Chương 37: COUNTDOWN

# Two Days Before The Tournament

It was that time of year again when farmers had more than enough time on their hands than even the king. That time of year when even hunters found no joy in chasing the small animals that prowled the forest as all the good and big game migrated deeper into the forest to escape the creeping cold that was associated with these times.

And it was definitely that time of year when ambitious slave owners tried to make their way to gold by turning even their most weakest slaves into gladiating material. It wasn't uncommon to walk into a house and find a slave owner beating their slave mercilessly for missing a step during a rigid training session.

And it most definitely wasn't uncommon to see scammers selling all sorts of potions that was supposed to turn a weak slave into a gladiating god overnight.

Even though this scam had long been uncovered and proven to be false, some slave owners still found themselves falling for expensive scams engineered by fast talking swindlers in their ambitiousness.

The money that was up for grabs was just too much to ignore, and the recognition that came with it was all the more reason why a slave owner needed to try hard.

This year was supposed to be even better than the previous years since the king was going to grace the finals with his presence. Rumors were already going around that he was planning to reward the fighter who won the tournament with his share of the last raid's loot.

And even though this rumor was unconfirmed and likely to be false (since there was no way king Erlick was going to give over his loot), the ambitious slave owners treated it as fact, and gods did it motivate them.

Their slaves suffered to accommodate their master's wishful thinking. They endured the verbal abuse that flowed when they made mistakes so as not to attract worst, and they prayed to whatever entity that was listening at night to deliver them from the Shadows of death, for they knew they were going to get slaughtered by the seasoned fighters in the arena just like they knew the sun would rise the next day.

Whiles the slave owners continued dreaming, the young men of the Kingdom argued about the upcoming tournament in the streets, taverns, and literally, everywhere they could find someone willing to argue back, which was easier than one would expect.

"I honestly don't know why this year's fight is going to be held in Hofn. It's a backwater village in nowhere." One man argued as he literally poured his rum straight down his gullet.

"Fool. The king lives in that backwater village and will be gracing the tournament himself. Besides, Hofn is not all that far from the center. You don't expect the tournament to be held here, a thousand kilometers from the king's castle, do you? Show some respect, moron." Another person slurred an insult.

"You show some respect!" The first guy answered and jumped to his feet which were a little wobbly from his intoxication.

"No, you show some respect!" The second man also jumped to his feet.

The tavern immediately went silent and the people in the tavern watched in amusement as the two drunk men got nearer to each other Whiles exchanging 'show some respects'.

"Will you two fight already!" A keen spectator who had been observing the two men and who had even made a bet with another, yelled at the two drunks when they made no move at flying at each other.

As if jolted to action by the shout, the two drunks aimed and threw similar punches that seemed to be moving in slow motion and going straight for each other's faces.

The punches connected perfectly with their targets despite their visible slowness which didn't seem to hamper the effectiveness of the respective punches as both drunks got knocked out flat when the punches connected.

"Aww, crap! There goes 10 coppers. Pathetic." The man who had shouted at the now knocked out drunks shouted again in frustration as he pushed over a pile of coins to another man sitting across from him. The man had bet that both drunks were going to knock themselves out and was now 10 coppers rich.

The conversation continued the moment the drama was over.

"Seriously though, are we supposed to head all the way to Hofn?" Another guy asked.

"Yh, it's what everyone's going to do. It's not like it's going to be the first time. The officiator moves the location of the tournament every year and people still travel to go watch."

"Yeah, he's the biggest in the gladiating tournament. He's like a monopoly. Wonder he's been hosting the tournament for ten years straight."

"I don't care where the tournament is taking place. I just want to see the best fighter in the arena at it."

"That will be Nynna, the wanted female assassin from Knight territory. she's so sexy and badass."

"Something tells me you're a fan simply because of her 'assets'. but I support you. she's a worthy candidate for the win."

"Naa, The best will definitely be Mok, his hammer is bigger than my body. I would love to see anyone survive a single hit from him." (Evil laugh)

"Fuck Mok, he's a wussy. I am team Jenko, the Samurai. His blade is sharper than my pickup line."

"What?, The Samurai?. Pfft. He's going to get crushed by that murderer who beat 5 royal guards and escaped to join the arena. What's his name again?" (Confused face)

"Vydam The Bone Crusher?"

"Yeah, that's him. Vydam, the bone crusher! He'll fuck lenjo up."

"It's Jenko, bro" (annoyed face)

"Whatever. Lento, kenjo. It's all the same to me. They look the same anyway." (Shrug)

(ー_ー゛)

And that was how another fight started in the tavern. This time, for the honor and integrity of fighters by their fans who hated them outside the arena but loved them when they were spilling their blood for their entertainment.

All over the Kingdom, everybody was talking about the tournament and People were already preparing to travel to Hofn to watch the first match.

# A day Before the Tournament.

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