The final match had concluded, and the arena still pulsed with fervent excitement.

Cradle's reputation had soared, and Rain's remarkable performance had drawn abundant praise as well.

Amid the lingering heat of the battlefield, the King of Stampede made another appearance on the stage, accompanied by the rhythm of drums.

With his soldiers in tow, the king stood at the center of the platform, surveying the audience before addressing them.

"The gladiators' battles have been nothing short of spectacular! No doubt, many of those who competed in the Gladiator Festival will find themselves recruited by the royal family or noble houses to become knights. Yet, those who are captivated by the gladiator’s path and the thrill of the arena will return next year to this very stage! Let us come again next year and burn these extraordinary battles into our memories!"

Spreading his arms wide, the king continued.

"Now, it is time for the awards ceremony! To the Bear Hug Gladiator Corps, who achieved the most victories in this year's festival, step forward!"

As the king declared this, the doors on the opposite side of his entry opened, revealing five gladiators led by their portly promoter clad in black, Bear Hug.

At the rear of their formation walked Cradle.

The Bear Hug Gladiator Corps strode onto the stage with pride and radiant expressions, Cradle maintaining his usual composed demeanor as he gazed straight ahead.

The soldiers arranged themselves in a semicircle with the king at their forefront. The Bear Hug Gladiator Corps formed a line opposite him and knelt.

Looking down at the kneeling corps, the king extended his hands with palms open.

"Behold! These are this year's champions! To the Bear Hug Gladiator Corps, I bestow one thousand gold coins and priority entry to next year's festival. And as for..."

The king paused, shifting his gaze to Cradle.

"To Cradle, the gladiator who delivered an especially magnificent performance, I offer two choices!"

At his words, two soldiers stepped forward, each bearing a treasure. One carried a gleaming silver longsword, the other, a folded crimson mantle.

"Should you choose the mantle, Cradle, you will be granted the path of a Special Knight of the Royal Capital's Order! Though it has been declined for the past three years, it remains an honorable and prestigious position! The current Knight Commander rose from Special Knight to Baron, a rank of nobility!"

The crowd stirred at this pronouncement. For a gladiator, most of whom were slaves, to attain a title was extraordinary.

Though I barely understood the implications, the audience's reaction made it clear how remarkable this offer was.

When the audience settled, the king spoke again.

"Alternatively, if you wish to remain a gladiator, you may take this sword. It is a masterfully crafted mithril blade! Bardict, for instance, refused the knightly path because he couldn't ride a horse and claimed the sword was too small. If you decline, mind your words!"

The king's remark drew laughter from all around the arena.

Honestly, given Bardict's enormous frame, imagining him astride a small horse invited sympathy for the steed.

As I dwelled on such trivial thoughts, the king lowered his hands and turned to Cradle.

"Now, Cradle! Which will you choose?"

The audience eagerly awaited Cradle's answer, their interest palpable.

Rising slowly, Cradle bowed to the king before stepping toward the soldier holding the silver sword.

A blend of astonishment and understanding swept through the spectators as they reacted to his choice.

With a wry smile, the king nodded, looking at Cradle standing before the sword.

"So, you have chosen the blade. Watching your battles, I had a feeling it might come to this."

As the king spoke, Cradle silently took the sword, unsheathed it, and in the same motion, swung it at the king. The king's swift reflexes saved him from a fatal blow, but the blade slashed his shoulder.

Cradle immediately followed up, lunging at the king again.

The king raised his mantle from within, using it as a shield to create distance between them. Sparks flew as Cradle's blade struck the mantle, revealing its exceptional quality.

"W-what is this...!?"

The soldiers rushed toward Cradle, but he deftly wove through them, relentlessly advancing on the king.

With the same ferocity he displayed against Rain, Cradle's onslaught was relentless. The king, however, skillfully parried with his mantle, evading the attacks.

"Cr-Cradle! What are you doing?!"

Bear Hug, pale as a sheet, dashed toward Cradle, only to be swiftly cut down.

Screams and shouts erupted from the audience, some even attempting to enter the arena.

The king, now at a safer distance, glared at Cradle and shouted.

"What do you intend to do, killing me? You cannot escape this place!"

The king’s words only made Cradle laugh.

"Ha! How utterly wrong you are, Okura-ho Ma Stampede the Fourth! What a ridiculous name you bear!"

"W-what...!?"

The king frowned deeply at Cradle's mocking tone.

Cradle sneered and pointed his sword at the king.

"I was a royal guard of Wrestle Kingdom’s King Thohold, whom you destroyed. I was one of those who witnessed his demise."

"The Wrestle Kingdom... I see. You were one of the captured slaves..."

At the king's realization, Cradle raised his sword, cutting down the soldiers around him as he continued.

"His Majesty ordered us, his royal guards—no, me—to flee. And then, he took his own life. For six years, I’ve thought of nothing but killing you! Now, beg for your life, Stampede! None here are stronger than me!"

Cradle charged, slicing through three soldiers who moved to protect the king.

Desperately, the king's supporters cried out.

"Where’s Matt?! Is Matt not here?!"

Snapping out of my daze, I looked around. Soldiers scrambled through the audience, and among them was the eccentric prince.

Prince Torbezzino spotted me, his expression tense.

"Matt! Please, save my father!"

He shouted, tossing me a sword from his waist.

I instinctively stood, catching the blade, and looked at Cradle, still pressing the king.

He wants me to kill him.

Before I could move, Emera clutched at my clothes.

"Y-Yamato, no! You’re not even wearing armor! And Cradle, he’ll try to kill you!"

Emera’s tearful face made me nod.

"You're right... but I can’t let this go any further."

I unsheathed the sword, my resolve solidifying.

Cradle.

The first gladiator I ever met. The one who shaped my image of what it means to be a gladiator.

The man I’ve never truly fought with all my strength.

I gently patted Emera’s head, offering her a reassuring smile.

"Don’t worry. I’m the strongest. As long as you cheer for me, I won’t lose to anyone."

With those words, I leapt from the stands onto the stage.