Chapter 123: ¹²³The Price Of A Lesson
The double-bladed battleaxe sliced through the air, its deafening screech whistling with death.
Tens of thousands of spectators in the grandstands held their breath, awaiting the spill of fresh blood upon the Colosseum sand. This opponent handpicked by Prince Edward was no ordinary gladiator. The giant was an arena monster—holding an undefeated record of one hundred battles.
Yet beneath the lightning-fast shadow of death, Ethan Valen had yet to shift a single millimeter.
Only a fraction of a second before the steel blade split his skull did Ethan move. He merely shifted his shoulder slightly to the left. Exceedingly efficient. Incredibly composed. As if he were simply dodging raindrops from a leaky roof.
BAM!
The colossal axe struck the arena sand with insane force, enough to shatter solid marble. Reddish-brown sand spewed into the air, carving out a small crater where Ethan had stood just moments before.
"Hraaargh!" The giant roared in frustration, his hollow eyes widening wildly.
Without wasting a moment, he hauled his axe back and launched a horizontal cleave—a waist-high sweep meant to cut Ethan in two.
Ethan merely leaned back. The blade, caked with dried blood, whistled past him without even touching the hem of the youth’s dark coat.
Strike after strike poured forth. Diagonal. Vertical. Low sweeps. The gladiator raged like a typhoon in a sea of sand, yet the storm could never touch its target.
Ethan danced to a rhythm that was sickening to his opponent. Stepping aside, ducking narrowly, pivoting on his heels. His black boots left minimal prints on the sand, dodging every lethal swing with terrifying calm.
In the grandstands, the thundering cheers gradually died down.
Confusion crept in like a plague. Nobles who had placed their bets on the eastern youth’s death were now leaning forward, squinting in disbelief.
Prince Edward leaned over so far he nearly collided with the marble parapet. The veins on his forehead bulged, his jaw clenched tight to suppress his fury. Behind him, King Evander remained seated in his chair. His serene smile didn’t fade; if anything, it deepened with fine wrinkles of interest at the corners of his eyes.
Amidst the rising clouds of red dust, Ethan decided his silent performance was enough.
He hadn’t come merely to win. He had come to instill terror—so the noble dogs of the capital would learn he could snuff out their lives whenever he pleased.
"Is this all the strength you possess?" Ethan’s voice drifted flatly.
The gladiator roared even more viciously, feeling humiliated. He charged forward, slashing his axe diagonally.
Ethan stepped aside casually. The axe struck empty air, a mere two fingers’ breadth from his neck.
"Too slow," Ethan commented as cold as ice, his eyes staring blankly at the monster.
A counter-strike sliced upward, aiming to gouge Ethan’s chin. Once more, Ethan merely tilted his neck.
"Your force is indeed immense," Ethan said calmly. "But you swing it like a toddler holding a hammer for the first time."
The giant’s veins bulged. He spun his body, unleashing a lethal, spinning horizontal sweep. But before the axe could reach peak momentum, Ethan had already stepped into the gladiator’s blind spot.
"You only know how to swing..." Ethan whispered right in the giant’s ear. "...but you have no idea where to strike."
The gladiator froze. His swing stopped dead in midair.
His iron-plated chest heaved heavily. Sweat mixed with red sand dripped profusely from his temples. For the first time since being bought as a slave, those hollow eyes were filled with a singular, primal human emotion: absolute terror.
On the VIP balcony, Kaelia held her breath, her porcelain face pale as death. She wasn’t afraid of Ethan losing—she already knew what kind of monster the youth was. She was simply sickened by this Colosseum, by the tens of thousands of bloodthirsty eyes. Yet, seeing Ethan’s back dominating the arena without even bothering to draw a blade, a soothing sense of security rippled through her chest.
Beside her, Valera Voss rested her chin on the stone railing. A faint smirk carved itself onto the exotic knight’s face.
"Tch, how pitiful," Valera muttered sneeringly. "He has no idea who he’s dealing with."
Upon the sand, Ethan raised his right hand for the first time.
The Sin Mana that had been creeping beneath the sand instantly shot upward, gathering in his palm. The dark energy condensed, forming a small black-and-red sphere that throbbed in unison with the heartbeat of a demon. The arena’s temperature plummeted in an instant. The giant gladiator’s breath now billowed white steam.
His survival instincts screamed in horror. He took a step back, his trembling hands unconsciously releasing the hilt of his battleaxe. Thud.
"You’ve seen how I dodge," Ethan spoke calmly, like a teacher dictating a lesson to a student. "Now... observe this."
Ethan took a single step. Slow, yet impossibly closing the distance between them in a fraction of a second.
His right palm shot forward, striking squarely at the center of the gladiator’s iron-clad chest.
There was no explosion. No thundering boom. Only a profound, suffocating silence.
The giant froze. His eyes bulged wide until his red veins nearly burst. His mouth hung open, yet not a single scream escaped. Beneath his chest, Ethan’s Sin Mana had penetrated the steel plate like smoke, reducing his heart and every vital organ tissue to ash within seconds.
Hundreds of kilograms of muscle and iron finally collapsed.
Crash!
The giant’s body slammed into the sand, kicking up clouds of reddish-brown dust into the air. Ethan slowly withdrew his hand. He stared at the corpse beneath his feet for two seconds, then turned around with an impassive face. As if he had merely flicked a dry leaf off his boots.
