Chapter 401: The Gladiatorium

The forest vanished before Kael could properly register the transition. Damp earth disappeared beneath his boots, along with the last glimpse of the prisoners moving between the trees. Bright light struck his eyes, and he narrowed them as a roar of voices rolled over him.

Thousands of people were shouting, cheering, and whistling at once. The noise seemed to come from every direction.

Kael looked down first. His boots rested on packed red dirt, churned by countless feet and stained darker in places where blood had soaked into the ground. High walls enclosed the space around him, with enormous tiers of stone seating rising beyond them.

The stands were almost full.

Spectators in white, gray, cream, and faded yellow robes leaned over the rows, shouting toward the arena floor. Some waved strips of cloth. Others threw coins, while a group farther up chanted a name Kael could not make out through the noise.

"What the hell?" he muttered.

A blue window opened before him.

[WELCOME TO FLOOR 13]

[THE GLADIATORIUM]

You have been captured within foreign territory and sold into slavery.

Your life now belongs to the Gladiatorium.

Freedom must be earned through victory.

[PRIMARY OBJECTIVE]

Achieve a minimum of FIVE victories within the Gladiatorium.

Upon securing five victories, you may claim your freedom and proceed to the next Floor.

[ADDITIONAL CONDITION]

Victories obtained beyond the minimum requirement will improve your final Floor evaluation and increase available rewards.

[WARNING]

The Gladiatorium rewards spectacle, strength, survival, and victory.

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Kael read the final sentence again. "You don’t say..."

The window disappeared without accommodating him.

Four people stood nearby, all wearing equipment that identified them as Climbers. One carried a curved sword and wore light scale armor. A staff rested across another’s back, while the remaining two carried a short spear and carried double daggers respectively.

None looked familiar, which was reassuring until Kael noticed their insignia.

Each wore a red circle against black, with a stylized sun burning at its center.

The Red Sun Clan.

Kael held still as he examined the emblems. In less than ten minutes, he had refused a divine Class change, received an ability anyway, collected a Legendary chest, and arrived on the next Floor beside four people from a clan he would rather avoid.

He had not even opened the chest yet.

His helmet remained in place, concealing his face apart from his eyes. With Darkness inactive, the Basilisk leather and Malachor weave of his coat looked like ordinary physical materials. Expensive ones, certainly, but nothing that immediately announced him as the Rune user their clan had once been searching for.

He resisted the urge to adjust the helmet. Drawing attention to it would accomplish very little.

The swordsman turned toward him. His gaze traveled upward, then a little farther as he took in Kael’s height. He opened his mouth, but a whip cracked against the dirt before he could speak.

All five Climbers turned.

A man in bronze armor stood several meters away. His helmet covered much of his face, though Kael could see dark skin beneath it and a thick scar crossing one cheek. A second whip hung coiled at his hip.

"What are you standing around for?" the man demanded, pointing toward a gate beneath the stands. "Your match hasn’t started yet. Get inside."

Kael understood every word, at least. Language would not be the first problem he had to deal with.

The Climbers hesitated long enough for the whip to crack again. The swordsman glanced toward his companions and gave a small nod before heading through the gate. The others followed, leaving Kael to take the rear.

Before entering, he looked back toward the center of the arena.

A fight was still underway.

One of the combatants was young and thin, his ragged shirt hanging loosely over his ribs. Strips of leather protected his forearms, but he wore no other visible armor. Rust marked the edge of his sword, and worn leather had been wrapped around its grip.

His opponent stood nearly twice as broad through the shoulders. The man carried a spiked morningstar in one hand and roared as he charged.

Kael slowed.

The boy stepped aside and turned with the movement. His rusty blade flashed beneath the larger fighter’s raised arm, passing across the exposed throat before the morningstar could come down.

The man took another two stumbling steps. Blood spilled down his chest, and his knees gave way beneath him.

The crowd erupted.

The young fighter wiped his sword on the dead man’s clothes. He showed no sign of strain and barely glanced toward the spectators. By the time Kael had properly registered how quickly the exchange had ended, the boy was already straightening.

The overseer jabbed the handle of his whip against Kael’s back.

"I told you to move."

Kael turned his head and looked at him. The man lowered the whip handle, giving him enough room to enter without another shove.

Kael smiled beneath his helmet and walked through the gate.

He would have to remember the boy. Whatever else this Floor was, it was unlikely to be simple.

The passage descended beneath the arena seating, where stone replaced the packed earth. The crowd remained audible overhead, its louder eruptions carrying through the ceiling.

Barred chambers lined the corridor. Two ogres occupied one, chained to opposite walls. Something scaled lay farther back in another, its body partly concealed by the stone surrounding the gate. Kael could not identify it before they passed.

Other cells held people. Some wore equipment like the Climbers’, while others had little more than rags and whatever weapons the Gladiatorium had given them. A few watched the new arrivals with interest. Others sat hunched against the walls, tending injuries or staring at the floor.

The overseer stopped before a larger room and waved them inside. A steel gate slammed shut behind Kael, followed by the heavy scrape of a lock.

He examined the bars.

They were thick, but he doubted breaking them would take much effort. The four Red Sun members could probably damage the gate as well if they worked together. None approached it.

Kael left it alone. The Tower had demanded victories, and walking out of a holding room was unlikely to satisfy that requirement.

The overseer departed without explaining anything further.

Several benches stood inside the chamber, along with water barrels and racks of poor-quality weapons. There was space for perhaps twenty people, though the five of them currently had it to themselves.

The Red Sun group gathered near a bench. Kael remained a short distance away until the swordsman addressed him.

"I’m Darin. These are Vesk, Halem, and Roth." He indicated the spear user, the man with the staff, and finally the fighter wearing gauntlets. "What should we call you?"

"Tony," he answered.

Darin studied him. "Do you have a family name or a clan we should know about?"

"No family worth mentioning here. I’m climbing solo."

Halem gave a quiet whistle and leaned against the wall. "You’ve done well to get this far, then. Solo Climbers rarely last."

"Then I’m rare," Kael said, folding his arms.

The answer earned him a few looks. Darin considered him for another moment before sitting on the bench.

"You should stick with us. We know this Floor, and you’ll have a better chance if we work together."

"Have you cleared it before?" Kael asked.

"Our clan has," Darin replied. "Several groups have been through, and we have their reports. We know more than someone walking in without them."

That was a different claim, though potentially a useful one.

"I’m listening," Kael said.

The group relaxed a little. They appeared to take that as agreement, but he had only agreed to hear them out.

Floor Eleven had already taught him the danger of mistaking confidence for competence. A Climber affiliated with Leonard had nearly ruined their defense by insisting everyone follow his plan. Kael intended to judge this advice before putting his life behind it.

"The Gladiatorium is one of the stranger Floors below Twenty," Darin began. "Two groups can arrive with similar strength and face completely different opening matches."

Vesk rested his spear beside the bench. "Some reports mention goblins. Another Red Sun group faced three ogres in their first round."

"Five Climbers against three ogres?" Kael glanced toward the corridor they had just passed through. "I assume they survived long enough to write the report."

"Barely," Halem said. "They had to use supplies they’d intended to save for later matches."

"And some groups never face monsters at all," Darin added. "The Gladiatorium can put you against other Climbers."

Kael’s attention sharpened.

"Real Climbers? People attempting the Floor at the same time?"

"Real people," Darin confirmed. "The reports are clear about that. They aren’t copies."

"And killing them doesn’t interfere with your clear?" Kael asked. "I would have expected a PK penalty."

"That’s the unusual part. If the Gladiatorium assigns the match, it doesn’t count as Player Killing. There’s no Mark and no penalty from the Tower."