The World Is Mine For The Taking-Chapter 1137: Epilogue 21 - The United Republic Of Viritoginy (2)
Carl’s POV
The sharp, metallic ringing of steel against steel echoed endlessly across the coliseum, bouncing off stone walls that had long since learned how to drink in sound—and blood. Sparks flew every time the swords collided, brief flashes of light against bodies already soaked in red. I watched from above as the two gladiators hacked at one another with what little strength they had left, their movements sloppy, desperate, and slow. Their armor was cracked, dented, barely clinging to them. Blood streamed down their arms, legs, and torsos, pooling beneath their feet with every uneven step.
They were both already half-dead, yet neither seemed willing to be the one to fall first.
Normally, a fight like this should have ended minutes ago. There was always a point where things stopped being entertaining—where exhaustion replaced skill, and desperation replaced spectacle. This was one of those moments. Their breathing was ragged, chests heaving like bellows on the verge of collapse. They could no longer move the way they had at the beginning, when their steps were confident and their strikes sharp. Now, every swing looked like it took everything they had, and even then, it barely landed with any real force.
It was sluggish. Predictable. Boring.
I leaned back slightly in my seat, resting my chin against my knuckles as I stared down at the arena, my eyes dull with disinterest.
"It looks like it’s going to end soon, huh?" James said beside me, his voice casual, almost amused.
James. The man who had appeared out of nowhere, uninvited and unexplained, carrying nothing but words—words that should’ve sounded like bullshit, and yet somehow kept turning into results. Even now, I still didn’t fully understand who he really was or what his endgame might be. But I wasn’t stupid enough to deny reality. Everything he’d done so far had helped me stay right where I was—at the top.
I wouldn’t say that out loud. Still, I knew it was true.
"Well, this is getting boring, isn’t it?" I said, opening my mouth wide as I yawned, deliberately exaggerating my lack of interest. "Get to it."
The command wasn’t directed at James.
Behind me stood a warrior—silent, unmoving, loyal. He had been standing there for so long that most people would’ve forgotten he was even present. At my words, he immediately stepped forward, placing a clenched fist against his chest as he bowed deeply.
Then, without hesitation, he leapt.
The platform dropped away beneath him as his body cut through the air, plunging downward. Seven floors. The wind howled briefly, and then—
He landed.
Perfectly.
No stumble. No crack of bone. Just a solid impact as his feet hit the arena floor below, stone cracking faintly beneath the force.
"Oh, wow... and he didn’t even break a knee," James muttered, leaning forward slightly. "That was seven floors down."
"Well, he is that kind of monster," I replied, a slow smirk tugging at my lips.
The warrior didn’t waste time. The moment his feet touched the ground, he moved. One step. One swing. Then another. Steel flashed once—twice—and both gladiators lost their heads before they even realized what was happening. Their bodies collapsed a second later, twitching briefly before going still, blood spraying across the already ruined floor.
Clean. Efficient. Too efficient.
The crowd fell silent for half a heartbeat.
Then the boos came.
A wave of angry noise rolled through the coliseum as the audience realized what had just happened. They had wanted a drawn-out end. Screams. Begging. Pain. The kind of suffering that made the blood worth watching. Instead, the fight had been cut short, ended almost mercifully.
If anything, that irritated me.
He should have let them feel it. Let them bleed. Let them understand how pointless their struggle was. Ending it so quickly felt like a waste.
As the noise continued, the warrior crouched slightly and then leapt again, launching himself upward with terrifying ease. In a single motion, he returned to our platform, landing right in front of us as if gravity itself bent to his will.
"Oooh..." James breathed, openly impressed. "He jumped all the way back up here that easily. He really is powerful."
"He is," I said calmly. "But he did something unnecessary." 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢
The warrior didn’t speak. Didn’t react. He simply stood there, waiting.
"That means he needs to be punished."
I reached for the whip, the leather coiled comfortably in my hand. The sound of it unfurling was soft, but it carried meaning. Without being told, the warrior turned around, presenting his back to me. His posture was straight, his expression blank, as if this was no different from breathing.
I smiled.
The whip cracked through the air and struck his back with a sharp snap. The sound echoed loudly, followed by the dull thud of leather against flesh. I struck him again. And again. Each lash left marks—angry red lines that quickly darkened, some splitting open to draw fresh blood.
I didn’t stop.
His back was already covered in scars, old wounds layered over older ones. Proof that this wasn’t new. Proof that I’d done this before—many times. The marks overlapped, blending together into a mess of damage that told a clear story.
The first time, he had screamed.
Back then, every strike made him flinch. His body had trembled, breath hitching, pain spilling out in broken sounds he couldn’t hold back. But now?
Nothing.
No cry. No twitch. No reaction at all.
He stood there, perfectly still, as if the pain no longer reached him. As if his nerves had simply given up.
That almost annoyed me more.
I lashed him ten more times before finally stopping, lowering the whip with a disappointed sigh.
"Whipping you has become boring too," I said flatly. "You don’t even cry anymore."
"Well," James said after a moment, shrugging slightly, "that’s probably because you’ve done it so many times. Anyone would get used to it."
I considered that.
"...Yeah. That makes sense."
"Get out of my sight," I said, waving him away. "Your bloody back is ruining my view."
The warrior bowed once more and left without a word.
I settled back into my seat, adjusting my posture as I looked down at the arena once again. "Next," I said lazily. "And tell the next pair not to cut off each other’s arms. When they do that, the fight gets dull."
I paused, eyes narrowing slightly.
"Or maybe... it’s time for the main event."
"I think it’s still too early for that, Emperor Carl," James said, glancing toward the arena. "Don’t you want to watch more people kill each other?"
"At this point?" I scoffed. "That’s boring too."
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "I think it’d be far more interesting to let all the gladiators fight the Empire’s monster. Don’t you agree?"
James was quiet for a moment.
"Well... I suppose," he said finally, a slow smile spreading across his face.
"Well then," I stood and spread my arms wide, my voice carrying across the entire coliseum, "the main event it is!"
The soldiers surrounding us exchanged quick nods and moved at once. Heavy footsteps echoed as they descended, mechanisms grinding loudly. Moments later, a massive gate creaked open, and trembling gladiators were shoved forward into the arena. Their eyes darted around in panic as they stepped over bodies—over blood, over the remains of those who had come before them.
"Now then," I muttered, watching closely, "open the gate."
Another gate began to rise.
A deep, low growl rolled out from the darkness beyond it, vibrating through the stone beneath our feet. The sound alone made the gladiators freeze in place.
Then something stepped forward.
The moment they saw it, the screams started.
It was a monster—an existence whispered about in fear, said to have fought the Great Ones themselves. Its presence alone seemed to suffocate the air.
I grinned.
"Now, Ouroboros!" I shouted. "Kill them all!"
