The Berserker’s Second Playthrough Novel - Chapter 96

Chapter 96
## Chapter 96: Arena King (3)

Agon was a desolate graveyard of earth.

The terrain was fractured and dry, mimicking the rugged, thick skin of a laborer’s heel. Greenery was nonexistent; not a solitary tree or a single sprout of grass broke the horizon. Water was a myth—locating a functional well was a monumental task. Because it was bordered by lush, vibrant meadows, the wasteland’s suffocating dryness felt even more oppressive.

The region hadn’t always been a corpse of land. However, once the springs failed and the flora perished, humanity turned its back. With fertile soil available elsewhere, people simply looked away. Cast aside by civilization, the barren expanse endured decades of isolation.

Yet, that era of neglect was a fading memory…

In the present day, Agon stood as the fourth most prominent hub within the Alliance.

In practical terms, if one discounted the massive capitals governed by high councils, it was arguably the most significant city. Massive walls of reinforced stone now layered the cityscape, buried beneath which was the original emptiness of the plains. From the frenetic urban core to the cramped ghettos of the periphery, the population was so dense that oxygen felt like a luxury.

This territory, once ignored by nature’s grace, had found a singular catalyst for its rebirth.

The arena.

The crimson, violent theater of Agon was the most expansive in the known world.

That monumental colossus now stood directly in front of the travelers. Duncan gazed upward, his jaw dropping in disbelief.

“Incredible… how did they manage to stack stone like that? Even staring at it, I can’t wrap my head around the scale…”

“…”

Kadim squinted, his expression unreadable.

At a glance, it shared the architecture of the ancient Colosseum, but it was vastly more gargantuan and decorated with opulence. Its sheer magnitude suggested a vessel crafted for a titan to drink from the clouds. The white stone facade was carved with detailed sculptures depicting warriors locked in lethal struggle. The investment required to birth such a structure must have been astronomical.

Kadim searched his memories of his previous existence but found no record of this place. He shifted his gaze toward the fair-haired medic who called Agon his home.

“It’s a monstrosity. How long has it been standing?”

“…Completion was reached roughly a hundred years ago. The initial blueprints were commissioned by Lord Remillion, though the actual masonry spanned generations.”

“What was the logic in placing it here? Agon was a graveyard of dust when they started, wasn’t it?”

“I beg your pardon? Ah… I can’t say for certain. There are legends that this place was once a paradise, but my expertise lies in medicine, not the chronicles of the past…”

“Don’t you live here?”

“…”

“Not much for local history, are you?”

Adonis pressed his lips together, a shadow of irritation crossing his features.

It wasn’t merely the indignity of being treated like a common tour guide despite his status as a physician. The true weight on his mind was the reality of his situation: he was a captive masquerading as an escort. As long as he was within Kadim’s reach, any scheme to ambush the Demon Slayer was a death sentence for the doctor.

‘I have to find a way to break away before the itinerary concludes… but he hasn’t left me an inch of breathing room…’

Furthermore, he was desperate to prevent a collision between this man and Agon’s Furious Horn. If the champion were to fall, the Indomitable Legion would collapse into chaos. They would lose any hope of claiming Galentana or the surrounding marches, leaving them defenseless against external threats.

Moreover, Adonis held a secret shared by only a select few healers: Agon’s Furious Horn was physically compromised. He had sustained devastating trauma during the encounter with the high-ranking demon…

“Look, Doc! What’s with the mob? Why is everyone swarming that spot?”

Adonis suppressed a groan. It was unbearable—even this dim-witted luggage-carrier was treating him like an usher. His professional pride was in tatters.

However, when he looked where Duncan was pointing, the color drained from Adonis’s face.

Beneath a high, jutting stone platform on the exterior wall, a sea of people was screaming in a state of religious fervor.

“Waaaaah!”

“Waaaaah! Show yourself! We want the champ!!”

“Show yourself! Show yourself! Show yourself!!!”

It was the hour for the champion’s traditional greeting to the masses.

And the master of this arena was…

Agon’s Furious Horn.

