening had turned the sky black, and soft moonlight and starlight fell in place of dazzling sunshine.

「This is how the weak are treated in the Iron Kingdom. This is a land governed by strength.」

I pulled on the thick, rusty helmet provided for fighters.

This was an Arena tradition carried over from its days as the fighting pit. Fighters covered their faces so that they could exist solely as fighters.

「They still use the same damn worn-out helmets.」

The helmet squeezed my head and smelled musty. It was tolerably confining.

Its heavy weight bore down on my neck as well. I turned my head from side to side to adjust to the weight, then adapted to my newly restricted field of vision.

Once those necessary preparations were complete, I drew Needle from my waist.

The long, slender blade had become familiar by now. The moment I took hold of its hilt, my heartbeat quietly settled. Over the steady rhythm of that heart, another began to beat slowly. My 「mana heart」 was preparing for the approaching battle.

「Young descendant.」

"Yes?"

「Now that you've put my name on the line, you must not suffer a single defeat.」

Liam's words seemed to ease my tension a little.

"That's my intention."

I didn't feel miserable about this situation, where no one expected anything of me.

If anything, it felt familiar.

It had always been this way.

["Arhan, at least you must escape. Go far away from here. Son, please..."]

No one had expected anything of me.

["Blame your family. I never imagined the 「Caravans」 were still living on this continent."]

My hated enemy had dismissed me.

After taking everything from me before my very eyes, he had left me alive. Then he had uttered those horrible words, telling me to blame my family.

["Young master, you must forget. It's the only way you can live."]

The butler, my nanny, Mother—everyone had told me to flee.

They said I had to forget that terrible event. That I could only live as a human being if I treated it as though it had never happened. No one expected anything of me. They regarded my revenge as nothing more than a young boy's foolish fantasy.

That was why being dismissed, with no one expecting anything of me, was all too familiar.

Was that why?

"The newcomer, Gladiator Liam! His opponent is the giant of a man, Temer, currently on a three-match winning streak!"

A flicker of desire rose in my heart.

"We will now begin this duel between our fledgling fighters!"

For me, the one no one expected anything of, to become in an instant the shining star of this circular arena, drawing everyone's eyes and cheers.

"This sacred duel shall be dedicated to the goddess Lepri, guardian of justice!"

* * *

The fighter who would be my first opponent in my debut match was called Temer.

As the description "giant of a man" attached to his name suggested, he was enormous. When I first saw him, he reminded me of a bear I had seen as a child.

And how did I compare? A slight build even beside an ordinary man, a feminine frame, and a short stature. Even the weapon in my hand differed starkly from Temer's.

Temer held a greatsword that looked capable of smashing anything, while I carried a slender blade better called a needle than a sword. To the spectators, the outcome must have seemed settled already.

Our visible physiques and the weapons we carried stood in sharp contrast. Perhaps, to the crowd, this looked less like a Combat Duel between gladiators and more like one of the Wild Duels between a human and a beast.

"Liam? What a shitty name, kid."

Truthfully, it looked much the same to me. Temer approached with heavy footsteps, looking more like an ogre than a human. He bared yellow teeth in a savage grin.

"I'll make you an offer."

"..."

"Put aside that ridiculous sword and helmet, then dance to my clapping. If you do, I'll be generous enough to spare your life."

It was blatant mockery.

I spoke in a low voice.

"I heard there's an unwritten rule in Arena matches these days that fighters don't kill each other."

"It is an unwritten rule. But me? I've killed all three fighters I've defeated so far. Snapped their necks myself, with my bare hands."

Madness gleamed in Temer's eyes, visible through his helmet.

"An unwritten rule isn't an absolute law, kid. In the Zernia Mountains, where I was born and raised, the rule was that any man who lost a duel had to die. Surviving a defeat was considered a disgrace."

"..."

"But you look so pathetic that snapping your neck wouldn't even be entertaining. So give me some amusement instead. Sway that girlish body of yours. At least give me and the crowd something to laugh at."

From Temer's words, I picked out the clue that he was a barbarian raised in the mountains.

The Zernia Mountains. Probably one of the mountain ranges in the northern Iron Kingdom.

With that small clue, suspicion began its work.

First, I examined how Temer's muscles were built.

'That's not a body shaped by systematic training.'

