My Disciples Became Scoundrels - Chapter 55

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————

* * *
A vast circular Arena was surrounded by countless rows of spectator seating. Despite being underground, the ceiling soared endlessly high.
The seating was appointed with the elegance of an opera house, but the fighting floor belonged to another world entirely.
Dried blood crusted the dark stone in scattered patches. A foul stench rose from the sewage trickling down the walls, and without the torches hung there, it would have been nothing but darkness.
Palisades about man-height were erected at intervals across the arena. Judging by the sword marks and splintered wood, they’d served as makeshift shields. Their scars told the story of countless clashes.
We sat among the well-dressed spectators. Jenia was crunching on Popcorn, wholly absorbed in the coming match.
“Cesare’s opponent is No. 2, right? And his name is Kalbaaram—how strange. Did his parents neglect him that much?”
“It’s probably a ring name, used only here.”
Two days had passed since registration. In that time, I’d gathered bits and pieces about the other fighters.
Nothing detailed—just that one used a blade, another was a mage, that sort of thing.
“And who does Arkel fight against? Wait… why do you look like that, Arkel?”
Arkel had his sleeves pressed to his mouth and nose, his brows drawn tight.
“…The smell of blood.”
“You don’t like the smell of blood?”
He didn’t answer. His fingertips trembled slightly.
He hadn’t killed monsters in a while, and his urge to slaughter hadn’t been properly sated. I’d need to take Arkel into a Dungeon soon after we returned.
As Jenia was stuffing Popcorn into Arkel’s mouth, a figure appeared on the raised platform opposite us.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for your patience! The dog competing today is quite special.”
At the announcer’s cry, a man emerged from the left entrance. He was as massive as Cesare, wielding a pair of sinister twin Axes.
“No. 2, Kalbaaram! From the North! He reached the finals in his last bout. His grandparents’ Bloodline carries a baron’s blood. With his well-balanced physique and—”
Bloodline. That word landed differently. As if they were appraising livestock.
After finishing his spiel about No. 2, the announcer turned toward the opposite side.
“Does anyone here know this dog? The champion who vanished three years ago! This time he fights as No. 14!”
Cesare walked out from the opposite gate. Several spectators recognized him, their voices climbing in pitch.
“Isn’t that Cesare?”
“Has he come back? Why wasn’t this leaked beforehand?”
“I would’ve placed bets if I’d known!”
They all had the look of those who’d missed out on easy profit. The announcer fanned the flames.
“Origin unknown, no verified Bloodline, but his past guarantees his skill! So tell me—which dog will walk away victorious today?”
With a metallic clang, the entrance gates sealed shut behind the fighters. No. 2 stared at Cesare in silence, his stance defensive.
The announcer raised a gong mallet.
“Let the match begin!”
—Gong…!
The gong rang out, but his opponent didn’t rush forward immediately. He merely watched Cesare warily, holding his ground.
Cautious enough, it seemed. Though it hardly mattered. Cesare drew the spear strapped to his back.
“Come on. Let’s finish this quick. This place reeks of dog.”
The moment those words left his lips, Cesare shot forward like a stone from a catapult. His strike reached No. 2 in an instant.
—Clang, crash!
No. 2 raised his Axe desperately to block the spearpoint. The Axe became nothing more than a Shield.
With Cesare’s bulk and reach advantage, and the spear on top of that, his opponent was utterly outmatched. All the more so with a weapon like an Axe.
Each collision of spear and Axe sent thunder rolling through the arena. No. 2 staggered. Gritting his teeth, he hurled his Axe at Cesare.
The moment Cesare batted the spinning Axe away, No. 2 closed the distance.
Trying to narrow the gap—a sound strategy against a spearman. If the spearman weren’t Cesare.
—Boom!
The instant he came within range, Cesare drove his fist straight into No. 2’s face.
“Ouch. That had to hurt. Master, would you like some Popcorn?”
“Yes, I’ll have some.”
Meanwhile, No. 2 staggered backward, reaching out with one hand. The Axe he’d thrown far away shifted and moved. Cesare glanced back.
—Whistle!
The Axe came streaking back and tore across Cesare’s forearm. Blood spilled freely.
Seizing the moment, No. 2 swung his Axe in a wide arc—as if trying to cleave Cesare in half.
—Bang!
Cesare raised his spear shaft and blocked the blow. Even holding it in one hand, it didn’t so much as shudder.
Catching No. 2 off guard, Cesare batted the Axe away. His spear was about to come down on No. 2 when—
—Bang!
A dull impact sent Cesare sliding backward. His eyes narrowed.
“What the hell is this?”
A bluish Protection Magic barrier had materialized in front of No. 2.
Using magic wasn’t unusual. But that magic—No. 2 hadn’t cast it. There’d been no sign at all. That’s when Arkel pointed toward the spectator stands.
“Protection Magic was used over there.”
One of the spectators had torn a Scroll. Cesare spotted it too and shouted.
“What? No rules against outside help? Arkel! I want in too!”
At those words, Arkel began condensing moisture from the air. The instant his gaze swept across No. 2, a staff member approached.
“My apologies! Spectators are not permitted to assist directly!”
Arkel merely glanced at the staff member with his eyes. The man visibly flinched.
“Why are they allowed, then?”
