Chapter 8 – Sand Dyeing (1)

While walking, Juan looked toward the cave where he would usually be working. Of course, neither the goat-horned man nor the crazy woman could be seen. They must be working at this time. Juan remembered what the goat-horned man had told him yesterday and thought,

‘He did say they'd be working at?

the arena.’

?

He recalled what the Tantil's colosseum used to look like. The current layout was similar to the colosseum in his memories when he had infiltrated and killed Talter of Madness. It appeared that they were reusing most of the facilities. However, the people here didn't seem to know much about the secret facilities and equipment that only the priests of Talter had used in the past.

'

We’re headed to the arena.’?

It seemed that there was a lot of work to do, since they had even assigned the crazy woman there. But that was exactly why the situation felt strange to Juan. For such a large-scale operation, there weren’t that many workers in his field of view. He suddenly felt uneasy as they arrived at the long staircase on one side of the corridor.

"Do you know where we are? The gladiators call these stairs the ‘Stairway of Glory.’ Even lowly servants and slaves can get a feel of the glory on this sand," the supervisor explained to Juan. Juan took a step forward, ignoring the supervisor's sarcastic words and causing the supervisor to frown as he hurried after Juan. Before they arrived at the arena, they met an unexpected person at the end of the stairs.

"Sir Daeron," the supervisor called out to the man who stood on the stairs, staring down at the arena. He was an old man with long gray hair tied in a ponytail. His skinny face looked like a wasteland with cracks here and there.

The supervisor asked Daeron, "Are you here to check on the sand dyeing? It is proceeding smoothly."

"Yes, I think it looks alright."

Daeron, who was the colosseum’s manager, lifted a handful of sand and slowly let it go. The crimson sand poured down like an hourglass. He then said to the supervisor, "The darker the color, the better. Use as much dye as you need.”

Daeron turned and walked past the supervisor. He never looked at Juan during this encounter.

The rigid supervisor sighed, messed up Juan's hair and said, "You’re lucky. If I had received the order one day earlier...”

Juan had frozen from the moment he saw the red sand that Daeron let out in the wind as it had a thick stench of blood. It wasn't just the stench of dry blood that the gladiators had shed in previous battles. No, the blood smelled richer and fresher than that. It was blood-stained with fear, not excitement or anger. Juan walked up the rest of the stairs with the supervisor right behind him. The strong afternoon sunlight shone on Juan’s head as his gaze landed on a red arena. The center of the huge colosseum was filled with crimson sand. There were some dots here and there. Juan's heart pounded.

Those dots were dead bodies. Juan had spent his whole life on the battlefield, so he figured at a glance what had happened here. He could vividly imagine everything, as if it had happened right before his eyes.

The early morning air was cold. There was a tense atmosphere among the slaves. The soldiers had a cruel smile on their faces, and before anyone knew it, the soldiers had their first victim on their sharp spear. A man with a half-cut ankle fell down screaming. Slaves with big and small wounds ran around frantically. The slaves quickly ran in all directions throughout the colosseum. The soldiers let them run away and stabbed them from time to time.

Slaves that ran or desperately fought back were violently stabbed by knives or spears. The pursuers also stabbed the injured slaves once more. No one was fatally wounded. Their hearts needed to beat faster for them to bleed even more. Each of the fallen groaned and screamed. They were dying slowly, and they spilled blood with a revolting smell as their skin became pale. Flies were the only ones joyfully dancing inside this bloody arena.

Juan’s toes dug into the rustling red sand. The sun-dried blood was coloring the sand in vivid red.

‘Dyeing the sand, huh?’

Juan thought. There wasn’t a more appropriate expression for this task. Juan began to walk through the sand in the colosseum arena.

He saw the figures of a man and a woman not too far away. A pool of yet-to-dry blood drenched his feet as Juan stepped toward them. He didn't need to walk for long. The two hadn’t gotten very far. That was only natural since the goat-horned man had run with the crazy woman in tow. The goat-horned man lay on top of the crazy woman, as though to protect her. Mountain goat beastmen had strong legs and were good at climbing rock walls. If he had decided to run away on his own, the goat-horned man could have gotten to the arena wall before dying. He could’ve gotten stabbed at the bottom of the smooth wall after desperately—and unsuccessfully—attempting to climb it.

But he hadn’t done so. Instead, he had chosen to die with over a hundred wounds on his body while protecting the crazy woman, who was already on the verge of death. The crazy woman was also curled up, as if she was protecting something with her body. Juan crouched and found what she gripped tightly in her hands.

It was a clump of black hair soaked in blood. When Juan had been the emperor, soldiers had a tradition of tying a bundle of their hair and leaving it behind in their hometown before departing.

The people who kept the bundle of hair were the soldiers’ mothers, or people who would protect it until the soldiers returned, so that they would have someone to go back to. It represented their vow to return no matter what.

‘My child.’

Those words suddenly echoed in Juan’s mind, and he burst into laughter. One of the soldiers asked, "Supervisor, what is it with this guy?" The supervisor responded, "Leave him alone. He must have met someone he knows." The supervisor grinned and looked at Juan's back and thought,

‘Stupid fellow. If you had listened to me, then you'd have been able to see them one last time.’

The supervisor approached the boy, slowly touched his shoulder and whispered in his ear what seemed like an excuse, "Now, Juan, what's happened is inevitable. The manager ordered me to dye the sand, so there's no way I could refuse it."

