Southeast of Easwind, south of Bartoloa, there is a single peninsular state.
A nation of food and shipping, shaped like boots. This country, known as Sarsulia, had certain odd characteristics.
That means that there is a country within the country. Within the territory of Sarsuria, there is an independent state from Sarsuria.
One is the Sacred Capital Servario. What a country, the main mountain of a religious organization called the 'Church', where one city remains a country.
A country that, if viewed through spires and walls, can put almost all its territory in sight. A country known as the smallest in the world existed to make small holes in the national territory of Sarsuria.
The other, in the same way. It's in Sursulia, not Sursulia. The country had transformed the city into a country by forces different from religion.
His name is Stols. The kingdom of the boxyard, made up of mercenaries and tourism.
In the prairie, a circular arena (Colosseum) with different colours. Built around it are mostly all restaurants and lodging.
There are some apartments where single mercenaries live - many families take the form of 'homes and stores'.
Because Stols is a tourist city. Many tourists, travelers, and arms-proud adventurers gather in Stols, as they do day after day, to watch shows in the arena or to make a name for themselves in battle.
If there is no way to miss this, the citizens of Stols are turning their homes into canteens and lodgings. Still, the popularity of the arena is extrapolated because of the expansion of the city every year.
In particular, the annual Summer Games suffer from a serious shortage of accommodation. It's impossible to jump in and take the inn first. Even nearby villages and town inns are filled with reservations in the summer.
There's never been more exciting martial arts tournaments, and in just two days, the Stols will gain tremendous wealth. How dare you even exceed Sarsuria's tax revenues when this becomes a year's revenue.
This economic power and a consortium of mercenaries praised for a thousand. And 'minutes before' people drop on the road to Stols. This was the reason why the kingdom of the boxyard kept its independence within Sarsria.
Summer is here again this year. Stols' - the season of the Colosseum, is here.
People gather. To the land. Han and Han collide, to the ancient arena.
To revive the ancient wild. To burn up your rolling fighting instincts. To burn people's limits to their eyes.
This year, from all over the eastern continent, young and old will gather at Stols -!
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!!!!
A loud cheer echoing the circular arena. It shivers the billies and atmosphere, swallowing people into a vortex of fanaticism.
Not affected by that enthusiasm would be about a warrior standing in the arena. They burn themselves with flames, still rolling a hotter fighting spirit than the 'cooperation' unleashed by tens of thousands of spectators.
"Oh dear...! I'll smash you to pieces with each of those kidding outfits...!
So did the Gladiator, who is now waving up a giant double-edged sword exactly in the arena.
The muscularly rounded skinhead big man lifts his blood vessels all over his naked upper body, wielding his sword.
Each time the wind created swirled, and pebbles hit Bishibishi on a transparent barrier (barrier) dividing the guest seat from the arena.
The audience swallows sarcasm and salivation at the power of a man who passes on even when he is away. How much destruction will wind up if that thing is waved down? Do those who cannot bear it exist in the world after all?
And what the hell does' he 'show?
As everyone watches in solitude - finally, the Gladiator has moved!
A warrior with a swine neck who chooses the dry soil of the arena and thrives. He teased all his muscles and shook up his sword like an iron mass.
Hardness, weight, speed, sharpness, height. A man's blow with everything that leads to destructiveness was scared that even a giant beast would smash it - yes, it would smash it, not slash it.
The two names given are: Squash Gardi. If you take his just shot, there won't be a single human being or anything like that. I'm sure, like the meat pie I dropped on the floor - scattered the contents, it must crumble.
That's why the weak-minded audience closed their eyes thinly.
"Eat it, hey, hey!
The roar rocks the Colosseum.
A year since last year's tournament. More rough, more ambitiously forged heavy tanks have now swung down the blow of destruction!
Tons of dirt and sand to roll up. Don, a heavy bass that sounds to the bottom of your stomach. Decided. Gardi's blow crushed 'him' for every Colosseum.
Decision-making strike to win forcefully. If you take that at the bar, the result will be obvious. This battle is a win for 'Squash Gardy'.
Everyone thought so, and when I gently untied the fist that was gripping me from the tension - the earthsmoke that was standing up, cleared.
"... Ha"
And I saw it. Spraying blood from his torn neck, he looks like Gardy slowly falling down. As with the audience, the "Gladiator" is wrapped in the light of metastasis with a frightened face.
"Huh...?
Someone's grunt was the token of those on the spot.
What happened? Why is the big man in the offense down? The audience doesn't understand.
The only thing they could perceive was the results. Only the result of 'The Big Man Lost'. How did the big man get knocked down? Amateurs didn't know that.
No, even if you are a skilled warrior, have you identified the process, the means?
"He" just waved the short sword horizontally as soon as the great sword was swung down.
Whoever was seeing this event - yes, not many.
So everyone lost their word. The mighty man who saw it, out of his wars and awe of stunts. Those who could not see it, because of the rigidity of thought caused by an incomprehensible sight.
Everyone, lost their words.
Long after the start of the Summer Martial Games, the Colosseum, wrapped in frenzy, was quiet as if it had hit the water.
Nobody talks, nobody moves. As if the world had been stationary, the Colosseum was frozen.
- But that never, never lasted long.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!!!!
Rupture. And a resounding cheer.
An explosion that made him the mercenary king, the organizer, and later said, "It was an unprecedented great cheer," was rocking the Colosseum - no, the city of Stols.
"Black Knight!! Black Knight!! Black Knight!! Black Knight!!
The audience praises' him 'for showing overwhelming strength - a figure dressed in pitch-black full-body armor, with his hands clapped, treading down on the floor.
A dragon killer hero. Unknown Yingjie. Someone who saved a great country.
Everyone called. Everyone shouted its name. "Black Knight". "The knight with the black armor helmet," he said.
A mysterious brave man who at one time was even suspected of being there because he was too little exposed and no information came out. But this is how he's here. In the scorching sun, in the arena where the powerful gather, they fully exert their power.
The legend has re-emerged here. There are 10,000 unjust black knights who slaughter even dragons, right in front of them.
The enthusiasm of the audience who swallowed that fact grew in response.
Annual Grand Martial Arts Competition. The struggle to determine 'the strongest' of anything, regardless of race, gender or level. A new name was about to be engraved in the sanctuary of the strong, stained with blood and sweat.
At least, a lot of the audience expected that. Not the regular people I'm tired of seeing. I wanted to see the majesty of the new mighty, black knight, with all the extra time. I wanted you to be excited about the power of killing even dragons.
But the man in the Black Knight, Takashi Sayama,
(Ah Chi...... or...)
Under his black helmet, he had a pioneering face.