“That is merely the staging area for the daily fighter introductions. You’ve seen the sight, so let’s move along. We have a meeting with a vital patron in the other district.”

Adonis tried to hide his shivering nerves behind a mask of professional boredom, attempting to steer the group away.

But his performance was shattered by the thunderous chants erupting behind them.

“Agon’s Furious Horn! Agon’s Furious Horn! Agon’s Furious Horn!”

“The savior of the Alliance! The butcher of the demon plague!! The pride of the ‘Indomitable Legion’!!!”

“Supreme Champion! Grant us a glimpse of your greatness!!”

“…”

Everything was falling apart.

Adonis blinked in despair as Kadim’s mouth twisted into a predatory smirk.

“The timing is excellent. It seems he’s scheduled to bleed today.”

“…”

“No point in wandering. We’ll find him right here.”

Adonis began to fidget.

The muscles in the savage’s legs coiled like springs meant for shattering boulders. The balcony was high, but Adonis knew that provided no safety. He had witnessed this man leap over the thirty-meter ramparts of Galentana without breaking a sweat.

Sensing a crisis, Adonis signaled his personal guards to prepare to intervene. They wouldn’t stand a chance, but they were all he had. In his heart, Adonis pleaded with the heavens that Agon’s Furious Horn would remain inside.

As if by a stroke of luck, the platform remained empty.

“What? Is he skipping again…?”

“Damn it, another day wasted… I’ve been standing here since dawn without a meal…”

“How many times is this! Stop hiding and come out, Agon’s Furious Horn!”

“Quiet, you fool! Do you want to die? Look at the Atalan guards over there!”

“…Gulp!”

The crowd’s energy soured into grumbling disappointment as they began to drift away. It was evident that the champion’s absence had become a recurring theme.

Adonis knew the reason all too well: the champion was still mending broken bones. The physician let out a shaky breath and forced a strained laugh.

“Haha, he must be occupied with administrative duties… A shame, truly… Now, let us proceed to the manor I mentioned…”

“…”

Kadim remained stationary, staring at the vacant stone ledge with a hardened, focused gaze.

—

Inside a palatial residence in Agon, within a chamber dripping with gold.

A rotund man draped in expensive gilded wool was turning a violent shade of crimson, the veins in his neck bulging.

“So, he dared to ignore my direct command again?”

“…I-Indeed, Grand Master.”

“And you made it clear that I would terminate his revenue stream if he continued this defiance?”

“…Yes, I delivered the ultimatum to his officers personally.”

“And he still didn’t show? That brat wouldn’t even have a title if I hadn’t paved his way! I spent a fortune branding him the savior of the Alliance, and now he thinks he’s too grand for me? He grows a bit of muscle and forgets who fed him? The arrogance is staggering!”

**Bam—!**

His fleshy hand, weighed down by gold rings and precious stones, crashed onto the mahogany desk. The strike lacked physical force, but his fury was palpable. The servant bowed until his forehead nearly touched the floor, terrified of the outburst, before retreating quickly.

**Bam, bam—!**

“Curse him… *Hoo, hoo*…”

The man struck the desk a few more times, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he struggled to contain his bile.

If a stranger asked who truly governed Agon, the ignorant would point to the diplomats or the council members.

They would be wrong. Political office was a shadow compared to the power held over the ‘arena.’ Those who understood the city’s heartbeat knew the name of this infuriated man.

Yubik Agrámendus.

He was the ‘Arena King.’

He controlled the most formidable mercenary company, owned a vast majority of the fighters and slaves, and held the lion’s share of the arena’s equity. He was a monument of greed and influence.

The tycoon grabbed a bottle of ogre-bone spirit from a shelf and downed a massive gulp. The liquid fire burned away his immediate temper, allowing his mind to sharpen. The redness in his face began to recede.

Yubik began to calculate, his logic overriding his rage.

‘Agon’s Furious Horn… he’s grown too powerful. He’s slipped the leash.’

There was no denying that Agon’s Furious Horn was his greatest achievement.

