Two Weeks Later
The crowd roared like a tidal wave crashing against blood-soaked stone.
Armin stood tall, his chest heaving, crimson eyes narrowed as he pulled his blade free from the neck of the creature before him. A heavy thud followed—the inmate's body collapsed, spurting thick, black-red blood across the Colosseum floor.
The beast had been no ordinary man. His body was grey, hardened like jagged stone, with grotesque spikes bursting out from his back and shoulders—an experimental fusion of demon blood and death-row desperation. But even he had fallen.
Fallen to Armin.
Armin didn't wish happiness for the enemy ss he had done before as this enemy was one who was convicted of various horrible crimes in the human realm and sent here.
♢
Above the corpse shimmered a golden diamond.
[EXP gained...]
[Abilities enhancing.....]
Maton's whisper echoed like a calm breath in a hurricane.
He didn't smile.
Though he was happy he could go back and play with Dike and Eirene.
He had grown stronger—no doubt. His swordsmanship, once forged in survival, now hummed with precision. Deadly. Clean. Efficient. Enough to rival even an intermediate Demon Knight.
He raised his eyes toward the stands.
They chanted his name.
Over and over.
"Red-Eyed Lord! Red-Eyed Lord! Red-Eyed Lord!"
[AND THE UNDEFEATED, UNBREAKABLE, RED-EYED LORD WINS ONCE MORE!]
The announcer's voice boomed across the colosseum.
Armin blinked against the glare of sunlight—and the absurdity of the name.
Why do they glorify my eyes so much?
Red eyes aren't divine. They're just... clan markings. The Ruber were once common across the eastern sands.
But people always needed something to worship.
Or to fear.
He sheathed his blade and left the arena floor through the rusted iron gates, ignoring the extended hands and the greed-gleaming eyes of gamblers and patrons. Behind the walls of glory was a darker world.
The slave cells.
And waiting there—Dike and Eirene, nestled in the shadows.
Beside them stood the towering bulk of Jubak, the blue-skinned troll. Thick scars lined his tusked jaw, and tribal tattoos coiled across his arms like serpents.
"Big brother!" Dike cheered, leaping forward.
Armin scooped them both into the air and spun. Laughter filled the grim hallway.
Even if just for a moment, the world felt light.
Dike's giggles mingled with Eirene's soft laughter as they clung to him. Their hair, still dirty and unkempt, fluttered in the dusty wind that blew in from the arena's tunnels.
"I saw you kill that guy!" Dike grinned. "He exploded!"
Eirene frowned. "His head didn't explode."
"It was close!"
Armin set them down gently and turned to Jubak. "Thanks for watching them."
The troll gave a low grunt and nodded.
Then his tone turned grim.
"That blonde kid. Ciro," he rumbled. "He's gone."
Armin paused. "Gone?"
"Bought."
"By who?"
"Some rich old woman," Jubak muttered, spitting to the side. "Didn't leave a name."
Armin frowned, rubbing his jaw. "Ciro, huh…?"
He had seen the boy fight—flashy, dramatic, all show and no substance. Lost every match. Took beatings like a training dummy. Yet… something was always off.
"He never screamed," Armin said aloud.
"Huh?" Jubak tilted his head.
"In all his matches… never once screamed. No matter how hard they hit him."
"That's because he was a freak," Jubak replied.
Armin wasn't convinced.
Before he could say more, a thunder of footsteps rang out.
Brask.
The pig-faced demon slaver barged in, eyes bloodshot, sweat dripping down his bloated face. His pink, diseased skin pulsed with fury.
"Armin!" he barked, his shark-like teeth bared.
Armin turned slowly, placing a protective hand over Eirene's shoulder.
Brask looked ready to explode.
But then—he smiled.
A grotesque, slimy grin that didn't fit the shape of his face.
"I've got news," he sneered, dragging each word like a blade across flesh. "You and the troll—congratulations. You've been bought by the Colosseum Master himself. And get this…"
He leaned in, breath like rotting onions.
"You're free."
Silence.
Even the rats in the corner seemed to hold their breath.
Armin's eyes narrowed. Jubak blinked.
Dike gasped. "Free?"
Eirene clutched Armin's sleeve, her voice quivering. "Really?"
Armin didn't speak. Not yet.
Brask raised a finger.
"But they weren't bought," he said, jabbing toward the children.
Smiles vanished.
The atmosphere thickened like molasses.
"What did you say?" Armin's voice was a cold whisper.
"I said to LEAVE and hand me back my property!"
But before Brask could finish, Armin stepped forward—until Jubak held him back with one massive hand.
"Not now," the troll said.
At that moment, a figure entered the room.
Tall, elegant, and terrifying in presence. A noble. Clad in black with flowing silver trim, long obsidian hair, and pale as ivory. He moved like a shadow given form.
He glanced once at Brask.
Brask's mouth shut instantly.