His muscles bulged like a wild animal's, but they weren't properly balanced. They were muscles that had developed naturally through a harsh life. He looked huge because he was born with a large frame; the structure of his muscles was less impressive than I had expected. In other words, they weren't the armor-like muscles of true northern barbarian warriors, too tough for my sword to pierce.

'I don't have to target only vital areas where the muscles are weak. Wherever I stab, I can make a hole exactly as I please.'

The human body was not perfect.

Its complex parts moved in concert, supporting one another, but a single hole in one part could bring the whole thing crashing down. I had discovered that Temer's body was far less formidable than it looked.

But my suspicion did not stop.

'Why provoke me like that? Did he really think fighting me wouldn't be interesting? Impossible. There's a reason behind every human word and action.'

I focused on the intent behind Temer's offer to spare me if I gave up the fight, and on the fact that he had already fought three matches. No matter how I looked at him, this savage man had not reached a superhuman level. And anyone who wasn't superhuman was bound to take damage even in minor fights. Accumulated damage made the body harder to move.

That was what it meant to be human.

As my suspicions built on one another, I succeeded in dismantling the blustering shell Temer had wrapped around himself. Behind that shell was a big idiot, exhausted and injured somewhere after three duels.

Then what did I need to do?

Find his weakness.

And bite into it relentlessly. Focus everything on it.

I didn't care if anyone called it cowardly.

"I have an offer of my own."

Anyone could see that I was the weaker one.

Perhaps that wasn't a prejudice, but the truth.

Even I didn't think I was strong.

"Take back what you said about Liam, my name, being shitty."

That was why I would fight as the weaker one.

I was not a knight.

What mattered most wasn't the process—how I won—but the result: whether I won or lost. That was my sword, the weapon I possessed.

"Then I'll let you die peacefully, without suffering."

I deliberately played the part of an immature young nobleman with no skill. A boy trembling as he stubbornly lashed out over his wounded pride. Sure enough, Temer seemed to fall for it. He snorted and glanced toward the crowd to gauge their reaction.

And then—

"Hah, this little b—"

I did not let that opening slip away.

"Gaargh—"

My hand shot out without warning, and Needle pierced its target.

Drops of blood spattered.

"Aaaagh!"

Two fingers from the hand holding Temer's greatsword fell away with soft thuds. His face twisted as he groaned in pain, and the greatsword in his grip wavered. It was already a huge, unwieldy sword. There was no way he could hold it properly with three fingers.

"Y-you fucking brat—"

I saw blue air ripple around Temer. His speech and behavior resembled those of the unwelcome visitors who had come to my village, but he was different. He had let his guard down and suffered my surprise attack, yet this man was an experienced fighter who had won three duels. He was also a 「sword beginner」.

Instead of closing in on Temer as he hastily took his stance, I did something else. With my balanced lead foot, I kicked up the sand. Sand flew, raising a pale cloud of dust, and I heard Temer coughing and choking.

At that moment, I focused.

"Ugh, y-you, I'll t-tear you to pieces, I—"

Beyond the dust, Temer's balance wavered strangely. Where was that breakdown in balance coming from? Each time his right foot touched the ground, I saw his right knee wobble and his ankle tremble. The information my suspicion had uncovered was correct. Temer was injured. His right leg.

The instant I discovered it, I moved relentlessly in that direction, forcing him to fight with his weight on his damaged right leg.

I had no intention of fighting head-on against an opponent whose physical capabilities overwhelmingly surpassed mine. I intended to wear down his stamina with repeated thrusts of my long, slender Needle.

I would not let my guard down.

I was the weaker one.

If I let even one attack land, my body would break.

I was no different from this long, slender blade.

"Aaargh, aaaaaagh!"

Temer's greatsword grew slower and slower.

His right leg was now visibly shaking, and he was clearly struggling for breath. The savage man's face was drenched in sweat. With his breathing disrupted, the amount of Mana his 「mana heart」 absorbed had also dropped sharply.

"Y-you sneaky, dishonorable—!"

"I'll say it again. Take back what you said about my name being shitty."

Temer glared at me with wide eyes.

Instead of thrusting Needle forward, I stood still with its tip aimed at him, occasionally circling it toward his fingers or his right knee.

This standoff was overwhelmingly in my favor.

