Trust Me and Fight

My impatience must have gotten the better of me, because when my leg finally started bouncing, Becky jolted in surprise, glanced around, and pressed down hard on my knee.

"Miss, honestly, what is wrong with you today? You keep doing things you've never done in your life."

"……."

"You flat-out robbed me of my wages, and now you're bouncing your leg. You really aren't yourself today, Miss."

The absurdly blunt observation left me sheepish.

Arabella's memories might be coming back to me, but this newly assembled consciousness carried her thoughts, her speech patterns, and even her habits along with it.

If I intended to keep playing the noblewoman from here on out, I was apparently going to have to live with my brain clenched at full effort.

"I'm just a little tense. Anyway, about that loan of your wages — I'll pay you back double, I promise."

"Oh my. Double? How delightful. But Miss, that apothecary you stopped at before you sent me off — what on earth did you buy there?"

Becky, who had been smiling guilelessly, asked suddenly and carefully. There was nothing to hide, so I decided to brush it off.

"Oh, just some stomach medicine, that sort of thing."

"A stomachache? Miss, were you really sick from that food earlier? You should have gotten examined at the palace, then!"

I let Becky's fussing wash over me. The truth was, I'd bought two things at the apothecary. One was medicine for Eusilif's food poisoning. The other was a sedative to calm the swelling and pain in my own body.

In fact, the only reason I was holding up as well as I was right now was because I'd taken that medicine. Considering the state of Arabella's body on a normal day, it went double.

"And after the apothecary, you also stopped at the tea house, didn't you? What did you buy there?"

I stared at Becky for a moment as she pressed the question with surprising persistence. I hadn't even scolded her, yet after a few seconds of meeting my eyes, her face drained white and she dropped her head.

"I-I'm sorry. Who am I to keep poking and prodding like this…."

"No, it's fine. You're only doing what your master ordered you to do."

My plain answer made her somehow even paler, but I turned my head away, no longer paying her any mind.

Becky was a decent maid, but I wasn't the only master she served.

Arabella had known that fact all too well. That was precisely why she had treated Becky coldly from start to finish.

You had a lonely life too, didn't you? A life with nowhere to rest your heart.

Thinking of the real Arabella — the one who no longer existed in this world — made my chest tighten.

She hadn't been a good person, but there had been clear, unmistakable reasons she'd been forced to live the way she did.

She had been a thorough loner right up until the moment she died. The vicious loneliness and helplessness she'd felt still seemed to lie caked, layer upon layer, into every corner of this borrowed body and mind.

The life you gave up on — I'll live it properly in your place. Think of it as a rite of exorcism, if you like.

I murmured this silently to the departed Arabella, then turned my gaze back down to the arena. Right now, I needed to focus on Eusilif.

Oh — you're wondering what I bought at the tea house? Nothing much. I simply asked them to mix salt, sugar, and a splash of lemon juice into boiled, cooled water and bottle it for me.

Ah, and I also asked for some of the apple purée they had prepared for making apple pies. And a small bag of crackers to go with it.

In short, I'd ordered a rehydration solution and light food — exactly what a patient suffering from a brutal case of food poisoning would need for a fast recovery.

Regita had deliberately starved him, then fed him spoiled food to give him food poisoning and drive him into dehydration. Only that way would he look perfectly healthy on the outside while being unable to fight at his full strength in the match.

Regita wanted Eusilif to lose today. She wanted him defeated by Butcher Jack, his limbs hacked off and rolling across the arena floor, his identity as a mutant Quarter-Elf exposed before the eyes of the entire world.

So, Eusilif — please trust me. Take the medicine and the food, and fight the way only you can. Don't let those people break you.

I stared down at the arena, anxiety written across my face. And not just mine — the shouts of the crowd, kept waiting far too long, were growing rougher by the moment.

Just then, the match herald stepped out, waving his flag and bellowing at the top of his lungs.

"We hereby commence the semifinals of the gladiatorial games, held in glory of His Great Imperial Majesty!"

WAAAAH—

An explosive roar erupted all at once from the five-story tiers of seats ringing the circular arena.

"Today's semifinals will consist of two matches! Now then — first match: Butcher Jack versus the slave swordsman, Eusilif! Contestants, enter—!"

WAAAAAAAAH—!!!

The torrent of cheering alone made it easy to gauge just how popular the two contenders were.

"Butcher Jack! Time to taste some blood again today!"

