2 (8)

Louis led the condemned into an enclosed square.

A great many prisoners were already there.

All of them had been sentenced to death, or to terms tantamount to it.

“Remove the hoods.”

Louis ordered the soldiers. They had their doubts, but having come this far, they did their best to obey the governor and took off the prisoners’ hoods. As each hood came off, a shiver ran through each prisoner—some fell to their knees, calling for their gods, while others drew deep breaths just to taste a little air.

The bindings on the condemned were the kind no one could undo alone, and left as they were, the tightening could choke a man to death—so their reactions the moment those restraints were loosened were only natural. They had braced themselves for certain death, yet they were still alive; a few even looked for a way to bolt in a last-ditch frenzy, but with the square ringed in steel and a single entrance, all they could do was crouch like shocked rats.

At the end of their gaze stood Louis. Instinct told the condemned that this man was the center of the soldiers—and the one at the pinnacle of power who had, by a word, lengthened their lives. If he wished them dead, a flick of his finger would suffice; the soldiers encircling them would draw blades and butcher them where they stood.

“Greetings, prisoners.”

Louis had wondered what words to use, yet what came out was plain. Of course, the newly spared—still under the shadow of death—had no spirit to answer him. Silence followed.

“Ten minutes ago, as far as the paperwork was concerned, arrows should have pierced your throats, and you should no longer belong to this world. Administratively speaking, that is. But—”

Louis looked them over. In their eyes lay cold sweat and the raw human instinct that clung to life.

“I intend to make you an offer. You cannot refuse it—yet, as a courtesy to you as human beings, be satisfied that I call it an ‘offer.’”

For prisoners who had been treated worse than livestock in their cells, such words were more than generous. How many among them had ever heard such language from a noble—let alone a high one? A few even wondered if Louis was devout.

“I am Louis Pontina, governor of this place. Like the mother who once sent you into this world, I have granted life to those who should already be dead and gone. I intend to guide you from a wretched death to a somewhat better one. Some of you will not escape death in the end, but at least, some…”

Louis smiled.

“Will live.”

He rubbed his swelling cheek as he went on.

“Every life has its price; I do not believe in meaningless deaths. You have, no doubt, committed crimes worthy of death; most of you likely crushed others’ lives without a thought. Very well. From the moment you were taken, your blood-price was set. If you do not pay it, you will find no peace, even in death.”

“If there is a beginning, there must be an end. I will lead you to the Colosseum. There… survive. He who survives… will gain glory, a new life, and a freedom far too lavish for men such as you.”

The prisoners shuddered. They did not know what a Colosseum was, but they understood perfectly what this governor meant—and that he was offering a last chance to those sunk in despair. Moments ago they had been certain they would die; in truth, they had already been as good as dead. How would “new life” and “freedom” sound to a man dragged back from that threshold?

To most, Louis looked like an angel out of old tales, and they whispered his name. The murmured “Louis,” repeated over and over, rolled through the square like thunder. Even the soldiers felt their hearts stir at his speech—though they were not the condemned—and if Dekal’s men, who belonged to a different faction, felt that way, the prisoners were ready to do anything Louis said.

Was this how a devil in disguise worked? Louis was certain he had set their hearts ablaze, and he turned on his heel.

What he had offered them was nothing less than freedom.

‘Freedom.’

To them, no treasure glittered brighter than that single word. It would kindle enough desire to paint the arena with blood. The Colosseum would sate the city’s cravings and unlock the deep-seated Unhappiness.

Louis stood before the Colosseum and looked around. To create the first requirement—an enclosed shape—he had chosen the city’s lowest ground for demolition. A slum was a slum for a reason: it lay so low that even a little rain pooled water across the ground.

Crude tools had lashed logs together, overlaid with canopies, stretching all the way down. They kept off the harsh sun and, at the same time, separated the arena from the stands. The stands had no seats—people would perch or stand—but thanks to the sunken terrain, they had a clear view of the action below.

“You have come.”

Kalbang greeted his lord with a heavy heart. With so little money invested, the result looked poor, and he could not even picture what kind of contests Louis intended to stage.

“Mm. Where are the others?”

“They already came and left.”

Kalbang thought of Dekal and Max, who had inspected the site before Louis arrived, and his chest tightened. Dekal had sneered at it; Max had gone beyond sneering to laugh aloud and spit before leaving. Kalbang hesitated over whether to mention their attitude, then held his tongue. Louis, however, reached a conclusion no different from theirs.

“Wretched.”

Now that it stood, nothing looked more shoddy. Still, the Colosseum met the requirements. If the conditions were met, it could open. Perhaps misunderstanding Louis’s intent—and a little spooked—Kalbang bowed his head.

“My apologies.”

“It’s less your fault than a question of funding. And the construction crew that cooperated belonged to Max, after all.”

“The matches…”

“In three days. I’ll tell you what to prepare—come to the office.”

“Young lord… with respect, will this really work? I’ve eaten soldiers’ rations and drifted far and wide, but I’ve never once heard of such an amusement.”

“Then you’re about to.”

For the next three days, Louis had to tell everyone that the Colosseum would open—what would happen here, when it would open, how often. In short: advertise.

‘If only I’d unlocked a Propaganda trait… As it is, I’ll have to rely on word of mouth.’

Louis did not yet know it, but among the poor his reputation had already spread deeply—and with it, interest in his Colosseum. The pity was that, aside from the paupers, the rest—commoners, merchants, and especially nobles—had little interest at all.