Inside the VIP box, Bastiou had a cigar between his teeth and a glass of top-shelf liquor in his hand. His massive frame was sunk deep into a soft sofa.
A scantily clad, pretty young waitress perched trembling on his lap, enduring the pain as his rough hands kneaded her body; she didn't dare resist.
Through the one-way glass Bastiou glanced at the huge figure lying in a pool of blood below, gave a cold laugh, and blew out a smoke ring.
"Tch, not enough. All that fighting over a scrap of cloth? Child's play—no real bloodlust."
Beside him, the Colosseum's portly, lavishly dressed manager immediately bowed, face crammed with an ingratiating smile.
"Yes, yes, of course, Vice Admiral. You've seen the world and fought across the seas; how could our little games for the nobles catch your eye? Just a way to stretch their limbs and spice up their dull lives."
While speaking he smoothly slipped a heavy pouch into the coat pocket next to Bastiou's hand, the movement practised.
Bastiou weighed the pocket and looked pleased, though the contempt in his eyes stayed. He pinched the waitress's waist hard; she stifled a yelp of pain as he jerked his chin toward the arena.
"That big fellow—'Horn' something—still has some strength. Next time give him something 'spicier': a beast starved for days, or… several 'other races'. The lords must get their money's worth of fun, right?"
The manager's smile froze for a heartbeat, then turned even more fawning.
"Understood, understood! Brilliant idea, Vice Admiral! We'll arrange it and make sure the gentlemen are thoroughly entertained!"
Bastiou looked away from the possibly-dead "Horn," as though it were merely a broken prop.
He tossed back the liquor, wrapped an arm around the "warm jade fragrance" in his lap, and continued enjoying his VIP treatment… Deep in the damp, gloomy cells, the crack of a whip split the air along with a youth's shrill curses.
"Damned cur! Low-born mongrel! Daring to snatch something from me!"
Teddy, the young master who had lost the flag-grab, poured all his shame and rage onto the huge figure shackled before him.
Crack!
"Don't you know who I am? I'm the young master of House Dytet!"
Crack!
"Want to see her, do you? That damned Horn!"
Crack!
"I'll let you see—see her corpse for the rest of your life!"
Crack!
The heavy whip fell again and again on the tall, horned female oni.
Yet she was strangely silent under the lashes: no groans, no blazing hatred—just a lifeless statue enduring it all.
Young Teddy vented his arena defeat with every ounce of strength behind each stroke.
The guards nearby watched with relish, never thinking to stop him and even throwing in flattery:
"Well struck, young master Teddy! Such an ungrateful beast needs a harsh lesson!"
"Right, how dare he win against the young master—his woman deserves what she gets!"
"The young master is mighty!"
Still, someone muttered uneasily,
"Strange, why isn't she making a sound today? Usually she at least groans…"
Just then, with a snap, the whip broke from Teddy's frantic force.
Panting, Teddy spat at the unmoving Urti:
"Bad luck!"
He tossed the broken whip, kicked the oni woman hard, and stalked out of the despair-soaked cell.
After he left, a guard cursed and stepped up, kicking her thick calf.
"Hey, stop playing dead! Wake up! Weren't you always yammering to see your man? Move!"
He kicked again; the huge oni body remained motionless.
"The hell? Enjoying the act?"
He kicked harder.
Still no response.
At last unease crept in; a bad premonition rose.
He climbed the short inspection ladder, trembling fingers prying open her large eyelid—
Pupils blown, lifeless.
The guard's face drained white. He scrambled down, voice cracking:
"N-no good! Sh-she's really dead!"
He bolted from the dungeon and raced to an opulent chamber in the Colosseum.
Inside, the current Duke Dytet—a flabby, bleary-eyed man—lay on a velvet couch while gauze-clad maidens fed him wine.
The guard shoved open the gold-embossed doors, threw himself down, and stammered:
"Duke Dytet! Th-the oni woman… Urti, sh-she's dead!"
"What?"
The Duke paused his goblet, frowning. "Dead? That oni bitch? Didn't I tell you to watch her and not let her die? She's the best tool to keep that beast Horn fired up!"
The guard quaked. "I-it was young master Teddy! After Horn snatched the flag yesterday, he was furious and whipped her for ages. After he left, we found she'd stopped breathing…"
"Teddy, huh…" Hearing it was his precious son, the Duke's anger cooled, replaced by indifference.
"Dead is dead. Just a low-born oni."
He sipped his wine and told the neatly dressed old steward at his side:
"Abbott, later go to the Sabaody Archipelago auction and buy a few new oni Slaves. A Colosseum needs Horns, after all. Pity though… Dock was such a useful Horn; without a leash he'll be hard to control."
"But Your Grace," the guard forced himself to say,
"A-after the last match we promised to let him see the oni woman… What do we tell him?"
Duke Dytet set down his cup, drumming the table, a venomous glint in his cloudy eyes.
After a pause he sneered, "Tell him: seize the red flag in the next bout and both he and his wife go free!"
"Your Grace, this…" Both guard and Abbott stared, uncomprehending.
"Only that will push him to fight with the wildest, most desperate instinct—then the show will thrill the lords! But this time—"
A cruel smile split the Duke's face.
"Make it a 'total-kill' match. Starve him twice as long—ten days! And fit three blood-slot spears before he enters!"
"I want him dead on the sand, dead for sure! A low cur dared humiliate my dear Teddy—he deserves annihilation!"
"Yes, Your Grace!" the guard hastily replied.
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