Chapter 73 : Daughter

The expression “the day of the festival has dawned” was a bit misleading. The main event for the four-year division only began after nightfall.

The massive colosseum within Tales’ territory was packed with people watching fireworks exploding across the sky.

Even though it was a city of crime, Skull Town’s public order wasn’t all that bad. I was having a final conversation with Amiter before the match began.

“You didn’t have to go that far, you know.”

“Think of it as insurance—for me. I bet all the spare change in your name anyway.”

I said it half-jokingly, but I was also half-serious. I didn’t think she’d lose, but if she did, we’d be flat broke again.

Though Amiter didn’t respond positively when I mentioned bribing the referee, she didn’t refuse either. The sequined outfit she wore shimmered with a slight tremble.

“Nice outfit.”

“Wow, haven’t heard that in a while. Shut it.”

Amiter wasn’t wearing her usual black leather jacket or suit. Instead, she was in a short athletic outfit.

All those flashy ornaments were apparently part of the uniform to distinguish the fighters. The childish look was hilariously tacky.

“Too bad it’s not a skirt. Back in the day, gladiators all wore—”

“You’d look perfect in one. You’re both small anyway.”

“Small? Have you ever seen anything as big as—uh…”

It was just a joke, but the mood suddenly got awkward. Right, she’s always been shy about this stuff.

“…Never, not even once.”

“I-I was just joking too.”

Just then, a bell rang to signal the start of the match. I gently held her hand before leaving.

“If anything goes wrong, we have ‘that’, so… come back.”

“What?”

“I said don’t get hurt and come back, idiot.”

It wasn’t like she didn’t hear me with all the noise, but she still asked again just to be annoying. I kicked her shin in retaliation. Of course, she easily dodged my clumsy attempt. She’s in good shape.

Amiter gave a small smile and waved, and I returned the gesture as I climbed up to the VIP box. Now, the real game begins.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the Night of Leens…”

I wasn’t expecting anything original, but the emcee’s lines are the same everywhere. As if there are real gentlemen or ladies in this city. The Night of Leens, held once every four years, is a ceremony supposedly for unity among four organizations that survived the violent ages.

Doom of explosives, Katana of blades, Candy who handles narcotics, and Tales who specialize in illegal combat. What a bunch of damned criminals.

On the first day, a friendly match takes place where fighters from each organization build camaraderie through combat.

But seeing how many casualties there have been over the years, can this really be called a friendly match? I’m not so sure.

“It’s about to start.”

The VIP seats were filled with masked guests like me, each seated on luxurious chairs. Probably rich spectators from all over.

Men and women dressed in skimpy outfits were pouring drinks, but I found the scene disgusting and made sure no one approached me. That’s why I got a front-row seat.

‘There she is.’

I spotted Amiter in the distance. Along with the other fighters. She was the only one with beast-like features. Despite the distance, I focused my hearing and barely caught the conversation.

“So you really came back, mutt. Like they say, dogs never forget their master’s hand.”

“This is your grave today, mongrel.”

…

Let’s stop listening there. The crowd’s roar was deafening, and I already knew no one here was on her side.

I’m really glad I’m not the only one who grew up without any real friends.

Luckily, Amiter seemed only a little self-conscious about her sparkly outfit and didn’t pay much attention to the verbal abuse.

“Now we’ll determine the type of match!”

To prevent pre-planning, the event organizers pick one game type on the spot from various formats. The referee shuffled several balls with match types written inside, and wouldn’t you know—it was a one-on-one tournament format, the only type where collaboration isn’t allowed.

What are the odds? This is exactly what I hoped for. Amazing coincidence. I wonder why the referee kept glancing nervously at me.

Thankfully, the audience didn’t suspect a thing and just cheered. More action for them, after all.

“You’re lucky, mutt.”

The other fighters clicked their tongues and returned to their positions. Sometimes, a cheat like this isn’t such a bad tactic.

“Go, go!”

“What are you doing, coward?! Get up!”

“I bet so much money on you! Fight! Crush them!”

Thankfully, just like Amiter said, one-on-one fights didn’t pose much threat to her. Or was it two-on-one? Technically, we were two.

“Aah, Blade’s katana bends again! How many times is this now?”

“Tch.”

Every fighter was more skilled than the academy’s top class, but—‘coincidentally’—they kept making mistakes like tripping over their laces or weapon malfunctions.

“Pardon me.”

“Ugh!”

Thanks to that, Amiter reached the finals without a scratch. Foul play? Didn’t even need it.

Maybe I went overboard with the prep. Honestly, she probably didn’t need the bribe at all.

The matriarch watching the match didn’t look pleased. I figured she’d be up to something.

‘We need to get out of here as soon as it ends.’

No time to sit through the rest of the matches. Our only goal was this one fight. Fortunately, Amiter seemed to dominate even the final round.

The title “Queen of Pit Fights” wasn’t just for show. Her relentless, powerful strikes were almost beautiful.

“Damn you, b*tch!”

Roseni’s crushing blow fell, but Amiter dodged effortlessly and countered with a minimal but precise hit to the face. She could’ve ended it quicker with claws, but the rules forbade killing.

Dodge, strike, strike again. The friendly match ended faster than expected. The crowd erupted.

‘That was anticlimactic.’

Aside from a few scratches, she looked fine. Could’ve won a three-on-one, honestly.

I thought about it for a moment, but in the end, what mattered was that she came out uninjured. That’s why I spent the money in the first place.

Since there were only four fighters, the betting payout wasn’t high enough to fully recover my initial investment.

“Good job.”

“I told you, it was unnecessary…”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Thwack. I shoved a towel in her face. She seemed tired—her reaction slower than usual, her breathing heavy.

Still, we’re done here. Time to skip out of here singing…

…Or not.

“What is the meaning of this?”

Right, this is a fantasy world after all. The people surrounding us all held swords and bows instead of guns.

No victory celebration for the champ?

“Matriarch.”

“I apologize, Miss Treya. But today’s match only made things clearer. Amiter belongs with us.”

At some point, the colosseum had been completely surrounded by Tales’ soldiers. Even the spectators seemed confused.

Did they inform the other groups? Bringing in this many armed forces on a day of unity isn’t normal. In any case, they weren’t joking. There were countless soldiers pointing weapons at us. Probably the entire force.

“Can you take responsibility for this? Breaking the agreement so easily?”

“I have no excuse. But if you hand over Amiter, Miss Treya, we’ll let you go unharmed—or even offer you compensation.”

Compensation, huh? I do like that sort of thing. But is Amiter really worth that much? She’s a good fighter, sure, but to the cartel boss, she’s just another pit dog.

I already knew my answer the moment I heard that proposal.

“Hah, I really hate using foul language in front of a crowd, but screw you. Amiter, say something.”

Was she too tired? Amiter said nothing and simply stared at the matriarch. Unlike Teferi, whose emotions are clear, hers were unreadable.

What was that look—regret? Pity? Finally, she spoke.

“Matriarch.”

The matriarch, standing opposite Amiter, wore the same expression. A sorrowful face.

Her lips curled into a bitter smile as she spoke, voice calm but aching.

“Don’t go, my daughter.”