"Silver-haired slave swordsman! Make that pretty face worth something! I bet my entire fortune on you!"

Of them all, the gamblers' voices were the loudest and rowdiest.

Screeeech — BANG.

The iron-barred gate leading to the underground holding rooms ground open, and at last the two gladiators emerged side by side.

The moment the two fighters stepped to the center of the arena and faced each other, the crowd that had been snarling like a hornet's nest fell silent in an instant. The presence and killing intent the two of them radiated was exactly that overwhelming.

Whhhhsh—

A stray wind whipped across the dirt floor, kicking up clouds of dust. But neither gladiator so much as blinked; they stared at nothing but each other.

Butcher Jack, his battleaxe as big as his own body slung across his back, grinned with an orc-like face.

"What a girlish little face you've got."

He tugged a liquor bottle from his belt, swallowed a mouthful, and then — PWAH! — sprayed it noisily across his own axe blade.

He gazed lovingly at the steel gleaming a frosty blue, and smiled darkly.

"Ooh, our little lady's in for some fun today, aren't we? I wonder what blood that tastes like — a man who looks like a girl. Kik kik kik."

WAAAH — BUTCHER JACK! Make it hot for us!

The spectators, delighted by his performance, roared their approval.

But Eusilif paid the clamor no mind whatsoever, silently focusing all his attention on the sword in his hand.

And then — just then — Butcher Jack, who had been playing the crowd under the pretense of whipping their cheers into a frenzy, spun swiftly and brought his battleaxe slashing down toward Eusilif's head. It was lightning made flesh. Even if the attack had been anticipated, it would have been nearly impossible to dodge — a cheap, underhanded, and utterly lethal strike.

FWOOSH! KRAKOOM!

But the axe missed Eusilif by a hair's breadth and buried itself in the arena floor.

TAP.

Having evaded it with astonishing reflexes, Eusilif wasted not a single instant of the opening, swinging his sword at Butcher Jack's flank.

SWISH.

The blade grazed Butcher Jack's side, slicing away a strip of his clothing and leaving a shallow wound behind.

Butcher Jack, who had dodged the sword by the narrowest of margins, laughed exaggeratedly and struck a boastful pose.

"Ha! And they call you the Princess's pet slave — you're nothing special after all!"

But despite the bravado, there was unmistakable tension in the way he hurriedly wrenched his axe free from the ground.

Eusilif, on the other hand, gathered his sword with the same expressionless calm as before, readying his next attack.

At the triple harmony of his indifferent expression, his flawless stance, and that beautiful face, several women in the audience let out pained moans.

Meanwhile, I clenched both fists, overcome with emotion.

Eusilif — you took what I gave you!

One look at the swift, precise arc of his sword told me everything. He had stepped into the arena in a completely different condition than in the original story.

Well done, Eusilif!

I was moved, and yet at the same time, I still couldn't relax.

Stamina recovered by a stopgap won't last. If he can't end this quickly, he'll be in danger again.

TAH — SHING — KANG!

Even as the thought crossed my mind, the two swordsmen hurled themselves at each other, their weapons meeting in midair in a spray of sparks.

Letting the diagonally descending axe blade slide harmlessly past, Eusilif's sword traced a great half circle toward Butcher Jack's waist. But the speed fell short of what he'd intended, and Jack slipped out of range by a hair once again.

TAH!

WHOOM, WHOOM! SHHHIIII!

Butcher Jack's attacks came raining down one after another.

WHOOM—

The battleaxe howled through the air with a bloodthirsty shriek every bit as vicious as it looked.

I could see Eusilif gasping for breath as he re-gripped his sword. Maybe pushing himself into a match on stamina that had only barely clawed its way out of exhaustion really had been too much.

SHWUUNG — KRAK!

They exchanged blows once more. This time, Eusilif came away with a whole fistful of hair shorn off, while Butcher Jack emerged without a scratch.

"Nothing to you at all, Princess's pet slave! WAHAHAHA!"

Eusilif staggered and wiped away the beads of sweat prickling across his brow. And that was the moment.

"EUSILIF—! YOU CAN DO IT!"

Before I knew it, I was on my feet in the stands, shouting with everything I had. My voice came out louder than I'd expected; the nobles around me frowned and turned to glare at me.

Fortunately — or perhaps unfortunately — Eusilif heard me too. His head snapped around, his handsome brow furrowing as deeply as it could manage as he glared straight at me.