Page 49

He smashes the butt of his glaive into Remanos’s injured thigh.

Remanos grunts, nearly buckling. A gasp ripples through the stands.

I stifle a scream. Freedmen grab my arms, preventing me from lunging forward in panic.

The champion sneers, pressing the advantage.

He lifts the glaive overhead for a decisive blow.

Remanos braces the halberd horizontally, steel meeting steel in a deafening clang.

Sparks fly. The champion roars, forcing Remanos downward.

Tears prick my eyes. Freedmen start chanting “Remanos!” with every beat of the champion’s assault.

My entire being shakes. Then, somehow, Remanos shifts his weight at the last moment, letting the champion’s momentum carry him past. The champion stumbles, and Remanos slams the halberd’s back edge into the champion’s side with a resounding crack.

The champion cries out, staggering. Freedmen erupt in fresh cheers, hope blooming.

The champion recovers swiftly, yet his expression wavers, a flicker of doubt creeping in. Remanos readies himself, chest heaving. Blood seeps through his thigh bandage, but he stands firm. Vaelen curses from the dais, ordering orcs to be ready if Remanos wins.

Fear grips me anew. If Remanos defeats the champion, orc enforcers might swarm.

Freedmen see it too. Tiro and Tila quietly maneuver Freedmen into flanking positions.

The orcs glance around, noticing Freedmen’s readiness, but still brandish weapons.

The champion unleashes a desperate flurry of strikes, forcing Remanos to retreat across the sand.

Each clash sends shockwaves through the colosseum, watchers screaming in excitement or terror.

Suddenly, Remanos lunges inside the champion’s guard.

He traps the glaive with the halberd, hooking it downward.

Freedmen gasp at the unexpected move. The champion tries to yank free, but Remanos twists, using the champion’s momentum against him.

The champion crashes onto a knee, hissing in rage.

In a heartbeat, Remanos slams the halberd shaft against the champion’s collar, pinning him to the sand. Freedmen roar in triumph.

The orc enforcers snarl, readying to jump in. Freedmen bristle, raising bows, crossbows, and spears. My entire body stiffens. One spark could unleash a slaughter. Vaelen stands on the dais, panic flickering across his face.

Remanos, breathing hard, calls out across the arena. “Is this your champion, Vaelen? Are you so desperate to destroy Freedmen that you hire this thug?” He pushes the champion’s head down for emphasis. The champion growls but remains pinned.

Vaelen’s face twists in fury. “You have no right to question me, Freedman! Orcs, take him down!”

The orcs tense, about to charge. Freedmen lift weapons, ready to shoot. My heart pounds, seeing the collision about to erupt. I can’t stand idle while war erupts around Remanos’s victory. I break from the Freedmen restraining me, sprinting across the sand, ignoring the orcs’ growls.

“Stop!” I shout, voice straining to carry. “Orcs, you see Freedmen’s numbers. You see no gold from Vaelen. Attack, and Freedmen will slaughter many of you. Why die for Vaelen’s empty promises?”

The orc enforcers falter, exchanging uncertain looks.

Freedmen are indeed arrayed in a dense ring, outraged enough to fight to the death.

They outnumber the orcs two or three to one.

The orcs shift, uncertain. I press my advantage, stepping forward despite trembling knees.

“Vaelen has no wealth left. He can’t pay you after Freedmen destroyed his conspiracies.

If you stand down, you can leave free, no gold lost. Why risk your lives now? ”

A hush grips the colosseum. The orc with the spiked club scowls, glancing at Freedmen bristling on all sides.

Then his glare turns to Vaelen, who stands on the dais with no legion to protect him.

Realization flickers in the orc’s eyes: they’re outmaneuvered.

He sneers, but slowly lowers his weapon.

The other orcs follow suit, grudgingly stepping back from the arena’s center.

Freedmen keep their weapons raised but do not fire.

Vaelen shouts in desperation, “Fools, fight them! Our plan—!” but it’s too late. The orcs see no reason to spill more blood without guaranteed profit. They begin withdrawing, ignoring Vaelen’s outraged cries. Freedmen part to let them pass, but remain watchful for any treachery.

A wave of relief washes over me. I hurry to Remanos’s side.

He’s still got the champion pinned, blood trickling down his leg, face carved with pain and fatigue.

Freedmen rush in, disarming the champion, dragging him aside.

The champion curses bitterly. Freedmen subdue him, cheering that Remanos has prevailed again.

Vaelen tries to flee the dais in the confusion.

Freedmen, however, intercept him. Tila seizes his arm, hauling him down the steps.

