Chapter 57 ‒ Terms of the Arena
Chapter 57 ‒ Terms of the Arena
“[Player], do you know the two most significant things in the world?” Drellic Wane asked, reclining in his ornate leather-backed chair, the tips of his clawed fingers steepled before him.
Tyler remained silent, his expression unreadable. His mind was swirling with unease. Nothing in this meeting had gone the way he hoped, and the manager’s smug confidence was as suffocating as the incense wafting through the dimly-lit office. But Tyler didn’t want to play into his game. He waited.
Drellic studied him for a moment, then chuckled. “They are power and money. If one has power, they can earn money. And if one has money, they can buy power. Both of these are fundamental forces that drive the world.”
Tyler solemnly nodded. While he didn’t wholly agree with the ideology, it wasn’t entirely wrong either. Whatever he had achieved so far was through either brute strength or bribing his way through a wall. Even the fact that he was sitting in this luxurious, gold-trimmed office was proof enough. He clenched his fists in silent acknowledgment.
“What do you want me to do?” Tyler asked, voice low.
Drellic’s smile widened. “I want you to enter the tournament.”
Tyler’s brow furrowed. “Why?”
“You, [Player], may not possess the power of money,” Drellic said, gesturing to the heaps of gold lining the room. “But you possess strength. The strength to overturn this Arena. The strength to defeat every single warrior in this Arena.”
Tyler looked at Drellic, studying his face carefully. He was clearly exaggerating—but not by much. Most of the warriors here were captives, forced to fight for their survival. Many of them were poorly trained or low-levelled, probably no more than level 50. Compared to Tyler’s current level, they wouldn’t pose a significant threat. Still, he wasn’t arrogant enough to underestimate anyone. Not anymore.
His thoughts were interrupted as Drellic coughed—a rehearsed little noise meant to draw his attention back.
“How is me participating in the tournament related to the liberation of slaves?” Tyler asked.
Drellic leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping with theatrical flair. “[Player], have you seen our champion fight? Kragg the Fallen. Undefeated in his last 94 fights.”
Tyler blinked, then narrowed his eyes. “You mean that guy who was beating up little kittens? Does the ninety-four fights also include the ones where a little defenceless child is thrown in front of him, and he absolutely destroys them with a single attack, while the crowd cheers him on?”
Drellic burst into laughter. “Yes, that’s him.”
Tyler’s voice dropped to a cold murmur. “Is that guy your champion? I don’t think he’s really special. He might be stronger than the weak and frail people you capture, but I don’t think he is much.”
Drellic clapped once, satisfied. “Exactly! This is the kind of attitude I had expected out of you. So do you think you can win in a fight against him?”
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Tyler crossed his arms, calculating. From what he’d seen, Kragg looked to be around level 80 to 90. A challenge, perhaps, but not an insurmountable one. “Yes. He might prove to be a challenge, but if I give my all, I don’t see myself losing.”
Drellic grinned, showing rows of jagged teeth. “Can you bet on it?”
Tyler hesitated. “Yeah… maybe.”
“But do you think the common public would bet on you?”
Tyler blinked. “What?”
Drellic stood and strolled over to a cabinet of aged liquors, pouring himself a glass. “[Player], do you know about betting economics?”
“I don’t follow.”
Drellic sipped his drink, savouring the taste. “A chicken is only worth as long as the money gained from selling its eggs is enough to cover the cost of its food.”
Tyler raised a brow. “What?”
“In this case, the chicken is Kragg, and the eggs are the money I get from bets.”
Tyler still looked confused, but he was beginning to understand.
Drellic set the glass down. “Kragg is an excellent fighter—no one argues with that. But he’s terrible for business. When he started, people bet both for and against him. We made money. But as his win streak grew, fewer people dared bet against him. Eventually, nobody does. Now, every time he fights, I lose money. But what if—”
“But what if he loses, right?” Tyler finished, his voice catching up with Drellic’s train of thought. “You’ll rake in a huge amount of gold all at once. Is that what you’re aiming for?”
Drellic grinned like a shark. “I see you’re quite smart yourself. Yes, [Player]. That’s exactly why I want you to participate. Kragg will definitely be one of the finalists. And if I judged you correctly, you’ll be the other. We’ll have the finest battle of the decade in this Arena—and the greatest payday.”
Tyler nodded slowly, putting the puzzle together. “But what do I get if you earn money?”
Drellic’s grin widened. “I’ll give you ownership of half of the slaves.”
Tyler’s jaw clenched. “Only half?”
Tyler’s stomach twisted. Half. Only half. He imagined Kelmo waiting in Yandi, clutching hope like a brittle flower. Was saving fifty percent of them enough? Could he look Kelmo in the eye afterward and say, ‘This is all I could do’?
“Yes. Because I still need to keep the show running,” Drellic said, completely unapologetic. “If I give you all the slaves, I won’t be able to continue my entertainment business.”
Tyler’s hands curled into fists. The word entertainment burned in his ears. But now was not the time to rage. He couldn’t lose this opportunity—not when even half could mean saving lives.
After a moment of silence, Tyler said, “I win the tournament, you release half the slaves. Is that the deal you’re proposing?”
Drellic nodded. “Indeed.”
“Can I trust you? That you’ll keep your promise?”
Without missing a beat, Drellic pulled out a golden scroll. “This is the Scroll of Truth. Anything written here cannot be defied. If both of us sign, it becomes magically binding.”
He scribbled down the terms:
[I, Drellic Wane, the manager of the Arena, hereby promise to transfer the ownership of half of the slaves to [Player], in case he manages to defeat Kragg and win the tournament.]
He slid the scroll and a feathered pen to Tyler.
Tyler read it not once, not twice, but three times. Every word, every letter. He couldn’t afford to miss anything.
“Then what if I lose to Kragg or somehow don’t make it to finals? Or if Kragg doesn’t make it to the finals?”
Drellic let out a belly laugh. “Haha, Kragg not making it to the finals? You’re so humorous! Don’t tell me you use your killer jokes to defeat your opponents!”
Tyler stared at him, stone-faced.
The manager coughed and composed himself. “In any case, if you lose—to Kragg or someone else—this contract is null and void. No reprimands. But I can’t guarantee Kragg won’t kill you. He’s… thorough.”
With a sigh, Tyler signed.
“Okay, I’ve signed. So, when does the tournament start?”
“After one hour,” Drellic replied, storing the scroll away. “So make any preparations you can. Or bid any farewells while you’re at it.”
Tyler turned to leave. “I won’t lose. I will win this tournament. I will win against Kragg. I will win against you.”
Drellic chuckled darkly. “Haha, that’s exactly what I like about guys like you. Always confident, always burning bright. Do well in the tournament, all my hopes are on you!”
Tyler left the manager’s office, his boots echoing across the marble floor. As the roar of the Arena grew louder with each step, he knew—this was no longer just a battle for freedom.
It was the battle to redeem himself.
A new challenge awaited him.