He fed Benjol, who had slowed down, several more palm strikes.
Then Benjol's guard dropped considerably. It was unconscious behavior to protect his abdomen.
As Benjol slowed and Aslan moved forward to attack, some spectators who'd been quietly watching the match began to stand up.
They'd sensed the reversal coming.
"No way. Again?"
"Benjol's gotten too slow."
"But that crown prince guy is fine?"
"Don't tell me he got tired from hitting?"
"Seems like it."
"Even so..."
Whoosh!
As Benjol threw a fierce front hand, Aslan lost his balance and staggered, then spun around in a full circle.
It looked like a drunk person suddenly trying to move and spinning around.
Like a ballet pirouette.
After spinning properly, Aslan extended his arm and struck Benjol's chin with the back of his hand.
Crack!
A dull impact sound rang out as Benjol's face whipped around and shook so hard it came back to position.
An attack called a spinning back fist in modern times.
With body weight plus centrifugal force added, if you landed it properly, it was worthy of being called a one-shot technique.
And it connected perfectly.
It would be hard to land it any cleaner than that.
He hadn't properly made a fist, so it ended up being a hit with his wrist, but that didn't matter. Since he'd concentrated energy in his wrist, it had become very hard.
Benjol collapsed right there. He completely lost consciousness, and when he fell to the ground, his ankle twisted grotesquely.
"What was that!"
"What do you mean what, he got screwed!"
"Benjol, you piece of shit! Get up! You're not getting up?"
"This is crazy!"
"Wow! He ended it in one shot again?"
"That guy calling himself crown prince—even though he looks so weak, isn't he actually tough?"
"Seems tough. How else would that happen?"
"He did take some hard hits."
"Being a crown prince, he probably ate good stuff from a young age."
"Can luck really be that good? He was dodging and then whoosh, got hit, and just went down."
"Benjol must have been confused too."
"The problem isn't Benjol—look at that! Look at Baskun's crew's faces. They look like they're eating shit."
"Wow. It ends like this? This isn't right. Really get up."
"I bet on the crown prince. I'm really throwing a galand—catch it well!"
Many spectators were telling Benjol to get up, but he absolutely couldn't. He was perfectly knocked out.
Seeing Benjol completely unconscious, the referee announced the match was stopped.
The spectators cheered wildly.
It was an even bigger cheer than the previous match.
***
The money pouring into the arena was considerable. More than the previous match. From the spectators' perspective, it was a dramatic comeback victory, so money had to pour out.
A whopping 27 galands.
Aslan earned that much in his second match.
If he hadn't belonged to the youth division, he definitely would have earned over 100 galands from that match alone.
Even considering that, 27 galands was big money. An amount that only veteran gladiators could receive.
It was also money that could buy 27 bottles of alcohol. Aslan first stockpiled about ten bottles of alcohol with that money.
That should be enough to last until his next match.
With plenty of internal energy, he could easily handle ten bottles, but right now his dantian had just been created, so he couldn't digest that much.
He bought alcohol with 10 galands and decided to eat meat with the rest.
Meat was cheaper than alcohol.
Plus, it wasn't a system where they brought it to your room. Since it wasn't basic rationed food, you had to go to the dining hall yourself to eat.
Though not as much as alcohol, he had to pay attention to food intake too. He was so thin you could say he had almost no muscle, so he had to eat well. Too much muscle had limitations, but having none was also a negative factor for fighting.
***
There were many people in the dining hall.
The interesting thing was that slaves and management staff were eating in the same space. The menus were all different.
"You can order food. Prices are all different, and you have to pay right away."
There was even a menu board on the wall, quite thoughtfully. Unlike the poor room conditions, the dining hall was neat and had a variety of menu options.
"If you want to eat food not on the menu, you have to place an order. Usually it takes a day or two to prepare, but some foods require waiting up to a week. So I recommend just getting what's on the menu. You know why?"
Liscal answered even though he hadn't responded.
"Because there are tons of guys who die before they can eat the food they ordered."
Liscal showed a creepy smile.
Setting aside the useless information Liscal had shared, he ordered food. Onion soup and beef rib steak. It was quite an expensive menu, but he didn't care.
Aslan thought he'd chosen the main dish particularly well. Steak was food that was hard to make taste bad as long as the meat itself was fresh. Plus, looking around, quite a few people were eating steak. The quality looked quite good.
Though it was long ago, he still remembered his modern life. Just by glancing, gauging the meat's condition wasn't difficult.
