There seems to be a type of magic called subjugation magic used in contracts that bind slaves.

This magic, applied to areas like the back of the neck or the back itself, imposes certain restrictions on the subject:

• The subject cannot openly defy their master.
• The subject cannot stay away from their master for more than a full day.
• The subject cannot harm their master.

These conditions are in place to ensure the slave's obedience. However, restrictions on harming others are limited to their master; otherwise, slaves would be unable to perform roles like gladiators or bodyguards.

Under normal circumstances, this would be enough to prevent rebellion or escape.

Yet, there’s a loophole. While direct defiance through words is difficult, writing is still possible.

Only about one in five slaves can write, but even in a rough crowd like a gladiator troupe, a literate slave could hire someone to assassinate their master.

Most slaves, including gladiators, receive wages and can save money to eventually buy their own freedom. This practice is partly due to kingdom laws ensuring minimum living conditions for slaves, but it’s also to prevent rebellion or resentment toward their masters.

However, some slaves use that very money to hire someone to kill their master—a twisted reality of this world.

When I learned about slaves, I remember thinking about these things absentmindedly.

The next day, a member of the Hanging Gladiator Troupe visited Sprex, who had not yet entered the arena.

After hearing something from the visitor, Sprex’s expression shifted into one of utter shock.

“What? Are you serious? That bastard from Hanging…”

As Sprex muttered this, the man bowed his head to him. But Sprex waved him off lightly and spoke.

“No, it’s not possible. It’s not like their whole gladiator troupe disbanded. We can’t take you in.”

It seemed the man wanted to transfer to the Sprex Gladiator Troupe, but after Sprex refused, the man glared at him angrily before storming off.

“He’s a gladiator. Even if he’s sold to a slave trader, couldn’t he become a gladiator again?”

When I asked Cradle about this, he shook his head with a serious expression.

“It depends on age and achievements. Younger ones can become gladiators, and even older ones might, if they’ve got accomplishments. But if their skills are average, they won’t be used once they’re older. They’re seen as having no future. At that point, working in a mine would provide a longer career.”

“I see.”

It’s like professional sports—teams rarely sign aging athletes unless they’re exceptional.

However, some athletes gain popularity regardless of their skill. Such individuals can draw fans, sell merchandise, and even secure contracts despite their age.

Perhaps gladiator troupes should rethink their approach in that regard.

While pondering this, I noticed Sprex approaching.

“Matt, come with me.”

He led me to the back of a tent. Following him, along with Emera, I saw Sprex wearing a grim expression as he spoke.

“I’ll tell you first—Hanging Gladiator Troupe has disbanded. Apparently, the four guys you dealt with can’t continue as gladiators, but more importantly, Hanging himself faced rebellion. They say someone cut off his limbs, hanged him, and left him for dead.”

“Rebellion?”

“All of them were slaves. They couldn’t directly defy him, so they likely hired an assassin’s guild. The job was done too quickly, though, so maybe they asked an old acquaintance, like a mercenary or adventurer. The kingdom doesn’t care much about deaths involving slave traders or gladiator troupes.”

Sprex sighed deeply, seemingly lost in thought, perhaps comparing Hanging’s fate to his own. Maybe that’s why he told me first, not wanting his slaves to hear about masters being defied.

Still, the atmosphere in Hanging’s troupe was completely different from Sprex’s. I doubted anything similar would happen here.

Sprex slapped his cheeks with his hands, rallying himself.

“Well, either way, there’s nothing left for us to do in this town. Let’s head to the next one!”

As he moved to inform the others, I stopped him.

“Sprex, there are still people looking forward to our shows. Let’s stay a bit longer.”

Sprex grimaced at me.

“Listen, infighting among gladiators from the same troupe is more trouble than it’s worth. It kills the mood, injuries affect us all, and it doesn’t even impact our rankings in the Gladiator Festival.”

I smiled in response.

“Leave it to me—I’ve got a good idea.”

For some reason, Sprex frowned even harder.

Cheers and laughter echoed through the arena.

The audience roared as one gladiator dodged wildly to escape while another chased him with arms wide open.

Finally, the runner was caught, hoisted onto a shoulder, and thrown to the ground.

The crowd erupted, throwing leather tokens into the air.

Sprex shouted the winner’s name so the audience could hear.

Returning with two other gladiators, Sprex approached me and Emera with a big smile.

“Brilliant! You’re amazing! The crowd loves it, and the turnout’s solid!”

He slapped my shoulder so hard it echoed and ruffled Emera’s hair before leaving.

What I had proposed was a softer version of professional wrestling—throwing and rolling matches. After teaching the basics of throwing and falling safely, those who passed the standard could compete.

This minimized injuries and didn’t create friction between gladiators. Everyone returned satisfied, regardless of winning or losing.

For the audience, I arranged for numbered leather tokens to be distributed, letting them throw them onto the stage if their chosen gladiator lost. It created a spectacular sight when hundreds of tokens flew.

Surprisingly, even this minor performance element was well-received in this world with so few entertainment options.

By the final day, they had given me a second name.

Cradle, laughing uproariously, revealed it.

“Look, ‘The Tyrant’! That’s what the crowd’s calling you. Go out there and live up to it!”

With Emera’s encouragement, I stepped onto the stage.

Time to put on a tyrant’s show.