He then continued his monologue. "Let's forget about the past and be practical here. Death is a tragedy for anyone, but... being alone is an advantage in the harsh life of a slave. Moreover, what an honor it is for them to become the red soil for the celebration of the 94th anniversary of His Majesty's birthday."

Juan wondered,

‘The emperor?’?

The supervisor continued, "It is much better to face such a noble death than to be eaten by demonic beasts or die in a dungeon without ever seeing the sun. In other words, I’ve given them the opportunity of a lifetime.”

‘What the hell is he saying?’

, Juan thought.

?

"Usually, we would dye this land with the blood of strong men, since His Majesty hates weak offerings. So wouldn’t it be a great honor for a demi-human—a mentally ill female elf at that—to offer her blood to His Majesty? She would be the pride of her race.”

‘Offering blood to the emperor?’?

The supervisor then exclaimed, "But the biggest gift of all is you. I've never seen a talent like you. I have no doubt that you will become the champion when you’re fifteen, the year that marks exactly 100 years since His Majesty's birth! His Majesty loves the strong! I will be able to offer His Majesty the greatest gift!”

Juan slowly looked back at the supervisor. The supervisor was filled with ecstasy and narcissism. Juan’s head dropped. The supervisor opened his arms and tried to comfort Juan by hugging him.

But suddenly, something struck him in the chest. A gruesome, bone-crunching sound resounded in the supervisor's head. He rolled on the floor several times and vomited blood. Several of his ribs seemed broken. He didn't even know what had hit him.

"Supervisor!" the soldiers shouted while hurrying towards them. The supervisor looked at Juan with blurred vision and saw the boy’s left arm dangling, bent at a strange angle.

‘Did he do it with that arm? Did he punch so hard that he broke his own arm?’?

The supervisor frantically looked for the sword around his waist, but all he could find was sand.

"What are you doing? Try to put up some resistance." Juan spoke while looking down at the supervisor with his pitch-black eyes, holding the missing sword in his hand. Intense darkness that was deeper than the night swirled in his eyes.

"Didn't you say that the emperor hates weak offerings?" Juan whispered as he stabbed the sword into the supervisor's neck.

***

Sina turned her head to the uproar that came from the colosseum. It seemed to be quite the commotion, since she could hear it from the reception room. However, today was not a game day. There was no reason there would be any noises. The manager Daeron also looked toward the colosseum and wondered what the disturbance was about.

"There seems to be a practice match today." Sina tried to probe Daeron for information.

Daeron replied, "No, they’re dyeing the sand for tomorrow's game.”

Sina asked again, “Don't you have to go check on the commotion?"

"It's just a little fuss. I couldn’t possibly inconvenience an Elite Knight for a small matter." Daeron smiled.

Sina felt more uncomfortable when she saw his smile. Daeron was a very meticulous and cautious man. It would not be easy to find evidence of heresy from him.

"So, what exactly are you looking for? You said that I’m suspected of heresy, but it's hard to find a servant as faithful as I am to His Holy Majesty. Both my running of the colosseum and the dedication of one-tenth of my profits to the Church are proof of my faith to His Holy Majesty."

"Money doesn't buy faith. If there is even a single act of heresy, no proof of faith will be enough to cancel it out," Sina retorted.

Daeron smiled and thought to himself,

‘She’s just an annoying irrational fanatic.’

Sina smiled too.

‘He’s just a murderer who thinks money is everything.’

Sina then continued, "Anonymous reports suggest that the way the colosseum operates is similar to the rituals held by the heretics that were here in the past, before His Majesty killed Talter of Madness. Do you have anything to say about this?"

Daeron replied, "It's just a coincidence. I'm just dramatically reenacting the process where the Great and Holy Emperor killed Talter. He snuck in as a slave and confronted the god. So there are bound to be some similarities to the rituals of those heretics.”

Sina then questioned him, "I hear that most slaves die in your reenactments. Are you implying that His Majesty was humiliated and murdered in the confrontation?"

Daeron then explained, "It's just a representation of human beings who were helpless under the rule of the gods before His Holy Majesty’s descent. Aren't there slaves who sometimes stand out heroically? The crowd is excited about the advent of such a hero, and when that happens, I declare, ‘His Majesty has descended!’”

Sina then remarked sarcastically, "The sacred body of His Majesty is enshrined only in the Imperial Palace. Those words could pose a problem.”

To which Daeron replied, "That sounds reasonable and correct. But how can one not compare the image of a hero to that of His Holy Majesty? It’s just an expression of admiration from my uncivilized hometown, so please turn a blind eye to it."

Sina tried to find loopholes by talking to Daeron, but it was not easy. He acted ignorant and foolish, but he had a solid story. Sina had already anticipated that Daeron would not be an easy opponent. As such, Ossrey and the other knights were already investigating every corner of the colosseum. Unless they found something concrete, it'd be a wasted trip today. This could be the last time they could investigate this place, so Sina wanted to shut down this colosseum no matter what. The colosseum had been created when she left her hometown to become a knight. Of course, even back then, Tantil had not been in a particularly great state. However, with the advent of the colosseum, the darkness within Tantil had grown deeper.

It began with the open establishment of the colosseum battles, which used to be secretly held underground before. The scale of the slave market, which profited from the colosseum, had also grown. Blood and life were treated as insignificant, worth only a few copper coins. The effect eventually spread to the general public. As people were traded around, it had become a trend to put a monetary value on people’s lives. When Sina returned as a knight, her hometown had been completely ruined.