When I spoke with Sprex and Cradle, I learned that Emera, who was skinny, dirty, and malnourished, was actually a girl.

"Since she's a girl, keep her somewhat clean."

Following this advice, I had Emera bathe and asked a fellow gladiator to make her a fur garment.

To my surprise, Emera’s dull brown hair turned into a deep golden color after washing. Her skin, though slightly tanned, revealed a fair and translucent quality.

Her appearance was astonishing—like a fairy out of a story, the kind of beautiful girl you might see on TV.

“Th-thank you,” Emera said, bowing politely after becoming clean and fresh. That evening, we shared meat, soup, and bread within the gladiator group and slept in the same tent.

By the next day, everyone in the gladiator troupe already knew about Emera. It was a topic of conversation that I, a rookie, had apparently brought back a disciple-cum-servant.

Since female gladiators were rare, none were present in our troupe. Despite being a skinny child, Emera attracted a lot of attention and was often spoken to.

Unfortunately, with the rough crowd, much of what was said to her was inappropriate. As a result, Emera stuck close to me and refused to leave my side.

That didn't change even during my matches.

“Now, cheer from here. Matt is going to fight for you,” Cradle said, prompting a spirited response from Emera.

“Yes, sir!”

Leaving Emera with Cradle, who had escorted her near the arena, I stepped onto the stage.

I had been expecting to be put in a harsh matchup immediately, but it seemed such battles required preparations.

For now, my opponent was an ordinary gladiator.

"Let’s do this."
"Yeah."

I raised my sword.

The sword felt strangely light, and though I could somewhat manage the shield, it felt alien to me as a professional wrestler accustomed to fighting barehanded.

While I recognized that my body was performing beyond its prime, the awkwardness of wielding a sword was undeniably stressful.

"Take this!"

Parrying my opponent’s sword with my shield, I gained some distance.

The other fighter, in contrast, was well-versed in the conventional sword-and-shield combat style. It lacked the refinement of kendo but was wielded skillfully nonetheless.

If I relied on standard gladiatorial techniques, I’d be at a disadvantage when matched against tougher cards later on.

I had to establish my own fighting style.

“Haah!”

Swinging my sword horizontally, I forced my opponent to defend with his shield.

“Nice!”

He braced himself well, blocking my attack, and countered with a thrust aimed at me. I deflected it with my shield, then struck him in the face using the shield itself.

Though my technique lacked finesse, it sent him sprawling.

Raising my shield, I inspected my arm’s movement and nodded.

Yes, this felt more natural. Still, wielding two shields would seem ridiculous.

Before I could ponder further, my opponent recovered, charging toward me in anger.

“Aaaargh!”

His rage-fueled rush was a desperate attempt to overwhelm me with sheer force.

Even in professional fighting, raw momentum could sometimes decide a match.

“Graaah!”

With a deafening roar, he brought his sword down in a powerful arc.

Expecting me to dodge or block, he poured all his confidence into this single move.

But instead of retreating, I stepped diagonally toward his lead foot, positioning myself behind him in the quickest possible manner.

This was second nature—an instinctive movement ingrained over years of practice.

Once behind him, I grabbed hold and lifted his body, arching backward to slam him into the ground.

Using the force of my throw, I delivered a move straight out of pro wrestling.

By the time I realized what I had done, both my sword and shield were already discarded.

Even on sand, the impact of landing on his head and shoulders knocked my opponent unconscious.

Rolling him aside, I stood, greeted by thunderous applause.

The audience seemed to interpret my victory as sheer luck and skillful endurance. Their cheers celebrated my "bravery" and fortune.

Raising one hand to acknowledge the crowd, I returned to the waiting area.

“Hey, I had no idea what you were doing when you dropped the sword,” Cradle said, still amazed.

“It was reflex.”

I laughed, prompting Cradle to laugh as well and pat my shoulder.

“That sidestep to get behind him was incredible! If you can pair that with sword skills, you’ll be unbeatable.”

“Maybe so.”

Turning to Emera, I greeted her. “I’m back.”

Emera’s eyes widened in surprise before her face lit up with a radiant smile.

“Welcome back!”

The days passed in a steady rhythm.

We woke up together, washed our faces, ate, trained with the sword, and observed other gladiators to learn.

At midday, we’d share another meal and assist with preparations for the matches.

Evening brought more food, a bath, and sleep together in the same tent.

When I had matches, they simply slotted into the day’s routine.

After two weeks, Emera’s expressions grew brighter and more confident.

One day, Sprex came to me.

“The day of our agreement has come. Your match is tomorrow, first thing in the afternoon.”

It seemed the arrangements were complete.

Looking at Sprex’s satisfied grin, I nodded.

“I understand. Who’s my opponent?”

Sprex snorted, narrowing his eyes.

“Not a person—three goblins. Don’t worry; most gladiators can handle them.”

Though Sprex grinned, Cradle’s expression grew stern as he listened.

I gave a silent nod, accepting the challenge.