Chapter 13: Warm-up Act
Sabaody Archipelago, Slave Arena.
A place of amusement for the wealthy and noble. A nightmare for slaves.
Sold here by traders, they were forced into inhumane death matches. Losers were torn apart by beasts. Winners only lived to fight again, eventually becoming losers themselves.
Such was a slave's fate. Beneath the cheers, the money, the laughter, and the spectacle flowed nothing but pools of rancid, congealing blood.
"Ladies and gentlemen~! Are you ready?!"
In the stands, a veteran host skillfully whipped up the crowd.
"Today's spectacle will once again be narrated by yours truly!"
"Woooo!"
"…"
The audience roared back, the atmosphere electric.
"Next up—the customary pre-show warm-up!"
The host signaled the staff.
Clank… clank clank…
As burly men heaved on chains, a heavy iron gate on one side of the arena ground open. A dozen figures stumbled out.
Most looked exhausted, staggering, their spirits broken. Inevitable, given the "Explosive Collars" around their necks, the metal already chafing skin raw.
"Slave Collars"—specially made shackles with embedded bombs. Any attempt to escape or disobey, and the trader would remotely detonate them, blowing the slave's head off.
Under such restraint, even trembling with fear, the slaves had to enter this killing floor to become the crowd's entertainment.
"Oho? It seems today's challengers aren't very enthusiastic! Do they need a little… stimulation?"
The host cackled, ignoring the slaves' terrified stares. He snapped his fingers toward the opposite iron gate.
"Then, let's welcome today's first Hunter with a roaring round of applause!"
"OHHHH!"
"Come on! Show us!"
"…"
Amid the cheers, the opposite gate rattled open.
A massive shadow lumbered out, accompanied by low, rumbling growls. The air thickened with the cloying scent of blood.
Dragged by multiple heavy chains, a colossal tiger was hauled into the arena by several straining handlers.
It stood over ten meters tall, nearly twenty long. Saliva dripped from its fangs; the corners of its mouth were stained with dried, sticky gore.
"Behold, everyone! A beast from the New World—the Barduwen Tiger!"
As said before: any trade that turns a profit will find practitioners. Capturing New World beasts was perilous, but the rewards were astronomical.
"ROOOOAR—!"
The Barduwen Tiger's deafening roar sent the crowd into a fresh frenzy.
"Ruin… It's all ruined…"
Among the slaves, a fat man in a tattered suit huddled, trying to make himself small, shivering uncontrollably.
"Damn pirates… They took everything… All my wealth…"
"Why… Why did I go bankrupt?"
"The factories… the houses… the ships… All gone. And now I'm here to pay my debts with my life…"
"I'm dead… I'm dead…"
The fat man whimpered, on the verge of tears.
The other slaves were no better. Some were bankrupt commoners. Others were captured by pirates or slavers and sold here.
In short, the vast majority were powerless.
Even those who could fight—unlucky pirates or caravan guards—remember: if they'd been captured by slavers, what chance did they have against a New World beast?
They were dead men walking. Their deaths would be ugly. No struggle. No "spectacle."
But the crowd loved it. They paid hefty sums not for a "fight," but simply to vent.
They needed to see others suffer. To see others die. Only then could they glean some petty joy in this chaotic era.
Almost all the slaves trembled, huddling near the gate, afraid to move deeper in.
That made the odd one among them stand out all the more.
A tall, burly man in a long coat. No slave collar around his neck. His expression was one of excitement and curiosity as he looked around.
Such types weren't unheard of—probably some fame-hungry fool, coaxed by arena recruiters into a suicide pact.
"Alright! The moment you've all waited for!"
The handlers withdrew, leaving only the Barduwen Tiger and the huddled slaves.
At the host's signal, guards on a high platform released the chains binding the tiger.
Clank-clank-clank…
Instantly, the tiger twisted, its massive body shredding the remaining restraints. It threw its head back, jaws gaping wide.
CRACK!
Even the muzzle restraining its jaws shattered.
The Barduwen Tiger's eyes blazed, its belly growling with hunger. It scanned for its meal.
Found them.
Its fierce gaze locked onto the cluster of slaves. It dug its front paws into the dirt, emitting low, rumbling growls. Poised. Ready to pounce.
"…"
The slaves fell silent. A suffocating pressure settled over them.
Someone suddenly screamed, "RUN!"
In that instant, the tiger and the slaves moved as one.
The beast charged. The slaves scattered.
But in a vast arena, where could they run? Chaos swiftly descended.
The crowd grew more feverish. The host shouted, "Now! Let's guess—how many will still be standing in ten minutes? Place your bets now, ladies and gentlemen!"
Swish!
The tiger's claw slammed down. The ground cratered instantly.
Two slaves at the pit's edge felt the wind of the strike. "T-That was close…"
"Don't just stand there! RUN!"
They fled. The tiger shifted its pursuit to others.
Its new target: the talkative fat man from earlier.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Claw strikes fell in rapid succession. The fat man dodged by a hair's breadth each time.
"Hah… hah… I'm dying…" The fat man's stamina bottomed out. He prayed silently, It hasn't hit me yet… Maybe I still have a chance…
"Ha ha!"
A hearty laugh broke his thoughts. As he ran, he glanced sideways.
It was that conspicuous figure. The man turned his head, waving cheerfully. "Hello! I'm Alvin Vergil."
The fat man gasped, "I'm… WRONG TIME FOR INTRODUCTIONS! RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!"
"Ah, but it's pointless," Vergil said, jogging alongside and pointing at the tiger gaining on them. "Cats play with their prey. It could have killed everyone already. It's just having fun."
"DON'T SAY SUCH HORRIBLE THINGS WITH A STRAIGHT FACE!" The fat man nearly broke down. Paralyzed by fear, this man's casual commentary was pushing him over the edge. He didn't want to die alongside some lunatic!
As they spoke, the Barduwen Tiger seemed to tire of the game. It suddenly accelerated, raising a claw to swat the fat man into paste.
At the critical moment, Vergil grabbed the fat man's collar, dragging him along in a burst of speed.
Seeing the fat man's bloodless face, Vergil couldn't help but laugh. "Haha! Don't be so tense! Let's play a little longer!"
Fat Man: "…"
Crocodile: "…"
Crocodile: "Withdraw all my funds."
The arena owner beside him jolted. He followed Crocodile's gaze to Alvin Vergil, then asked incredulously, "You… want to bet everything on that guy?"
"No…" Crocodile thought for a second, then shook his head decisively. "Cancel everything. I'll find another way."
"B-But…" The owner hesitated. It was a mutually profitable deal.
But facing Crocodile's increasingly sandy, elemental form, the owner could only grit his teeth and agree.
Crocodile settled the financial cancellation, then stood and left without a backward glance.
He was heading for the docks to prepare an escape ship.
Why?
Because he had a premonition.
However much "fun" that primitive Alvin Vergil was having now… that's exactly how much trouble he was about to cause.
(End of Chapter)
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