"The Master of the Colosseum," the nobleman said, voice smooth as oil, "has officially declared the freedom of all gladiators not on death row. All dwarves, demons, and men who have fought for their lives… are no longer property."
He turned to Brask.
"And you," he continued, drawing a rolled parchment from his sleeve, "have had your license revoked. Effective immediately."
He dropped the paper to the ground.
Gasps broke out.
Some slaves cried. Others stood frozen in disbelief. A few fell to their knees in joy.
Brask turned pale. "Wha—This is a joke, right? Right!?"
The noble ignored him and faced Armin.
"You are free," he repeated. "Take what is yours and leave."
"Why?" Armin asked, voice hard. "Why is the master suddenly feeling generous?"
The nobleman paused, lips curling into a knowing smile.
"The Master," he said, "is a kind man."
But the glint in his eyes said otherwise.
♢
Later, Armin stood outside the Colosseum's gates.
He held a pouch of gold, its weight unfamiliar.
Dike sat on his shoulders, pointing at every bird, statue, and street performer they passed. Eirene clung to his hand, eyes full of wonder and wariness.
Romian opened before them like a dream.
White marble buildings pierced the sky. Roads of polished stone stretched into the distance. Columns towered like giants, and the scent of spices, perfumes, and smoke filled the air.
"This is… huge," Dike whispered.
Eirene didn't speak. Her eyes locked on the grand castle far away—made of gold-engraved stone, crowned with twin towers shaped like howling wolves.
-TWIN WOLF CASTLE-
Home of the Duke of Romulus.
Jubak stood beside them, arms crossed.
"I'll be leaving now," he said.
"What? No!" Dike shouted.
"Don't go!" Eirene begged.
The troll chuckled, patting their heads. "I need to check on my tribe and see if they all escaped safely.But I'll be back before you know it. Troll's honor."
The children sniffled but nodded.
Armin looked up at the castle again. "Do you think this is because of Ciro?"
Jubak grunted. "Maybe. But the kid barely spoke to anyone. And he couldn't fight."
"Maybe he didn't need to," Armin muttered.
The troll boarded a carriage and disappeared down the street, waving goodbye.
Armin turned to the children. "Let's find somewhere to stay."
They wandered through the city and settled at a modest inn near the aqueducts, run by a dark elf woman with weary eyes and a sharp tongue. She fed them warm stew—for a price—and didn't ask questions.
That night, as the children slept peacefully for the first time in weeks, Armin stood by the window.
He stared at the castle silhouetted in moonlight.
'Can I kill him? Can I kill them all?'
He thought of chains. Of fire. Of blood in the sand.
He thought of justice.
And then, finally—he closed his eyes.
♢
Back at the Colosseum, in a chamber filled with velvet and wine, the Master stood before a mirror.
Golden vines coiled around its edges, demons and angels carved in eternal struggle.
He looked at himself—then down at the signed documents.
Ciro's name was there.
He had paid in full. Freed hundreds. And the way he smiled when he did it…
It wasn't kind.
It was amused. Intrigued. Almost… delighted.
"Romulus is changing," the Master whispered. "And I think I just sold my soul to the storm."
He poured himself another glass.
And waited.
For whatever came next.
♢
In his sleep, Armin found himself pulled into another realm.
He opened his eyes slowly, greeted by a golden sky stretching endlessly above him. Towering mountains glowed softly in the distance, kissed by beams of eternal sunshine. The grass beneath him shimmered with dew, yet it felt dry and warm—like laying atop heaven itself although the Goddess's Realm wasn't heaven.
A gentle weight pressed on his chest.
"Lupa…?"
A low growl—not aggressive, just sleepy—answered him. The small black wolf lay curled atop him, eyes closed in peaceful slumber. But Armin could tell immediately—she had grown.
"Did you get bigger?" he asked with a quiet chuckle, brushing his fingers through her fur. His hand paused.
Specks of grey had begun appearing around her ears and shoulders, like tiny whispers of time and power creeping in.
Beside her, nestled at his side like a pillow, was Irina—a small white tiger with faint blavk stripes around her body and eyes that sparkled with playful mischief even in sleep. Her tail flicked gently as she stirred.
"How long has it been for you two?" he murmured, voice tinged with guilt. "You two have gotten so big.You two would love Dike and Eirene!"
Then, like dawn parting the clouds, she came.
A radiant light bloomed in the field ahead.
Golden hair fluttered in the celestial wind, her face aglow with a soft, divine luminescence. Her white robes clung to her body like water, flowing with every step she took—modest, yet mesmerizing. The wind whispered her name without needing to speak it.
-HERINA-
-THE GODDESS-
Armin sat up slowly, Lupa and Irina leaping off his chest to trot over to Herina, tails wagging. She knelt to greet them both, running a hand through their fur with genuine warmth before her eyes met Armin's.
He stood, brushing grass from his clothes.
"Miss Goddess," he said with a slight bow, his voice respectful—though not submissive.
Her smile curved.
End of Chapter-19