When Hatch was carried back to the waiting area, the atmosphere grew heavy and somber.

Though his helmet had spared his life, the sight of Hatch lying on the ground, his nose and teeth broken and blood streaming down, seemed to mirror the bleak future of the Sprex Gladiator Troupe.

"…Damn it. So that’s it for us," someone muttered.

"All we can do now is avoid further injuries and pin our hopes on the next match," another chimed in.

Hearing these resigned voices, Sprex clicked his tongue in frustration.

"Isn’t there anyone who wants to wipe the smug looks off the Sloyder Gladiator Troupe’s faces? You’ve all been fighting like amateurs! What happened to the fire you showed before this?" Sprex shouted angrily.

The injured fighters and their close friends glared at him with undisguised hostility.

I turned to the next gladiator slated to fight, but his shoulders slumped, and his spirit had visibly waned. The once-optimistic Sprex Gladiator Troupe was now unrecognizable.

If their despondency was due to witnessing the Sloyder Troupe’s strength firsthand, then perhaps this bitter experience might serve as a lesson for the future.

But to me, it felt as though they had squandered a winnable match. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to tell them to cast aside their pride as gladiators—it was too bitter a pill.

In the end, I said nothing to the fourth fighter as he headed to the arena.

As predicted, he too lost swiftly, overwhelmed before he could even adjust to the Sloyder Troupe’s might. At least his injuries were minor, but I doubted he would be able to face another fight with confidence.

"…It’s up to you now, Matt," Sprex said as I prepared to fight. Uncharacteristically subdued, his words carried the weight of desperation.

There were still matches ahead. Any glimmer of hope or morale-boosting success would do.

"I’m not asking you to win," Sprex pleaded. "Just give them a fight! Show us there’s still a chance we can win!"

Looking up at me with eyes full of hope, Sprex seemed on the verge of breaking.

I gave his arm a reassuring pat and ruffled Emera’s hair.
"Do you think I’m going to lose?" I said with a grin.

Emera’s eyes sparkled as she gripped my hand, while Sprex let out a sudden burst of laughter, slapping me on the back.

"You’re one hell of a guy," Sprex said, still laughing.

I shrugged and headed toward the stage, letting go of Emera’s hand and pushing open the heavy wooden doors.

The bright arena stretched before me, the cheers of the crowd swelling with anticipation—likely for the Sloyder Troupe’s star gladiator.

But I knew. If I could turn this excitement to my favor, it would ignite the arena like never before. This was my chance for a monumental upset.

Smiling faintly, I stepped into the center of the stage.

From the opposite end, a shadow emerged.

Towering at over two meters, he was the largest man I had ever faced. His helmet, adorned with red feathers, obscured much of his face, while his massive frame was encased in thick armor. A long sword and an enormous shield gleamed in his hands.

So, this was Bardict.

He strode toward me, his steps heavy, and stopped to look down at me.

"So, you’re the infamous Mad Matt," he rumbled.

"That’s me. And you’re Bardict, I assume?"

He exhaled sharply, almost a laugh.

"You’re small," he remarked.

"And you’re too big," I shot back.

We exchanged these barbs, then raised our weapons, ready to fight.

The gap in our reach was at least a meter. If I wanted to close that distance, I couldn’t afford to block his attacks head-on. I had to keep moving, keep the pressure on.

"Here I come!" Bardict bellowed, swinging his sword in a compact slash, powered by his hips and tightly controlled movements.

The speed and reach of his strikes were daunting.

I deflected the blade with my shield, stepping closer while lowering my stance to absorb the impact. It was manageable—but barely.

Bardict’s swordplay, however, was far from ordinary.

With a simple twist of his body, the deflected sword returned in a downward strike, faster than I anticipated. His agility and control were astonishing for someone of his size.

Bardict wielded his long, heavy sword like a whip, striking from all directions. The arena resounded with the relentless metallic screech of his blade against my shield.

His unyielding onslaught left no openings.

If I wanted to shift the momentum, I needed to disrupt his rhythm—either by halting his movements or amplifying the chaos.

I made my move, pushing my shield forward instead of deflecting his next strike. It was a bold gambit to suppress his blade outright.

Bardict’s lips curled into a faint smile as he raised his massive shield and swung it down toward me.

Using his height and reach, he turned his shield into a weapon. With my shield already committed, I had only my sword left to defend myself.

But this wasn’t a situation I couldn’t handle.

As Bardict’s shield descended, I struck its edge with the flat of my sword, deflecting it upward and closing the distance between us.

In the chaos, we both found ourselves unable to properly wield our weapons.

I hooked my foot around Bardict’s leg, sending us both crashing to the ground. Before he could retaliate, I grabbed his arm, twisting it as I maneuvered to pin him.

With his right arm locked, I pressed my knees against his head and forced his torso backward, securing the hold.

"Aghhh!" Bardict’s agonized roar echoed through the arena as he dropped his sword.

I’d won—or so I thought.

Despite his predicament, Bardict slammed his shield against my arm and legs with reckless abandon. The impact loosened my grip, allowing him to break free and retreat.

Even unarmed, his determination was staggering.

He now held only his shield, standing defensively as he glared at me.

"…Let’s try this," I muttered, shifting my grip on my sword and mirroring his stance with my shield raised.

Bardict frowned, visibly puzzled.

Why wasn’t I using my sword? His expression spoke volumes.

I closed the distance step by step, keeping my movements deliberate. The tension in the arena grew palpable, the crowd holding its breath.

Finally, Bardict snapped.

With a roar, he lunged, thrusting his shield to obscure my vision.

But I anticipated his move, pressing my shield against his and sidestepping to block his path.

Caught off guard, Bardict stumbled forward. I seized the opportunity, forcing his head downward and locking his legs with mine.

In one fluid motion, I hoisted his massive frame upside down and slammed him into the ground with all my strength.

The arena erupted in deafening cheers as Bardict lay sprawled on the ground.

I stood cautiously, watching for any signs of movement. Slowly, Bardict pushed himself upright, clutching his neck.

"…Still alive," I muttered, relieved.

Sitting upright, Bardict extended a hand toward me.

"…Complete defeat, boy. In over twenty years as a gladiator, I’ve never fought like this. Thank you."

I lightly smacked his hand, surprising him. Then, patting his shoulder, I grinned.

"Don’t go talking about retirement yet, Bardict. Gladiators like you don’t come around often."

Bardict froze for a moment before bursting into hearty laughter.

As applause and cheers filled the arena, we finally shook hands properly.