Chapter 273: v3 - 34: a gamble I

Chapter 273: v3 Chapter 34: a gamble I

The match was over.

The roar of the Arena continued long after Cassian lowered his sword.

The attendants entered the fighting ground almost immediately.

One took Cassian by the arm.

Another moved toward Marcus.

Cassian allowed himself to be led away.

Only after he passed through the gate did the exhaustion truly reach him.

His legs felt heavy.

His side burned.

His forearm throbbed.

But he was still standing.

He had won.

The other Arena fighters were already being gathered in the preparation area.

Alex had returned first.

Gary was being examined by one of the medical attendants.

Harry sat against the wall while someone wrapped his injured leg.

Robert was pacing nearby, still energized despite his own wounds.

The moment he saw Cassian, he turned.

"Carlo."

Cassian looked at him.

Robert stared.

"Where did you learn that?"

Cassian frowned.

"Learn what?"

"That."

Robert gestured toward the Arena.

"The way you were fighting at the end."

Cassian said nothing.

Robert stepped closer.

"I’ve never seen you fight like that."

He paused.

"Actually..."

His expression shifted.

"I think I’ve seen something like it before."

Cassian’s eyes sharpened.

"Where?"

Robert shook his head.

"I don’t remember. I was young."

He studied Cassian for another moment.

"But whatever it was, you were hiding it."

"I learned a few things before I came here."

Robert let out a disbelieving laugh.

"A few things?"

Cassian ignored him.

A medical attendant approached and ordered him to sit.

Cassian obeyed.

His wounds were cleaned and bandaged.

Around him, the others were receiving similar treatment.

For once, there was no hurry.

No order to return to the fighting rotation.

No next match waiting for them.

An Arena official entered the preparation area.

"You will all be given three days of rest."

Robert looked up.

"Three days?"

"Three days. No regular matches, no training obligations, and no challenges during that period."

Robert’s expression brightened.

"Now that’s a reward."

"It is," the official replied. "You earned it."

The official looked over the five fighters.

"Use the time to recover. Your next assignments will be given afterward."

He left.

Robert leaned back with a satisfied sigh.

Cassian said nothing.

Three days.

It wasn’t much.

But after the fight he had just endured, it was enough.

The victory had changed something.

The crowd had seen it.

The patrons had seen it.

Money had changed hands.

The five Arena fighters had won the event three matches to two.

And Cassian had won the final match.

Yet Cassian barely thought about the victory.

His mind remained on the man he had just fought.

And on the person powerful enough to send him.

He had taken a gamble.

He still didn’t know where it would lead.

--

The challengers had their own quarters.

The room was silent when Lorenz entered.

All five men were already there.

No one looked at him.

They were ashamed.

They had come to the Arena as trained professionals.

Every man in the room had spent years learning how to fight.

They had expected to test five Arena fighters.

Instead, they had lost.

Three victories to two.

George’s defeat had been the most avoidable.

He had underestimated Alex from the beginning, treating the fight as a test rather than a serious contest.

Alex had punished him for it.

Ben had defeated Gary.

But it had been far from an easy victory.

Gary had refused to surrender even after the fight had clearly turned against him. He had continued until Ben was forced to knock him unconscious.

Gene had defeated Robert.

Robert had been fast, unpredictable, and far more difficult to contain than Gene had expected.

Then there was Alan.

He had lost to Harry.

Harry had fought without hesitation, using methods that were less than clean when the opportunity presented itself.

But a loss was a loss.

On a battlefield, no one could expect an opponent to fight fairly.

Survival was the only rule that mattered.

And Harry had survived.

Then there was Marcus.

No one needed to explain what had happened.

He had lost.

There had been no trick.

No dirty tactic.

No mistake that could conveniently explain the result.

He had fought Carlo seriously.

And Carlo had beaten him.

The strongest fighter among them.

The Crown Prince’s personal guard.

His most trusted shield.

For several seconds, Lorenz said nothing.

Neither did the others.

Finally, one of the guards spoke.

"We failed you, Your Highness."

Lorenz looked at him.

"You lost."

The man lowered his head.

"Yes."

"Those aren’t the same thing."

The guard looked up.

Lorenz’s expression remained calm.

"You came here to test them. You found out what they could do."

His gaze moved across the room.

"And apparently, we learned something about ourselves too."

No one answered.

Marcus remained standing apart from the others.

Lorenz looked at him.

"You all watched the final fight."

"Yes."

"And?"

Marcus was silent for a moment.

Then he spoke.

"That stance."

Lorenz’s expression changed slightly.

Marcus continued.

"There’s no doubt."

George looked toward him.

"It’s Imperial."

The room went quiet.

Lorenz’s eyes narrowed.

"You’re certain?"

"Yes."

Ben nodded.

"I recognized it too."

"So did I," Gene said.

Marcus looked toward the floor.

"The way he changed his footing. The angle of the blade. The transitions between guard and attack."

He paused.

"That wasn’t something he learned here."

Lorenz folded his arms.

"So he is skilled enough to be someone important from the Empire, perhaps?"

"Perhaps."

Lorenz’s gaze remained fixed ahead.

"Then the question we should be asking isn’t who he is."

He paused.

"Why is he here?"

No one answered.

That was the problem.

If Carlo truly came from the Empire, and possessed swordsmanship of this level, then why was he fighting in a Milician Arena?

A man capable of fighting Marcus on nearly equal terms should not have ended up here without a reason.

Marcus glanced toward the floor.

"His records give us nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing. Only the name he was registered under and the record of his purchase into the Arena."

Lorenz was silent.

That made the matter stranger.

A foreigner with Imperial swordsmanship.

A fighter skilled enough to defeat Marcus.

And yet, no history worth finding.

Then there was the fight itself.

"He knew we were watching," Lorenz said.

Marcus looked at him.

"You think he showed it deliberately?"

"I think he made a choice."

The room fell silent again.

It had not been a death match.

The man had not needed to reveal everything simply to survive.

He had chosen to show them what he could do.

Which meant he had known that being noticed might be worth the risk.

Lorenz’s gaze sharpened.

"Then we need to understand why."

Marcus nodded.

"Agreed."

Lorenz looked toward the other four men.

"And the others?"

"We’ll assess them as well."

Lorenz nodded.

"But Carlo first."

No one disagreed.

They had come to the Arena looking for men capable of serving the Crown Prince.

They had found several.

But Carlo was different.

Not simply because of his skill.

Because none of it made sense.

And until they understood why a man who fought like an Imperial had ended up in a Milician Arena, they couldn’t know what they had actually found.

–

Tbc