Wolves of Hader

It was definitely Roman the priest.

Why was someone who should be at the Order here?

What on earth had happened at the Order?

The man who seemed to be Priest Roman was struggling to pull a cart loaded with corpses toward the iron gate.

There were three others with him, just as haggard and thin.

It was not just someone who looked similar.

Priest Roman's hair was a bright blonde—very few people had such blonde hair.

How many people have his face as well as that hair?

Besides, his build was the same.

It was extremely bewildering.

There had been rumors that there were slaves in this dome, but had Priest Roman really become a slave?

The other three looked like slaves, too.

Priest Roman had returned from his training at the northern sanctuary when we first set sail.

At that time, he said so himself.

He'd kept feeling uneasy, so he cut his training short.

It seemed he had sensed something with a priest's intuition.

Had something really happened at the Order?

It must have had something to do with my teacher.

"Ladies and gentlemen! The next contenders for the match are entering the arena! Welcome with applause the Iron Fist, Uson, and the Undefeated Knight, Tuji! Let's give a rousing welcome to these gallant figures!"

"Wooooow!"

"Win, Uson!"

"Tuji! I've bet a fortune on you!"

The crowd was ecstatic again.

Gold coins rained down into the arena.

The two gladiators entering from the opposite direction stood silently.

Gladiators in previous matches shouted or responded to the crowd's cheers, but these two were different.

Especially the gladiator holding the shield—he stood still, looking up at only one side.

The direction of the top VIP seats.

Did he know someone among the VIPs?

There were three people seated in the VIP seats.

The one in the middle had a very short haircut—he must be a high-ranking priest.

Was he in charge here?

I looked around the arena again.

Unlike the gambling hall, this place had an armed security force.

All of them wore armor and helmets.

There were three doors in the audience section, but only two were used by staff delivering food and drink.

The remaining door seemed reserved for the security force.

I headed straight for the door used by the staff, pretending to be drunk, stumbling toward the door.

The security guard blocked my way.

"Sir, where are you going?"

"I've really got to pee, where do I go?"

"The restroom is over there. The door you entered from..."

"Uueegh!"

I pretended to collapse, leaning on the guard.

He'd been thoroughly trained—it didn't faze him in the slightest.

That meant he was well-versed in their security protocols.

"Give me a hand, please. Uueegh!"

"All right, let me assist you. This way, sir."

The guard supported me, heading toward the big door.

The restroom here was extravagant, with a toilet in its own room—luxurious to the extreme.

Again, I leaned on the guard.

"Uuegh. I think I'm going to throw up."

"Do it inside the room, sir."

As he dragged me into the restroom, I struck his jaw with my elbow.

Thud—

The security guard collapsed silently forward.

Immediately, I locked the door, took out a vial of sleeping potion, and dabbed it under his nose.

Then I stripped off his armor and clothes and dressed him sloppily in my own outfit.

Even if someone came in, they'd just go to another stall if they saw someone inside.

With so many drunks passed out, it wouldn't look strange.

Wearing the armor, I looked just like another guard.

I headed straight to the coliseum seating. For some reason, the crowd was booing.

"Boooo—get it over with!"

"What are you two doing? Just kill already!"

Security guards stood motionless, not chatting with each other.

Not a single one was slacking off, which helped me a lot—no one suspected me as I moved.

Any moving guard must have had a reason, apparently.

Even the one at the private entrance opened the door for me without question.

I got past the security door into the restricted area more easily than I'd expected.

Going down a long staircase, I reached the underground—a stench of rotting corpses and blood hit my nose.

It felt as if I could hear the screams of the dead. It was almost grotesque, beyond just ominous.

What on earth was this strange sensation?

On the right side of the corridor, I saw the security office.

The left side had only slaves—no guards. No reason to go that way unless on duty.

I went straight left.

There were no guards at all in the corridor.

Since the gladiators were locked up, there was no need to guard the corridor itself.

"Ugh, give me some painkillers."

"Shut up! You think you're the only one hurt?"

Row after row of cells.

In one, a gladiator suffered with a severed arm. In another, one waited for his turn.

