The Lord Of Blood Hill-Chapter 50: Gladiator Codename
After Henwell dispatches his opponent, he stands by and watches the scene unfold for three minutes.
During this time, Michelle pierces her adversary's lungs with her twin swords, and Flying Ant strangles his bloodied opponent with his hooked chains.
Once each youth finishes their kill, they gather around Henwell. The final youth beheads the gladiator, who had been kneeling with severed tendons, before joining the group, resting his hands on his greatsword. It's a classic anime lineup—no wonder the audience is mesmerized! The crowd erupts, cheering for these lethal youths.
Henwell bows slightly, placing a hand over his chest in thanks to the audience, and the others follow suit, except Michelle, who performs a dainty curtsy.
Elegant! Bloodthirsty! This is precisely what the nobility craves—perfection!
After the gladiatorial show concludes, Bloodhorn approaches Henwell and his companions.
"Was all that planned? Or whose idea was it?"
The four glance at Henwell, prompting Bloodhorn to step up to him with a stoic expression.
"Kid! From now on, you're with me, Bloodhorn! You've got a real knack for this! You've become stars in the arena!"
As he continues, Bloodhorn can't help but laugh heartily, patting Henwell on the shoulder.
"Kid! No wonder they call you Number One! Can you tell me how you came up with these ideas?"
Henwell replies calmly, "Because we come from noble backgrounds, we naturally understand what those people desire in their hearts."
Bloodhorn circles Henwell once, saying, "It seems your family is quite distinguished. Don't worry, I have no intention of prying into your past."
With that, Bloodhorn taps his cane on the ground, signaling a guard to bring in a box. Using his cane, Bloodhorn lifts the lid to reveal neatly stacked gold coins inside.
"You've made me quite a profit today, and this is your share of the bonus. Whether you want to pay off debts or stay for expenses, I'll round it up to an even five hundred gold coins each!"
Henwell asks, "Sir, I’d like to know if the arena sells knight body-strengthening potions?"
Bloodhorn raises an eyebrow, "Thinking of buying some?"
Henwell nods, and Bloodhorn, intrigued, asks, "Care to explain why? Normally, you'd save up to leave this place."
The other youths also wonder about Henwell's decision. Henwell responds calmly, "For me, the priority isn't leaving; it's surviving to adulthood. I have enemies, and with the arena's protection, they won't trouble me here. Once I leave, survival becomes uncertain."
Bloodhorn nods approvingly, "Smart thinking! Many see this place as hell, but if hell shields you from your enemies, then it's not the worst place to be, is it?"
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The other youths ponder his words thoughtfully.
Bloodhorn continues, "Your decision is wise, but you still haven't explained why you're buying the body-strengthening potion instead of saving up."
"Two reasons! First, the money flows quickly here, and since you have the connections, I need to convert my earnings into personal strength as soon as possible. Second, the arena doesn't keep idle fighters; I can't afford to be the one who gets eliminated."
"The stronger I become, the better I can handle increasingly dangerous battles. The stronger I am, the more money I make, and the more valuable I am to you, Bloodhorn. That means I'll be safer!"
After a brief silence, Bloodhorn claps gently, "Excellent! Truly excellent! I should have brought you over sooner! I agree to your request. I'll provide the body-strengthening potions at cost—two hundred and forty gold coins per bottle. I hope you'll repay my goodwill with enough results, and I'm eager to see your growth!"
Henwell bows in gratitude, "Thank you, Lord Bloodhorn. I'd like two bottles of the potion. My body is unique, and I don't absorb potions well. It takes four doses for me to achieve the effect others get from one."
Bloodhorn doesn't doubt him, knowing many have average talents. "Very good! Recognizing your weaknesses makes you strive harder. The potions will be delivered tomorrow morning."
The other youths also decide to purchase a bottle each, enjoying the same wholesale price. They genuinely need over a month to absorb the potion, so buying more would be pointless.
As they leave, Bloodhorn turns back and says, "Now that you have some fame, think of a codename for yourselves—something that really stands out!"
The next day, they submit their codenames: Scorpion Tail, Tarantula, Flying Ant, and White Butterfly—all insect-themed. As the youths explain, they may be small and seemingly weak like insects, but they possess a deadly side. However, Henwell's choice of codename leaves them puzzled.
"The Flash! Does that mean you're fast?" Bloodhorn asks.
Henwell smiles, "No, it's a hero from my hometown, a title associated with my family. It holds personal significance for me."
A few days later, a new gladiatorial match begins. Henwell and his group face off against a squad of captive soldiers. The five of them swiftly dispatch their ten or so opponents, achieving a decisive victory.
By now, their masks have been adorned with designs, crafted by the arena's artists for the others.
Henwell, however, provides his own design, resembling a lightning bolt.
After this match, Henwell and his companions receive several hundred more gold coins as their share.
After purchasing another bottle of the body-strengthening potion, Henwell approaches Bloodhorn. "Sir, if possible, we should avoid participating in the next gladiatorial match."
Bloodhorn smiles, but his eyes carry a cold glint. He asks in a gentle tone, "Oh, The Flash, can you explain why? Are you too tired?"
Henwell senses Bloodhorn's growing suspicion, thinking Henwell might be getting arrogant due to favor.
But Henwell isn't reckless; today's match made him realize these captive soldiers had participated in gladiatorial fights before. They weren't Bloodhorn's own gladiators but were poached from other arenas, intended to humiliate them and prove Bloodhorn's arena as superior with the best fighters.
However, this creates a problem—the rival arenas won't take this lying down and will surely seek revenge. Running a semi-legal business like an arena implies having powerful backers. Cutting off someone's financial source is akin to taking their lifeblood.
While Bloodhorn might not be directly targeted, the fallout will certainly affect the gladiators. The rival arenas would likely arrange challenges specifically targeting Henwell and his companions.
Henwell can't reveal all this directly, so he persuades Bloodhorn from another angle: "Sir, our value lies in rarity! As the saying goes, rarity increases worth. By maintaining our mystery and reducing our appearances, the nobles will continue to pay handsomely to watch us."
"Sir, perhaps once or twice a month is sufficient to keep them intrigued and hungry for more, ensuring they don't grow tired of us. This anticipation benefits the arena's reputation. Also, sir, we are still young and fragile, needing time to grow stronger. Earning steadily over time ensures longevity. What do you think?"
Bloodhorn gazes Henwell for a moment before breaking into laughter. "You're quite the cunning lad!"
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Chapter 50: Gladiator Codename
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