He hadn't eaten much but wasn't particularly hungry. But the food was delicious. It couldn't compare to Central Plains cuisine.
Of course, compared to modern food, the quality was somewhat inferior. But inferior quality didn't mean it tasted bad.
The onion soup had appropriate sweet and salty flavors, and the steak had good meat quality. It was a bit disappointing that there was no special sauce. Another disappointment was that it was overcooked and a bit tough.
Aslan ate slowly, savoring the food. There wasn't a time limit.
While eating like this, someone approached.
'Why is he so big?'
Even accounting for seeing him while sitting, he had a large build.
He was a muscular man nearly 2 meters tall. Neatly trimmed beard. His clothes were neat too.
The man spoke directly.
"You're tough. But too reckless. If you pay 10 galands, I can coach you in boxing until your next match. I'll make sure you win your next fight. 10 galands. If you'll accept the offer, come find me at the training ground after you finish eating. My name is Dus."
"..."
Aslan didn't particularly answer. Partly because he was wondering how to refuse the sudden proposal, and partly because Dus disappeared while he was thinking.
As soon as Dus left, two men appeared this time. They brought their own meals and sat in front of Aslan.
He wondered if they were going to make a similar proposal to Dus, but the two told a different story.
One was missing a hand, and one was one-eyed. Compared to Dus, they looked a bit shabby.
"You should consider Dus's proposal."
"..."
"It's fine to go. Dus does have some expertise in punching."
One-eye spoke first, then One-arm spoke. One-arm was chewing bread. He swallowed the bread in his mouth and finished speaking.
"But it's fine to go, just don't pay the money first."
"Why not?"
Aslan spoke up. About half the meat remained.
"Dus isn't someone who's short on money. He makes the most money among the gladiator slaves under Rocom."
"?"
"He likes men. That's why he approached you."
One-eye and One-arm ate at incredible speed. Aslan didn't immediately believe their words either.
Wasn't he already a traveler who'd experienced an unfamiliar world? He knew well how dangerous it was to trust someone carelessly.
"And if you want to get past even your next match, you should stop drinking alcohol. If you can't do that, you should reduce it."
That was One-eye's words.
"Right, if you drink too much alcohol, you end up like me."
One-arm showed his severed arm and laughed.
"I don't know where that strength and endurance come from. But you have talent. If you just survive the next match, you'll have some breathing room, so please reduce it at least until the next match. I wanted to tell you that. It's not good to see a talented guy go down pointlessly."
"Is there something different if I survive until the next match?"
"..."
"See. I told you this would happen."
One-arm said with a grin.
"Looks like you didn't hear properly from Liscal."
"I didn't particularly ask either."
"Slaves under Rocom get certain privileges if they win three in a row. You've won twice now. If you win once more, you can refuse one match."
"I can refuse a match?"
"Right. You can avoid fighting absurdly strong opponents."
"And you don't have to have matches on ridiculous schedules. If you exercise your refusal right, you can rest for at least a month."
"Ah..."
"Liscal wouldn't have told you this story."
"That's right."
"So come out to the training ground. Even if you don't receive separate training, you get a lot of information there. Slaves share quite a bit of information with each other."
"Aren't we all competitors when you think about it?"
"Slaves under Rocom don't fight each other much. It's the same with other arenas. Especially gladiators starting to gain popularity like you. That way spectators don't get suspicious."
"Then the previous matches were..."
"They were gladiator slaves acting alone, or slaves brought by gladiator slave dealers. Rocom owns the arena, so matches are held here."
To summarize, it was like this:
Rocom was also a gladiator slave dealer.
However, because he owned an arena, other gladiator slave dealers brought their slaves to his arena to hold matches.
Aslan began to somewhat trust One-eye and One-arm's story. The advice to drink alcohol in moderation would be appropriate advice if it were general. At least these two wouldn't know the origin of his martial arts.
He wasn't the type to be prickly even toward those showing goodwill.
He didn't trust these two completely yet, but at least the story that came from their mouths today seemed quite useful. There were many overlapping stories with what he'd heard from the odd-eyed girl, so it seemed okay to trust them to some extent.
Their eating speed was fast. Even while talking a lot, they ate faster than Aslan. After finishing their meal, they got up from their seats, and Aslan remained to eat the rest of his meat.
After finishing his meal, he headed back to Liscal. A young man was standing next to Liscal.
"This is Kenon. He'll be in charge of you from now on. If you need anything, just tell him."
Liscal said that and left.