After treatment was finished, Liscal moved with Aslan.
"I never imagined you'd end up in this room."
Liscal said as he showed him the room.
A room only given to gladiators who won their matches.
If you won a match, you could stay in a private room until your next match. It was a small room, but it had a bed and a bathroom. Plus, they completely removed your shackles.
"Ilimas will stop by every few days to clean the room. At least... your life's been extended until the next match. Once your body recovers, you can use the training grounds too. But you'd better not try anything stupid. The slaves here really hate people of your background. Just because I don't lay a hand on you doesn't mean they won't either. Rock-bottom people sometimes do incomprehensible things."
Ilimas were the slave workers who lived at the arena. Their main job was picking up coins that fell in the arena. The odd-eyed girl who gave Aslan information was also an ilima.
Thunk!
Liscal threw a money pouch onto the bed.
"That's the money you earned from today's match. If you want to survive the next match... you'd better eat well and move around a bit to change that weak body of yours. You made some money from today's match, so it should be possible."
You could buy anything with money at the arena. Food, good rooms, even women.
But the characteristic of gladiators who survived and escaped this place was that they didn't waste that money carelessly.
They used the money they earned to buy good equipment or hired teachers to hone their skills. When injured, they'd bring in famous physicians to treat their wounds.
That was how to increase survival rates even a little.
But Aslan had no intention of using this money that way.
Eating well?
That was somewhat important.
But it wasn't urgent right now.
The room was sufficient too. It was quiet, perfect for training.
So he picked up the money pouch as planned. The sutured tongue was incredibly uncomfortable.
Still, he could speak. It wasn't like he'd bitten it off completely.
"I want to buy something now."
"What do you want to buy? You should think carefully about how you spend it. Just because your room changed doesn't mean the meals will change."
"Alcohol."
"What?"
Liscal looked dumbfounded.
"Give me alcohol!"
"What? You want alcohol?"
"That's right. Alcohol."
"You're crazy. Completely insane. Totally lost it."
"Can't I buy alcohol?"
"Sure. You can buy alcohol. But even the cheapest booze costs 1 galand per bottle. You still want it?"
"Give it to me."
Liscal took out 1 galand from the pouch. He didn't even bother glaring at Aslan. Then he casually added,
"Well... that might be a good way to go too."
But Aslan stopped Liscal and pulled out more galands from the pouch.
"Please change all of it to alcohol."
"..."
Liscal's eyes turned ice cold. Then he shook his head and said,
"You're really completely insane."
A little later, an ilima brought cheap fruit wine.
Aslan took the fruit wine and quietly sat cross-legged.
Now was the beginning.
The reason he'd gotten the fruit wine.
It was because the characteristic of the Drunken Immortal Method was exactly heat yang technique. Even in the martial world, heat yang technique belonged to very unique martial arts, because it enhanced physical abilities through heat as a medium.
Especially the Drunken Immortal Method used alcohol energy to raise the heat inside the body.
With the energy of this place, creating a dantian wasn't easy, but with alcohol energy, it wasn't impossible either.
He intended to drink the alcohol gulp by gulp and use the rising intoxication.
But the alcohol didn't agree with his body. It was because the previous body's owner hadn't drunk alcohol often.
But Aslan saw that as an opportunity instead.
Alcohol energy was ultimately a type of toxicity. When you had no tolerance, it was better for creating a dantian.
If he were trying to create a dantian while completely ignorant of martial arts, he couldn't use this method, but he was a master who'd reached a high level in his previous life.
There was nothing he couldn't do.
***
Aslan sat cross-legged on the bed with a serious expression. He was repeatedly attempting to create a dantian, but it wasn't easy at all, even using alcohol energy.
Since it was a martial art that used alcohol energy, the Drunken Immortal Method developed the habit of drinking from a young age.
But Aslan's original body owner was definitely someone who didn't enjoy alcohol. Even drinking just a little made intoxication spread throughout his entire body immediately.
That much was fine. In fact, that was what he wanted.
The more intensely the alcohol energy circulated, the easier it became to train the Drunken Immortal Method. But the problem was the flow of energy residing in this place.
'The flow is this strong? This is... beyond strong, it's at a violent level.'
It really was.
The energy here was like a ping-pong ball that could bounce anywhere. Powerful energy that was hard to control.
The fortunate thing was that the Drunken Immortal Method had the know-how to harness such violent energy. Since it was originally a martial art that developed the habit of accumulating energy using powerful alcohol energy as a medium, adaptation was relatively easier.
He sweated profusely as if he were in a sauna, then cooled down repeatedly. He looked like he was just sitting quietly with his eyes closed, but inside, something like a war was happening.
"Whew..."
His energy circulation breathing continued until dawn. And Aslan let out a big sigh.
He'd crossed a big mountain.
Though weak, he'd succeeded in creating a dantian.
Aslan's eyes flashed sharply.
