Chapter 7: End of Act

"Enough both of you! You both are making a scene, not that I blame you since your parent probably doesn't taught anything to a disapointment." I shouted, alerting both men, who were still debating. Naturally, their gaze gravitates toward me.

With a swift hand, Don Westel pulled out his black sabre, Damascus Armatoli. Even so, I still maintain my composure.

The sword tip was only a few millimeter ahead of my throat, and it could easily puncture the frail me. "Why you son of a-- do you perhaps have a death wish? acting arrogantly in front of your executor." He twisted the sword handle a few times, trying to scare me with the prospect of death. But, the acting up till now had ended, time for me to move on to the next phase.

I must admit that Don Westel was really a flawless man who followed his own morals and code of ethics to the fullest, yet that's exactly his greatest flaw. I didn't give any response to Don Westel's threat. I only stared at him before pushing the sharp tip to the side. The sharp edge of that black sabre did make my finger bleed just by touching it gently, but whatever. It was only a minor wound.

"Oy, old geezer, is barking about your threat the only thing you can do?" Don Westel appears surprised and enraged by my insult; he had not expected it. "Well, what do you say, Mr. Guard Dog? Are you angry? Are you shocked that this jerk will take the hand of your precious Astarte? Oh, what am I saying? Your mouth must be tired from licking all of the city council members shoes." I might not have experience in it, but I do like to watch opera, and I think waving my hand around while talking in a mocking voice will increase the effectiveness of my provocation.

A big blue vein emerged from Don Westel's forehead, while his hand could only shake like someone with a stroke and do nothing else.

"And you, stinky furhead, hurry up and bring me to my first fight." I instructed Bjorj, who at that time was staring in awe at my threat to Don Westel. "Oh, I also forgot." "Won't you also call a coffin maker here since that old man was already one foot in the grave, what's with the tremor and popping vein?" In an instant, Don Westel threw away his sabre and tried to assault me with his bare hands before being stopped by Bjorj.

I didn't know how the law and hierarchy in this world actually work but since history a high member of society especially the one that represent the institution image like city council member need to keep clean of their image in public place. After all tarnishing that image might spark a flame of rebellion among those who hate the hierarchy.

"Your rambling really do reflected your insecurity; are you compensating for something?" "Perhaps your legendary story is a lie and you're nothing more than a petty officer whose sole job was to boil potatoes." Bjorj forcefully took my hand and led me out of the chamber, leaving the dumbfounded Don Westel behind.

He kept leading me through the passage into a room with a creaky rusted iron door separating the exterior from the interior and above it in a wooden plaque there was a carving that read "Fighter Waiting Room."

Before I went through that door, Bjorj stopped me in my path and said, "I probably didn't need to explain, but Don Westel is basically your benefactor and all matchup for the fighter will be decided on the benefactor whim." "The moment you enter that room, you'll be officially registered as a fighter, and Don Westel, who you just pissed off, will be the one who decides your match." "So what of it? Do you think I'll lose because of that?" "Not that I doubt your ability, but Don Westel is an extremely sadistic man. I don't want to see fresh talent being squandered because his benefactor has a personal vendetta. So, if you want, I can officially make you drop out right now; hell, if you really want it, I can even find a better benefactor for you."

Who is he again? Bjorj wasn't it ? Even though he looked like a savage monster, his heart was too kind for this world. Unfortunately, my plan will have to sacrifice someone like him in the end. "Don't worry about it too much. Be it a mythical beast or legendary hero, bring it on! I'm ready to kill all of them for my own glory." I said as I entered the room without giving a single glance to Bjorj.

It's a risky plan, that's for sure. I could die (funny how many times it has nearly happened to me these past few days), and I would even be tortured by Don Westel if I somehow survived. If you view it rationally, this kind of strategy was tantamount to suicide, a fight without any guarantee of winning.

I should be despairing right now, cursing fate for this situation, and yet I didn't. As Dorothy stated, magic works according to one devotion to the gods who chose you as their champion. If the definition of devotion in this world was the same as in my old world, then entering a battle to the death in the name of God will surely be seen as one of the best acts of devotion one could think of.

"The almighty that descended upon conflict"

No nation can endure your faithful edge

"Let those who oppose you be conflicted with their own interest"

I conjured the purple cutlass. Everyone in the fighter waiting room was looking at me. Some were surprised to see I could use magic, some were unimpressed, and some looked at me like I was a show off; what mattered was that I got all their attention.

"Dear fellow contestant, I have some bad news: all of you here will go home empty-handed, your benefactor will be in red, as I, Trevor, Herscher will be the sole victor of this gladiator fight. Be proud for all of you here will be the main witnesses to my ascension to kingship."