The Colosseum of Astrea froze. Tens of thousands of spectators were struck mute, their mouths agape.
Then, like a massive dam bursting, sound erupted. Not cheers or applause—it was a collective roar of mass panic and sheer terror.
"Huh?! W-What just happened?!" "He didn’t cast magic! He didn’t even use a spell!" "That’s not human... that’s a monster!"
Terror spread like wildfire. A silent, instantaneous death was far more terrifying to them than a bloody slaughter.
Prince Edward leaped to his feet. Crash! His wooden chair flipped backward, slamming onto the marble floor. His handsome face flushed deep red, the veins on his forehead practically bursting.
"The match isn’t over!" Edward screamed, his voice cracking as he pointed toward the arena. "He cheated! That eastern rat used forbidden magic! Guards! Seize him!"
Yet not a single Crown Knight moved. Their hands trembled against their sword hilts, paralyzed by the terror emanating from the giant corpse down below.
Far across from the Valois stands, Duke Alaric von Rosenberg stood rigid. His massive frame wrapped in a white bear-pelt cloak tensed up. His pale blue eyes stared intently at Ethan’s back. Before, he had seen the youth shatter Edward’s sword at Zenithar, but today... the horror Ethan displayed far exceeded anything he could measure.
At his side, Isolde lowered her head deeply. The Vice Principal of Zenithar hid her eyes behind her gold-rimmed spectacles, her hands tightly clutching her dark blue silk gown until her knuckles turned white. Beneath her porcelain back, the black rose root tattoo throbbed violently, responding to her Master’s absolute dominance. Isolde bit her lower lip hard, holding back a gasp from escaping so her husband wouldn’t suspect a thing.
Across the arena, Duke Reinhard von Ashford leaned back casually, sipping his red wine slowly. His golden-yellow eyes swept over the mass panic before settling back on Ethan.
"Hmm. Intriguing kid," Reinhard muttered with a slick politician’s smile. "He certainly knows how to drive the entire capital mad in a single day."
Ethan paid no heed to the chaos above. He strolled casually toward the stone stairs, heading straight for the VIP balcony where his group waited. The guards scrambled out of the way, parting like a divided sea.
The moment Ethan stepped onto the balcony, Kaelia rushed forward to meet him. Her golden eyes scanned Ethan from hair to boots.
"You... you didn’t even break a sweat," Kaelia whispered hoarsely, a mixture of awe and horror in her voice.
Valera snorted softly, gazing at the corpse down below with narrowed eyes. "I missed out on a good show. What a shame that gladiator didn’t realize he was challenging the abyss of hell."
Ethan gave no answer. His attention was captured by an authoritative baritone voice that sliced through the arena’s clamor.
"Enough!"
𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂
King Evander stood from his marble throne. He raised both hands—a slow movement, yet his absolute authority instantly silenced the entire Colosseum. Tens of thousands of mouths shut tight. Edward flinched, forced to turn toward his father without daring to object.
Evander stepped forward to the grandstand’s parapet. His blue eyes stared straight ahead, locking onto Ethan’s figure across the arena.
"People of Astrea," the King’s voice boomed across every corner of the amphitheater thanks to amplification magic. "Today, you stand witness to raw power. A power that requires no flashy movements or screams of rage to prove its dominance."
The King’s smile widened—a curve of the lips holding ancient darkness.
"Ethan Valen." The air grew taut as the name was called. "In honor of your worthiness... I officially invite you to my private banquet. At the highest tower of Veylor Castle."
The entire arena held its breath.
A private banquet in the highest tower? That was no ordinary noble feast. It was a privilege that even most Lifelong Nobles would never experience. Edward’s jaw dropped, his face as white as chalk. He stared at his father as if the man had turned into a monster. In another grandstand, Alaric and Reinhard exchanged sharp glances, their minds racing to solve what insane game the King was playing.
Ethan met that gaze without blinking for a single second.
"I shall attend, Your Majesty," Ethan replied flatly, his voice echoing with resolve.
"Splendid. Prepare yourself, Ethan Valen. For at the banquet... I wish for you to meet someone."
The King turned and departed, the Crown Knights and high officials hastily trailing behind him. Wild cheers and crazy whispers erupted once more in the Colosseum, now fueled by wild conspiracies and fear of a suddenly shifting axis of power.
Ethan didn’t care. He turned and walked down the dim corridor, with Kaelia and Valera following closely behind.
In the Colosseum parking courtyard, the Valen carriage waited. Valera leaped onto the driver’s seat, pulling the reins while surveying the surroundings with predatory eyes.
Kaelia entered the cabin first, followed by Ethan.
Click.
The wooden door shut, cutting off the city noise. As the wheels began to creak along the streets, thick tension filled the dim cabin. Kaelia leaned forward, unable to restrain her curiosity any longer.
"A private banquet at the highest tower," Kaelia whispered warily. "Who... who is the person the King wants you to meet, Ethan? Another one of Edward’s traps? Or someone from the Church faction?"
Ethan leaned back calmly, his dark coat blending into the cabin’s shadows. He looked straight out the wooden window.
"We will find out when we arrive," Ethan cut in coldly, without turning his eyes away from the haughty silhouette of Veylor Castle looming in the distance.