“Th-that’s Sponsorship. You can purchase Scrolls from the organizers and use them. Would you like to buy some?”
Money could influence the match itself?
Now I recalled seeing spectators buying something at the entrance hall. So those papers they’d paid for were Scrolls.
It was a rule the master hadn’t mentioned. Just then, another staff member offered a tray of Scrolls to a spectator.
“Recovery Scroll, five million Batz.”
As the spectator tore the Scroll, No. 2’s wounds began to heal. Cesare, grasping the situation, let out a hollow laugh.
“When did they dream up this rule? Money madness personified……”
The spectators had no choice but to spend heavily. I was beginning to understand why she’d forced us into this arena.
No. 2, recovered by now, rose with renewed confidence. Even lacking skill, they had a sponsor’s backing.
Since no one had anticipated Cesare’s participation, none of the spectators who bet had wagered on him. It meant we had no one willing to spend money on us.
But there was no need to open our wallets. Cesare’s expression made that clear.
“I learned a difficult word recently.”
Cesare showed no trace of nervousness. He gripped his spear and smirked.
“You know about the Break-even Point?”
The Break-even Point, my student.
His phrasing was rough, but Cesare was right. After all, this torrent of money had its limits.
They wouldn’t spend more on Scrolls than they’d wagered themselves. Though some might squeeze out more in desperation.
Cesare’s spear began its rampage. Scrolls were torn from every direction, and staff voices rang out urgently.
“Defense Scroll, seven million Batz!”
“Agility Scroll, eight million Batz……”
With each Scroll torn, the opponent’s momentum revived bit by bit. No. 2’s attacks grew sharper.
―Whoosh!
He hurled the Axe, and a sharp sound cut through the air. Spinning Axes flew at Cesare from both sides.
―Screech!
Cesare’s thigh was cut deep. But it was No. 2 who panicked.
Cesare had caught the Axe. Rather than dodging, he’d snatched it head-on. He slung his spear over his back and gripped the Axe.
“It’s been a while since I’ve handled an Axe.”
―Crash!
The sound of Axe meeting Axe rang out violently. Having lost his weapon, No. 2 was forced on the defensive.
No. 2’s face went deathly pale. The spectators too. When no more Scroll-tearing sounds reached them, No. 2 glanced back desperately at the stands.
“I can still win! So please……”
―Bang!
Cesare grabbed his opponent’s head and slammed it straight into the ground. No. 2, trembling violently, went limp.
The Arena fell silent for a moment. Even the announcer looked dazed before belatedly snapping back to attention.
“The victor is Fighter Fourteen!”
Though pride kept many spectators from crying out, numerous faces flushed red and purple.
After the match ended, we made our way to the Fighter Waiting Room. Cesare, while treating his wounds, waved his hand.
“Pretty cool, right?”
“Yes. Well done.”
“The master deliberately didn’t tell us those rules. Only when I grabbed that staff member by the collar did she finally hand them over.”
Cesare picked up the paper lying beside him. Looking it over, detailed information about Sponsorship was written there.
He showed it to the other students. Usually Jenia would take interest in something like this, but Arkel was examining it with unusual seriousness.
“It seems the master didn’t mention me either. No one placed bets on me, did they? I wonder if that’s because of Sponsorship.”
Betting was only available before the tournament began. At that time, Jenia had smoothly lifted two betting slips.
“We bought tickets.”
What we’d bought were betting slips for Cesare and Arkel. Looking at the Betting Odds, it seemed only a handful of people besides us had bought them.
“Wow, my Betting Odds are five times? I wagered forty million Batz?”
“Yeah. I took it from the bank. Arkel’s is also forty million Batz, but his odds are eight times.”
“What? I was the champion, and this is what we get?”
Since we couldn’t know who would win between the two, we’d spread the bets. We’d also receive some of the winnings for placing second.
That was also why I hadn’t participated. With three of us involved, there was no point taking a smaller cut.
“Even conservatively, we’ll make hundreds of millions. No matter how much those nobles pour in……”
―Clang!
Just then, a sharp cracking sound echoed from the Arena. It seemed the second match had begun.
Jenia cracked open the door to the Fighter Waiting Room. The Arena looked small from here. Though it had barely started, the outcome was already decided.
A young man stood over his fallen opponent. His attire was quite distinctive.
“That person’s Armor and Cloak look amazing.”
“Yes. Knights usually dress like that.”
A Helmet and Armor that gleamed white, and a Cloak that fluttered in the wind. An elegance that seemed out of place in this fighting pit.
“Our Arena’s champion, No. 1, has achieved victory!”
“Hmm, that guy’s the champion?”
Cesare had somehow wedged himself beside Jenia, peering through the gap. His bulk obscured the view.
I moved closer and peered through the crack. No. 1 stood with perfect posture and composure.
“What? What’s he doing now?”
“He’s helping his opponent up?”
No. 1 helped his defeated opponent to his feet and shook his hand—as if they’d merely sparred together. Then a cheerful voice burst out.
“You’re a rare soul of cleanliness in this filthy abyss of sin! That was a delightful match!”
Somehow this reminded me of Matteo. Another lunatic had appeared, speaking freely without a care.

—————
This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
—————