Chapter 7: Massacre
The spacious arena could easily hold a hundred people without feeling crowded.
The other Slaves stood together, eyeing Dante Voss with predatory wariness.
As the winner of the last match, he was the one they feared most, the one they all wanted to eliminate first.
"Kill!"
At last, a burly Slave at the front roared and charged straight at Dante Voss.
With someone taking the lead, the rest followed, desperate to survive.
"Kill! Kill! Kill!"
Kill him!"
In an instant the contest turned white-hot.
Facing nearly a hundred armed Slaves, Dante Voss narrowed his eyes and felt the pressure mount.
Almost a hundred pairs of red-rimmed eyes glared at him, weapons in hand; even he felt a tremor inside.
Suppressing the tremor, Dante Voss tightened his grip on his sword and sprinted toward the oncoming crowd.
With 107 in Speed, his dash was several times faster than the Slaves'.
This time he had no intention of hiding; he struck at full Strength from the outset.
To the Slaves, Dante Voss looked like an arrow loosed from a bow—so fast it stunned them.
In the blink of an eye.
Dante Voss was already in front of them.
His gaze turned razor-sharp; locking on the burly leader, he swept his blade straight for the man's neck.
With Intermediate Swordsmanship, every strike was craftier and deadlier than the last.
Each attack went straight for a vital point.
Shnk!
The burly man tried to fight back, but Dante Voss was too fast; the sword flashed like light and kissed his throat.
Empowered by 107 Strength, the head flew clean off, blood spurting skyward like a fountain.
[Killed a commoner: gained 10 slaughter points.]
The other Slaves stared in terror, momentarily forgetting to attack.
They had seen death before—but never a spectacle like this.
Even the Administrators outside the ring shuddered.
Though they watched killings every day, they had never seen Slaves dispatched so effortlessly.
Vic felt a thrill; he knew the Celestial Dragons well.
A display like this would surely please the nobles above.
The Celestial Dragons had been listless, but now they watched Dante Voss's fluid, merciless blows with unblinking eyes.
They killed on a whim, yet even they found this method exciting.
Saint Mike's lips curled; this Slave had not disappointed—he delivered a spectacle that delighted even him.
"Kill them—every last one!"
Inside the ring, after swiftly felling the leader, Dante Voss didn't pause; he turned and carved into the nearby Slaves.
With real combat experience behind his Swordsmanship, Dante Voss handled the scene with practiced ease.
Shnk!
Another swing sent a head flying, blood spraying in a wide arc and dyeing the ground red.
[Killed a commoner: gained 10 slaughter points.]
"All together—kill him or we all die!"
A Slave shouted, trying to rally the others' courage.
This was a match with only one survivor; if they could not kill Dante Voss, they themselves would perish.
"Kill!"
Swallowing their dread, the Slaves rushed Dante Voss again.
After cutting down two more, Dante Voss glanced back and saw the Slaves regrouping.
His eyes chilled. By now his prison clothes were soaked crimson, blood dripping from his blade—he looked like a demon fresh from the abyss.
Whoosh!
Dante Voss shot forward and planted a kick in the chest of the foremost Slave.
The tremendous force hurled the man backward, bowling over those behind and throwing the formation into chaos.
Seizing the opening, Dante Voss plunged into the crowd, sword-light circling like a blooming wreath of scarlet flowers.
[Killed a commoner: gained 10 slaughter points.]
[Killed a commoner: gained 10 slaughter points.]
[Killed a commoner: gained 10 slaughter points.]
[Killed a commoner: gained 10 slaughter points.]
"Run—he's a devil!"
As bodies piled up, the survivors panicked and scattered rather than face him.
Dante Voss's prison garb, now dyed solid red, had dried into stiff crimson armor.
Blood streaked his cheeks, giving him a monstrous look.
Watching them flee, Dante Voss sprinted after them—every corpse meant more slaughter points.
These were points he had no intention of letting escape.
One Slave neared the edge of the ring; an Administrator raised his gun to shoot.
But—
Shnk!
A flash of sword-light crossed the guard's body; eyes wide, the Administrator toppled, his head tumbling away.
[Killed an Administrator: gained 15 slaughter points.]
Dante Voss flicked the blood from his blade, ignored the fallen guard, finished the fleeing Slave, and turned to pursue others.
He felt no worry about killing an Administrator.
To the Celestial Dragons, Slaves and guards were equally expendable; as long as he showed no hostility toward them, he was safe.
"Lord Vic..."
An Administrator approached Vic, asking for instructions.
Vic's expression darkened; ordinary Slaves he could execute at will.
But Dante Voss had caught the eye of many Celestial Dragons—and Saint Mike clearly enjoyed watching him.
He could not intervene.
"It's fine."
Vic shook his head, deciding against taking action.
If he struck now, the Celestial Dragons might dispose of him as well.
He understood that in the eyes of the gods, everyone beneath the Celestial Dragons was vermin.
High above, the nobles watched Dante Voss's ferocity with gleeful excitement.
Even the death of an Administrator drew no reaction from them.
"Interesting—very interesting!"
Saint Mike laughed heartily; he was a regular of the Divine Trial Ground and had never seen a Slave satisfy him so thoroughly.
Had he not already owned decent Slaves, he would have taken Dante Voss as his personal mount.
"Perform well! When I kill you tomorrow, every other Celestial Dragon will envy my Strength."
Inside the ring.
Dante Voss's relentless slaughter continued until the last Slave fell and silence reclaimed the arena.
Sword in hand, he stood panting amid the carnage.
Not a single intact corpse remained; blood pooled across the sand in wide crimson lakes.
His gaze swept the surrounding Administrators, whose eyes now held deep dread—Dante Voss had already slain one of their own.
They feared the blood-maddened Slave might turn on them next.
But Dante Voss restrained himself; one or two dead guards could be excused, but further deliberate killings would endanger his own position.
He tossed away the sword, turned his back on the arena, and walked into the building once more.