The Origin of the Gladiator’s Burning Passion

That night, Ayato sat alone in the small inn room he had rented. The candle on the table was already half spent, its yellow glow flickering against the surface of a half-empty glass.

His head hung low.

His mind still echoed with the roars of the Colosseum—especially the final announcement that had set the entire arena ablaze.

Black Orb.

Those words kept replaying in his head. Each time, his breath grew heavier. It wasn’t just a prize. It was a key to the Sanctuary—the goal he pursued, though he still didn’t know whether that place would truly give him the answers he sought.

But before he could plan any further, a roar from outside the inn window made him turn.

Wuuuush!

Orange light cut through the night.

From the direction of the Colosseum, a massive fire rose high.

Ayato slipped outside, blending into the crowd flocking toward the arena.

The Fire of Honor.

The Colosseum, which that very afternoon had been filled with cheers of passion, now bore a different mood. Still lively, but the shouting had given way to solemn silence.

In the center of the arena, a great bonfire was lit. Its flames danced upward, licking the night sky.

Several bodies lay near the woodpile—gladiators whose lives could not be saved after that day’s battles.

Their faces were peaceful, as if still asleep.

“...So, there are casualties after all… and yet, this atmosphere feels…”

Ayato’s words trailed off. His eyes followed as other fighters lifted the fallen one by one, laying them atop the pyre.

Fwoosh! Fwoosh!

The fire roared higher, carrying them toward the heavens

Spectators bowed their heads. The surviving contestants stood straight, hands on their chests, giving their final salute to comrades-in-arms.

Ayato clutched at his cloak.

Old memories surged—blood, screams, bodies collapsing in vain during his days as a personal guard.

Yet unlike his past, here he witnessed something else—honor.

“...They really did fight for their passion, not just violence,” he whispered. “This wasn’t survival… but a reach for glory.”

His gaze lowered. For the first time, he felt there was a different meaning hidden behind battle.

The Next Morning.

Korvath City was noisier than usual. The sun had barely risen, yet the streets already bustled with burly youths running with wooden swords, spears, and even heavy stones.

Ayato walked toward a training hall not far from the Colosseum. Inside, the sounds of clashing wood, instructors’ shouts, and cries of exertion thundered.

Bam! Bam! Swoosh!

Upon entering, Ayato saw dozens of gladiators training. Some clashed swords, others ran laps around the arena, and some even practiced their victory poses.

“...Poses?” Ayato muttered, baffled.

By the side of the arena, a burly instructor sat wiping sweat. Ayato approached.

“Quite the training regimen,” Ayato remarked.

The man raised a brow, then chuckled. “You’re a newcomer, aren’t you? From the capital, maybe?”

“Something like that.”

“Kekeke, then I’ve got a story worth your ears.”

“Oh? What kind of story?” Ayato folded his arms, narrowing his eyes.

“Did you see the Colosseum last night?”

“Yes. I never thought it would be packed even until late.”

“Exactly!” The instructor laughed, pointing a muscled arm toward the arena. “To newcomers, it’s always a shock! But that’s the true charm of this city—it’s called the City of the Colosseum for a reason!”

“Still, it struck me as strange. Even though there were casualties, they were treated with such respect.”

The man stroked his chin, looking upward as if recalling a vision. His smile widened, laced with admiration.

“Kekeke… all thanks to one person—Ragna.”

The name made Ayato’s heart pound.

The instructor leaned in, voice brimming with passion.

“Long ago, the Colosseum was just a slaughterhouse. The strong lived, the weak died. No honor. Only blood, only screams.”

His deep voice echoed among the clangs of weapons.

“Then, ten years ago, she arrived—Ragna. A muscular woman whose smile could make enemies tremble and captivate the crowd all at once.”

Ayato pictured the hooded woman with blazing aura he had met the night before.

Ten years ago… That all but confirmed what Lys had told him about the black orb.

“She fought in the Colosseum, but never killed. No matter if her foes were unconscious or gravely wounded—she always stopped at the brink of death.”

The man clenched his fist.

“And that’s what drove the crowd wild. Her fights were thrilling, intense, full of surprises! No matter how strong her foe, she made it look even. And every time she won, she’d rile them up: ‘Train harder! Challenge me again!’”

The instructor’s voice rose, swept up in the tale.

“And sure enough, they returned! Stronger, fiercer. Match after match, hotter and hotter! Until the whole Colosseum transformed—from a pit of death into a stage of passion!”

Ayato listened silently.

So that’s why… no wonder some contestants yesterday goaded their opponents like that.

“At first, many wanted to kill her. But since none could, hatred turned into burning rivalry. Everyone wanted to defeat Ragna—not destroy her. And from then on… the tradition of killing in Korvath’s Colosseum simply vanished.”

“...If that’s true, then this will only make things harder for me,” Ayato murmured.

But the instructor’s expression turned grim.

“Not everyone welcomed it. The Colosseum’s former master, Viscount Korvath, despised the change. To him, gladiators were mere slaves, no different from livestock. Seeing them adored drove him into rage.”

Ayato narrowed his eyes.

“He sent assassins after Ragna. All failed. Some grew frustrated… and even signed up as gladiators themselves.”

The instructor laughed bitterly.

“In the end, the viscount made a mad move—he disqualified Ragna on absurd grounds. The crowd rioted, and Ragna…”

His face hardened.

“...beat him to a pulp. Unstoppable. Since then, Ragna became a wanted outlaw. But honestly… it only made her more of a legend.”

Ayato fell into long silence.

“Enough talk,” a new voice cut in.

A brown-haired woman with thin glasses stood behind them. Her face was stern, her gaze sharp.

“Instructor, your break is over. Back to work.”

“Ah, yes, yes.” The man hurried back to the arena.

Now only Ayato and the woman remained.

“You’re a newcomer, aren’t you?” Her eyes bored into him.

“...Yes.”

“Then ask for gossip at the bars. This place isn’t for that. Here, you train. Understood?”

Her tone was cold. She turned and left without waiting for an answer.

Ayato could only watch her back as she walked away.

This woman… who is she?

The day passed. Ayato lingered at the training grounds until dusk before heading back to the inn.

But in the shadowy alleys between stone buildings, his shoulder brushed against someone.

Thud!

“Hic… watch where you’re going, you damned… outsider…”

A drunkard, face flushed, staggering. From his belt, he drew a dagger.

Cling!

Ayato’s eyes chilled as he lowered his stance, hand reaching for his sword. A killing aura thickened in the air.

But then—

BAM!

A powerful fist smashed into the drunkard’s face. His body slammed into the wall, instantly unconscious.

Ayato snapped his head toward the source.

A hooded woman stood there. Her wide grin gleamed, and under the moonlight, the outline of her toned, six-pack abs showed through her clothes.

“Yo! We meet again, kid!”

Ayato froze. That voice, that aura, that smile.

She is...!