Temer's weapon was a greatsword, he was bleeding, and his injuries drained his stamina even as he merely stood there. My sword, on the other hand, was very light. I hadn't bled at all, and by keeping my movements to a minimum, I still had plenty of stamina left.

As we faced each other in dreadful silence, Temer spoke.

"... T-take it back. I'll take it back. So, now—"

The strength had left his voice.

His will to fight was gone. The moment I sensed it, the fully digested memories of the swordswoman stirred within me. A mercenary's method for making certain of killing a cornered enemy.

Then my lips parted.

"I'll make you another offer."

The corners of my mouth twisted into a cruel smile. A mocking one.

"Put aside that ridiculous sword and helmet, then dance to my clapping. If you do, I'll be generous enough to spare your life."

Those were the words Temer had said to me earlier.

"Y-you...!"

Temer's face turned scarlet, and his wide eyes grew bloodshot. He opened his mouth wide and let out a savage cry, looking ready to charge at any moment.

I raised my lead foot as though preparing a kick—not at Temer, but at the sand.

"...!"

The instant he saw that stance, Temer instinctively leaned his upper body back. He still remembered being hit by the sand. At the same time, he squeezed his eyes shut, if only briefly.

That ended the fight.

"Hup—!"

Needle shot out like lightning and pierced Temer's right leg. It did not end with a single thrust. Like stitching with thread, I made several passes in an instant. With faint snapping sounds, the muscles and nerves supporting his right leg were severed. His leg lost its strength, and his body tipped backward.

"Aaagh, aaaaaagh!"

Temer frantically swung the greatsword in his hand.

But there was no weight behind it, nor enough force. It was a sloppy attack delivered from a broken stance. Watching that ruined sword strike, I did not dodge this time. Instead, I drew a deep breath.

My heart of steel beat heavily.

"Hoo..."

The Mana around me surged and churned. The moment I breathed, abundant power filled me. With it, I thrust Needle straight into the path of Temer's swinging sword.

CLANG!

Needle violently knocked Temer's sword aside.

I kicked Temer in the chest, sending his already backward-leaning body flat onto the ground.

THUD!

The huge man collapsed helplessly onto the dirt.

I stood with my foot planted on the fallen Temer's chest and Needle's tip aimed at his neck. Then, instead of thrusting it forward, I looked toward the stands.

I was asking them a question.

Should he live or die?

"Uh..."

Silence settled over the entire circular stadium, the 「Arena」.

There were no jeers. One spectator shouted,

"Fuck, good thing I bet on the little one! I won ten times my money!"

That shout set off the cheering.

"Liam! Liam! Liam!"

For a very brief moment, I became the star who held the arena crowd's attention. A shabby figure from whom no one expected anything had defied their predictions and proved himself.

Hearing their cheers, I felt happy, yet bitter at the same time.

'... I'd wanted this back then, too.'

When I had bought a crossbow and gone to take revenge on a swordmaster, I had hoped to kill him through my own exploits and save the people precious to me myself. It was exactly the sort of idea an adolescent boy would have. Reality had been cruel, and I had lost everything without saving a single thing.

'Ah.'

Among the faces of the cheering spectators, I saw an illusion. The villagers who were already dead, Mother and Father, the butler and nanny who had left. An illusion of them honoring me as a hero, saying they were proud of me and shedding tears of joy.

It was nothing but a stupid fantasy.

They were all dead, and I had failed to take revenge even with my enemy right in front of me.

"..."

That was why I had to become strong.

More precisely, I had no choice but to become strong.

"The Little Gladiator, Liam!"

The Little Gladiator.

That was the first nickname I earned in the 「Arena」.

* * *

Over the next two days, I fought three more matches. That meant I had dueled no fewer than four times in three days, but it posed no problem. I fought with extreme efficiency, and although the battles did not end immediately, I defeated my opponents without any significant injuries.

It was thanks to my suspicion, which would not tolerate even the smallest variable.

Little by little, I was beginning to understand what Liam had meant when he called suspicion a talent.

In any case, after returning with four victories, I was about to fill out the application for my fifth match when the receptionist spoke to me.

"You're the Little Gladiator, correct?"

"Yes."

"We at the Arena have decided that a Bronze Medal no longer suits you."

The receptionist spoke with the same friendly smile as always.

"An opportunity to wear a silver medal has come up. Would you happen to be interested?"