Their eyes were all different.

Some stared blankly as if their minds were gone. Others flicked their tongues and giggled.

Bodies were stacked carelessly on the corridor floor, severed heads tossed into a large basket.

The gladiators merely stared at them, eyes full of despair.

Winding corridors and cells continued, following the structure of the arena, until a tunnel heading to the arena appeared.

Beyond a ramp, someone stood.

"Orte, what are you doing? Not ready yet?"

"My back injury is acting up again!"

"Isn't that just an act?"

"I'm not faking! Please, just for today!"

"Damn! Get Bernber ready to go in instead of Orte!"

Clang.

The cell door opened, and a gladiator emerged.

This gladiator's eyes were unfazed by the fear of death.

No, more like someone devoid of a soul.

He stood in front of the arena door.

Two guards watched the door, ignoring me. But the administrator noticed me.

"Who are you? Why are you hanging around here?"

"One of the guests asked for an update on Orte's condition—they've placed a big bet."

"Orte isn't going out today. Since when do you give guests information?"

At that moment, the door opened and loud booing poured in.

"You call this a fight?!"

"Boo—kill that bastard, too!"

"Don't just walk in! Cut off his head!"

Soon after, a gladiator came in, covered in blood.

Two waiting slaves chained his feet.

The administrator shoved his face in.

"You little bastard! So you didn't cut off his head, huh?"

"I felt like throwing up."

"Try that again and you'll die for sure."

"Any time."

This gladiator was called 'Tuji'.

A fair amount of time must have passed—it seemed they'd been fighting all this while.

He brushed past me.

His whole body was covered in blood. Large and small cuts, a shaking arm trembling violently. He also had a lot of scars, signs he'd survived for ages.

Again, boos rang out as slaves pushed a cart with a body down the corridor—a corpse of the gladiator who fought Tuji.

The head remained attached.

"Roman! You treat that guy!"

"Okay!"

It really was Priest Roman.

He walked past me and entered the cell where Tuji had gone.

He sat beside Tuji and began treatment. To my amazement, the wounds healed quickly.

Finally, I understood.

Why the priest was here.

Since the guards' post was up the sloping stairs, they couldn't see over here.

Thanks to that, I could watch Priest Roman without suspicion.

Tuji sat wordlessly as he was treated.

He and Priest Roman seemed to have a close relationship—Roman looked at him with pity.

But both of them kept glancing at me.

There was something they needed to do, but my presence was stopping them.

I thought I knew the reason why.

That's why both were so tense.

Maybe they thought the guard (me) had caught on.

Eventually, Tuji got up and came over.

"Do you need something from me?"

"Looks like the gladiator you fought is a friend."

Tuji clenched his teeth.

Priest Roman fidgeted, nervous at being caught.

"His wounds must be serious. Can he be saved?"

Tuji glared at me and spoke.

"Who are you?"

The gladiator who had fought Tuji earlier was Uson.

He wasn't dead.

He'd drawn out the fight and avoided cutting off his head.

By making it look cowardly and boring, the audience wouldn't care much.

He must have stabbed Uson.

He needed him to look dead, so the body would be taken to the disposal area.

If the wounds were severe, he'd die—if not, he'd escape.

"So this is how gladiators have been escaping, I see."

Tuji's eyes widened in shock.

He glared at me, then suddenly dropped to his knees.

"Please, look the other way. I beg you."

"Get up, Tuji."

"I'm begging you. Uson is my little brother."

Tears began streaming down Tuji's face.

How could brothers end up here together?

There were tears in Priest Roman's eyes, too.

"Couldn't you just turn a blind eye? Please."

Priest Roman also kneeled.

Tears ran endlessly down both their cheeks.

Tears of a deep emptiness—deeper even than the fear of their own deaths.

"Priest Roman."

"You know me?"

"Take this."

It was a potion bottle filled with red liquid.

Priest Roman received it.

"What is this?"

"Give this to Uson, and treat him immediately. If his wounds aren't too severe, he should be able to walk."

"But who are you?"

I looked Priest Roman in the eyes.

"Roger Hader."