By martial world standards, it was a pathetically shabby dantian. But considering he'd done it in the harsh environment where energy was turbulent, it wasn't a bad achievement.
Aslan's energy circulation breathing continued until morning.
***
He was dozing while feeling the subtle energy in his dantian. There was a feeling that morning was dawning, but he didn't pay much attention.
And when day broke completely, Liscal came to find him.
"Really drinking alcohol..."
Liscal clicked his tongue. He looked at Aslan with pitying eyes and said,
"Come out. You're not so bad that I need to help you walk, right?"
"No need."
"At least you still have your wits about you. I was wondering if I should crack the whip."
At Liscal's urging, he slowly got up from his seat.
Liscal immediately took Aslan to the physician.
"How does he look?"
Liscal asked. The physician was sitting in his chair looking at Aslan's tongue.
"He was lucky. It's healing cleanly. Must be because he's young—his recovery is very fast. Amazing. Did he eat troll blood or something? How did it heal so quickly?"
"That's a relief. I was worried about what would happen."
"If you're worried, feed him well. Just keep feeding him well from now on. But what's this smell I've been smelling?"
"It's alcohol, what else?"
"Liscal, are you drinking again? During work hours? You're crazy."
"How could that be?"
Liscal gestured toward Aslan with his chin. The physician looked back and forth between Aslan and Liscal, then glared at Liscal.
"Then... what the hell kind of guy are you? Giving alcohol to someone whose tongue almost got cut off? Are you sane?"
The physician got angry.
"How could I have done that? This guy asked for it. He asked to exchange all the money he earned from Jacques for alcohol."
"He's crazy. So that's why he's all out of it?"
"I don't know how much he drank either. He took 8 bottles of Luban's booze, so he couldn't have finished it all. Maybe he drank about one bottle?"
"That booze where even one drink makes you taste hell the next day?"
"That's right."
"He's crazy. Completely insane. And you just let him drink that?"
"I'm someone who does what he's told. The master said not to touch him. And that guy requested alcohol as his rightful privilege. I'm not saying to take pity on everything though. What do you think? Can he have a match?"
"For someone who drank Luban's booze, he's surprisingly fine. His tongue healed too."
"So that's what I'm asking. When can he start fighting again?"
"Huh. In that condition?"
"There's no law saying you can't fight drunk."
Liscal glared at the physician. The physician fell silent.
"Tell me properly. Spectators liked this guy's face and there are requests to see him again."
"He does have that kind of face. Then how about properly developing him instead?"
"Can't do that."
"Why?"
"If I told you about that, doctor, you probably wouldn't be able to eat for about a day. Should I still tell you?"
"...Never mind."
Though he was curious what kind of story it was, the physician stopped wanting to know more. If Liscal was saying that much, it was obviously a story that would really make him unable to eat.
The essence of the arena was a place that sold violence and death. A place where slaves he'd been managing until just moments ago died right before his eyes.
Even he, working as a physician in such a place, wouldn't bat an eye at most things. So what about Liscal?
"When is it possible?"
"Even right now. He walked here, didn't he? Boxing is something you can do as long as you can stand, right?"
Then Liscal chuckled.
"Doctor, you're almost half an expert now."
***
Since he hadn't expected much, he wasn't particularly surprised. After visiting the physician, Liscal immediately said he had to fight.
'Basically telling me to die quickly while fighting.'
Thanks to that, he became certain.
His goal in this life.
Living for himself.
In the martial world, he'd lived too much for others.
Blood God Energy, strategist of one of the forces that divided the martial world.
Acting in a second-in-command position, he'd lost his life to the betrayal of the lord he trusted and followed.
At least he'd chosen his final end himself, so he had no lingering attachments to that world. Then what should he do in this reincarnated world?
At least one thing became clear.
'Escape slave status.'
He decided to quickly accomplish that pre-determined goal first.
Aslan calmly got up from his seat.
"You're taking that with you?"
Liscal said, looking at the bottle.
"Can't I take it?"
"Well... there's no rule against it. Why don't you take it right into the arena?"
"Is that okay?"
"That's not allowed. There could be accidents with it. Just take it to the entrance."
"Understood."
"Ah! Right! You might gain popularity with the spectators. Try throwing that bottle at the spectator stands. The crowd will probably love it."
"Is that really okay?"
"Some gladiators throw their equipment after battles end. That kind of thing leaves a deep impression on spectators. Of course, that's only meaningful if you survive. Try it. You'll be the first to bring alcohol to the arena, but if you throw that bottle at the spectator stands, you'll really make a deep impression."
It was clear sarcasm.
Aslan knew it too. But he didn't react much.
Since he'd created a dantian, even if weak, he had nothing to fear. He planned to survive again this time, exceeding Liscal's expectations.
Whether Liscal read those thoughts, he spat out one line:
"You'd better not count on luck this time."