He thrashes, but Freedmen hold firm. Ortem emerges from a corner, meeting Vaelen’s wild eyes.

“No more. The Senate sees your conspiracy laid bare. You answer for this treason.”

Vaelen spits, “You ungrateful wretch! You knew Freedmen threatened our power. I merely took steps to ensure the city’s future.”

Ortem grimaces. “I suspect that’s your final lie. Freedmen are our people, not an enemy. We let your manipulations divide us. That ends now.”

Freedmen press Vaelen into the arena’s center, a hush descending.

Mira—myself—my Freedmen surround him. My heart thuds as I watch Vaelen’s face contort with hatred.

He tries to bluster, but Freedmen brandish the logs, the treaties, brand him with every piece of evidence.

The stands murmur, some senators stepping down to see or hear.

Remanos, hobbling on his wounded leg, stands tall before Vaelen. Freedmen part, letting him confront the man who nearly destroyed Milthar. “Confess, Vaelen. You orchestrated orc infiltration, bribed them to break Freedmen’s spirit. Show the city the truth of your vile scheme.”

Vaelen snarls, “You can’t make me—” but Freedmen roar in unison, the wave of anger suffocating any further protest. The senator at Remanos’s side hisses, “Your condemnation is certain. Spare yourself more shame. Speak.”

Realizing no escape remains, Vaelen trembles, eyes darting between Freedmen’s weapons.

Fear cracks his arrogance. He breaks, voice trembling with hatred.

“Fine! I did it. Freedmen were a threat to Vakkak privilege. I used orcs to create fear, to keep them underfoot. If you had just handed Mira over, none of this would have erupted. She was the wedge to break Freedmen’s unity! ”

Gasps tear through the stands. Freedmen seethe. A senator behind Ortem utters a pained exhale, as though realizing the Senate’s complacency in all this. Vaelen collapses to his knees, Freedmen tightening their circle. Tila steps closer, chain in hand.

Remanos’s chest heaves, tail swishing in raw anger. Freedmen watch, expecting him to deliver a final blow or condemnation. But he remains oddly calm, kneeling painfully beside Vaelen. “Your own words bind you. Let the city see how you used orcs and noble gold to crush Freedmen for your own greed.”

Vaelen gapes, tears of rage in his eyes, as Freedmen clamp manacles on him. Senators watch in grim silence. Ortem bows his head to Freedmen. “We will hold a formal trial. Vaelen’s confession is clear. This conspiracy ends today.”

A wave of relief surges from Freedmen, crafters, and city guards in the stands.

Many erupt in cheers or weeping. Ortem signals loyal senators to take Vaelen away.

Freedmen part to let them pass. The traitorous champion is likewise bound, glaring at Remanos with resentful eyes. Freedmen handle him with no gentleness.

I rush to Remanos, letting Freedmen handle the rest. He sags into me, exhaustion radiating from every limb. My eyes brim with tears as I cradle his jaw. “You did it. We did it. No more illusions—Vaelen is finished.”

He exhales a shaky breath, pressing his forehead to mine. “Thanks to Freedmen and you, we reclaimed the city from his claws. Are you safe?”

I choke on a laugh, half sob. “Yes, you unstoppable bull. I’m safe. The orcs withdrew once they realized no gold was coming.” My chest clenches with the memory of them retreating. “You’ve freed Freedmen from terror. This city might find its soul again.”

He closes his eyes, relief shimmering. Freedmen circle around us, patting Remanos’s shoulders, some bowing to me.

The entire colosseum resonates with a sense of communal victory.

The stands slowly fill with cheering onlookers—citizens once too fearful to speak.

They chant Freedmen’s unity, crafters wave handmade banners, city guards raise spears in salute to Remanos.

Tila gently approaches, tears in her own eyes. “Remanos… Freedman or champion, we follow you. Milthar owes you its life.” Others echo her words, Freedmen shouting agreement. Remanos lowers his gaze, humility shaping his features.

A battered minotaur merchant thrusts a water flask into my hand, urging me to tend Remanos’s injuries.

I nod gratefully. Kneeling beside him, I help him drink, seeing relief flicker in his tired eyes.

Freedmen stand watch, ensuring no other orc pockets lurk.

Ortem emerges once more, voice soft, “We vow to hold a new Senate session, rectify Freedmen’s status.

This fiasco won’t be repeated. And if Remanos still wishes to lead, we’d reconsider his champion rank. ”

Remanos looks up, sweat beading on his brow. “I appreciate it, Ortem, but Freedmen need no champion’s seat if we keep the city honest. We stand on equal ground.”