Priest Roman's eyes and mouth flew open wide.

He found himself speechless, staring only at me.

I turned around and walked to the administrator.

"Bernber, you must win this match."

"Of course."

"Come back alive!"

Clunk!

The door opened, and the gladiator named Bernber strode out with dignity.

Only then did the administrator turn and glare at me.

"What now? Aren't you supposed to be on duty?"

Bang—the door slammed shut.

Even the security guards seemed to find me suspicious now.

"Hey! If you're done, get back to your post! Slacking off will get you fired!"

I looked at the row of slaves.

Six, including Priest Roman.

I spoke to them.

"When things start, escape on your own."

"Escape? What are you talking about?"

The administrator was approaching.

In a flash, my sword grazed the administrator's neck.

Ssshhk—

"Huh?"

He clutched his spurting neck and fell forward. Instantly, the guards also drew their swords.

One raised a whistle to his lips.

Slash—

Both guards met the same fate, rolling down the slope with blood gushing from their throats.

"Priest Roman. Start treatment."

"Ah, yes."

Priest Roman approached Uson, administered the potion, and began healing him with divinity.

Light gathered in Roman's hands, and in under ten seconds, Uson woke up.

"Cough!"

Uson spat blood and looked at me.

Tuji soon emerged from the cell.

"Are you all right? It's me, your brother."

"Brother? Bro!"

"Yes, it's me. Can you stand?"

Uson placed a hand against the wall and stood up.

Fortunately, the injuries weren't critical. The bleeding had been heavy, though.

"Can we trust the other gladiators?"

"We all want to escape."

"Then free them. The more, the better."

"We're really making a break for it?"

"Yes. Three will come with me."

The slaves immediately opened the cells and began releasing the gladiators.

Some might be villains, but it didn't matter.

Their urge for revenge would be just as fierce.

"Those bastards! I'll kill every last one!"

"Let's gut them all!"

"Calm down! We have to make it out alive!"

"Rescue the friends on the other side first! Unless we join with them, we'll never make it out!"

"That's right! Let's go that way first!"

The freed prisoners grabbed weapons from the armory and rushed out.

Some cackled at us, some showed sincere gratitude.

Soon, the sound of clashing swords echoed from every corridor.

The guards had the upper hand, but those who lived by fighting for their lives would overcome anyway.

"Let's go."

"We must free the prisoners first."

"I think they can handle it."

"The security force is the continent's top mercenary band. Over 200 are stationed on this island. I don't know who you are, but the four of us would have a tough time."

"Tuji. You can trust this man."

Tuji looked back and forth at me and Priest Roman.

Tears still flowed from Priest Roman's eyes. He must have arrived here right after we'd parted ways.

"Even if all the prisoners die, we're getting out of here."

I led the way.

Even if it was the continent's finest mercenary band, it wasn't as if they staked their lives in every fight.

Mercenaries aren't knights, after all.

But gladiators were different.

Every day was real combat.

That's what this scene proved—guards hacked to pieces collapsed throughout the corridor.

The crowd above was still quiet—they wanted to keep the situation hidden from the audience.

The sound of guards running echoed from the far end.

The other prisoners were escaping in the opposite direction from us, so the guards all chased after them.

"They're heading for the prisoners in the east!"

"Report to the captain! They're our assets, not just prisoners! Capture as many alive as possible!"

"Argh!"

"We're in trouble! Requesting backup!"

"Call all members! This is an emergency!"

No guards were in the corridor we took.

Those from the corridors and seating were all running off; the eastern sector was already in chaos.

"This way leads to headquarters, correct?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Tuji, cover our rear."

"Understood."

The hallway turned.

After a short walk, the sound of people flooding down the stairs above us echoed.

"What is that noise?"

"This is a real emergency! Get the guests out first! If the VIPs become hostages, we're in deep trouble!"

"They can't get into the stands! Announce the matches are over and escort everyone out quietly!"

"Captain!"

"Just do as you're told!"

The captain spotted me and scowled.

"Who are you? Why are you bringing them along?"

"So you're the captain."

"What?"

As the captain let out a mocking laugh—

I sprang toward him.