Under Yubik’s aggressive marketing and funding, the warrior had become the ultimate draw—every match was a guaranteed sell-out, with tickets trading for ten times their value. In his prime, he was a money-printing machine that seemed destined to run forever.

But the landscape had shifted.

The man had moved beyond being a mere gladiator. He had established his own military force, the Indomitable Legion, and had been credited with stopping the demon surge. Everyone from the lowest beggar to the highest noble sang his praises. Even a man as powerful as Yubik couldn’t force a ‘national hero’ to fight for sport indefinitely.

The crisis was simple: if the champion retired, the arena’s profits would crater.

‘I need to map out the transition immediately…’

Agon’s Furious Horn had gone into hiding, refusing to answer his patron’s calls.

Financial pressure used to work, but the champion had secured new investors. There were more violent ways to exert control, but those were bridge-burning tactics—only to be used as a final resort…

Yubik ground his teeth, pacing the room.

‘His retirement is a certainty. But a simple farewell match is a wasted opportunity. I need to birth a new icon. I need a spectacle so grand it sustains us after he’s gone… To achieve that, Agon’s Furious Horn has to lose his final fight…’

It was a nightmare to coordinate. The hero was too proud to agree to a fixed match. Furthermore, there wasn’t a single fighter in the circuit capable of actually defeating the man in a fair duel…

He ran through the roster of elite gladiators: ‘Northern Spear’ Rumark, ‘Net Predator’ Ron, ‘Untana Ogre’ Olgadin, ‘Vile Hunter’ Malkes, Tomerk, Perun, Valdronos…

They were all draws, and several were high-ranking members of the Legion. But none of them could stand against the champion one-on-one.

Perhaps a handicap match? Or poison? As he weighed the options…

A specific name pierced through his thoughts like a hot iron.

The nomad who had left a trail of demon carcasses piled as high as hills on the Golden Highway.

The rumors had reached Agon. Some said he hadn’t personally finished the central demon, but his body count and combat prowess rivaled the champion’s own…

“Grand Master, you have a visitor! Adonis, the medic from the Galentana assembly!”

“…?”

Adonis was one of the many young professionals Yubik had sponsored. He should have been tied up with the political mess in Galentana—there was no logical reason for his sudden appearance…

Massaging his heavy chin, Yubik gestured for the steward to admit the guest.

—

His eyes widened. His nostrils flared. His double chin shook with excitement.

Adonis was not alone. Yubik stared at the massive, terrifying figure standing behind the doctor—a man who radiated a palpable aura of slaughter—and asked with visible agitation:

“So, that is… the one they call the ‘Demon Slayer’?”

“…It is, Grand Master.”

“Why is he in your company? And what brings such a man to Agon without warning?”

“…We crossed paths on the road and traveled together for safety. I came to offer my regards, but… he has a grievance with Agon’s Furious Horn. He intends to settle it in a duel ‘to the death.'”

“…”

“He was very specific: ‘to the death.'”

Adonis repeated the phrase, his eyes pleading with Yubik to use his influence to stop the impending carnage.

But Yubik’s reaction was not what the physician expected.

Instead of calling for his guards, Yubik fixed an intense, analytical stare on Kadim. Despite his physical softness, Yubik possessed the sharpest eye for martial talent in the Alliance.

This was no common brawler. The tales were understated. This man was easily on par with Rumark or Perun—perhaps even in a different league entirely… A predatory glint lit up Yubik’s eyes.

Kadim, meanwhile, was casually evaluating the bloated businessman. He wondered how much meat could be harvested from such a frame. If he were a carcass, he’d provide a dozen plates. If you trimmed the lard, far less. If you removed the entrails? Perhaps not even enough for one full meal.

“…”

“…”

After they had finished assessing one another…

The Arena King split his face into a wide, jagged grin.

“Tell me, stranger… have you ever considered the life of a gladiator?”

It was the same look of pure greed Yubik hadn’t worn since he first discovered Agon’s Furious Horn.

The look of a merchant who had just found a priceless treasure.