The Hikmar Arena awaited us. The sun stood at its zenith, scorching the yellow sand that remembered the taste of the blood of a thousand losers just like us.
Three stepped into the arena.
In the center towered Talah. Our "Golden Chicken" shone in the sun so brightly that spectators in the front rows had to squint. He waved his scimitar like a fan, basking in the attention.
To his left, Dieter shifted from foot to foot. A heavy direwolf pelt hung on the shoulders of our only tank, and in his hands, he clutched a shield hastily nailed together from raw planks.
To his right froze Huber — the man who only yesterday was called Knut. A spear trembled in his hands, and in his eyes burned pure, unadulterated hatred for all living things.
Gunther, Jem, and the Sergeant watched from the stands.
"Enemy?" Gunther asked, nervously chewing a fingernail.
"Snakes," Jem answered, watching the opening gates. "Three of them. And you know what, bean counter? They are practically impossible to hit. They are agile as mercury. And our boys have an attack skill, let’s be honest, like drunken peasants."
The gates swung open.
And THEY crawled onto the sand.
Not just snakes. These were yellow, muscular serpents as thick as a grown man's thigh. They moved in jerks, unpredictably changing trajectory and tasting the air with forked tongues.
"Form up!" roared the Sergeant from the stands, though the fighters couldn't hear him over the crowd's noise. "Huber, Spearwall! Keep them back!"
Huber braced his spear, trying to create a zone of control. He wanted to skewer the reptile on approach, imagining it was one of the diseases that killed his wife. He thrust.
The snake twisted into an impossible S-shape, and the spear tip whistled through empty air.
"Miss!" Jem stated. "Their Initiative is higher. We’re done."
The snake didn't bite Huber. It opened its maw, threw its body forward like a harpoon, and wrapped around Talah's neck.
"Grapple!" Gunther squealed. "They are disabling our high-value asset!"
A jerk.
A hundred kilograms of gilded meat and muscle flew into the air. Talah crashed right into the center of the snake knot.
The formation crumbled. Our "safe" was cracked open, and the contents spilled out.
Immediately, the other two snakes pounced on the defenseless Dieter and Huber.
Dieter tried to block with his shield. The snake struck with its whole body like a battering ram. The planks exploded into splinters. The beast wrapped around Dieter's leg and squeezed. The crunch of bone carried even to the stands. Dieter screamed, but the sound choked off when the snake head-butted him in the face.
Huber poked at the scales with his spear, but uselessly. The snake dodged, slipped under the shaft, and latched onto his side. Huber's rusty chainmail burst, and blood sprayed onto the yellow sand.
"They are killing Talah's security detail!" Gunther whispered in horror, clutching his heart. "Medical costs will be in the hundreds!"
And in the center of this hell lay Talah.
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The largest Snake was wrapped around him. It squeezed its coils against his gilded cuirass. The armor creaked but held.
Talah was dumb. He didn't understand he was losing. He lay on his back, looking into the yellow eyes of the boa with the resentment of a child.
"You!" the Gladiator wheezed. "You are denting my lacquer!"
Instead of panicking, Talah did something the snake didn't expect. He didn't try to stand or untangle himself. He simply delivered a short, upward strike with his scimitar, no wind-up.
The force of the blow was monstrous. The blade disemboweled the snake, and guts spilled out right onto Talah's face.
"Yuck!" he was offended, throwing the dead carcass off himself.
He stood up. Covered in blood and slime, looking like a golden demon.
The other two snakes were finishing off Dieter and Huber. Our bodyguards were no longer resisting; they were just wheezing, trying not to die completely.
Talah stepped toward them.
One swing — and the head of the snake biting Huber flew to the side.
A second swing — and the snake strangling Dieter was cleaved in half.
The fight was over.
On the sand lay three dead reptiles. And two half-dead humans. Dieter couldn't stand; his leg was twisted at an unnatural angle. Huber clutched a wound on his chest from which life was pumping out in spurts.
Talah stood in the middle of this slaughter, breathing heavily. His armor was dented, stained, but intact. He himself got away with a couple of bruises.
"Back off!" Arena servants ran onto the sand with hooks. "Clear the trash! Trophies belong to the Arena! Do not touch anything!"
Talah wanted to kick a dead snake, but Gunther waved his arms desperately from the stands: "Don't! Penalty fee!"
In the locker room, which looked more like a slaughterhouse, Gunther rushed between the wounded like a bird in a cage.
"Vain!" he yelled. "Where is that damn alcoholic?!"
Vain emerged from the shadows, wiping his hands on his apron. After yesterday's flogging, he was sober and angry. A spark of sadistic professionalism burned in his eyes.
"I am here, Herr CFO," the Anatomist hissed. "What do we have? Ah. Open fracture of the tibia on Dieter. Lacerated chest wound on Huber."
"Save them!" Gunther pleaded. "They cost money!"
Vain took out a needle that looked like a harpoon.
"I will save the assets. But we have no anesthesia. So hold them tight. It will be loud."
Then Gunther turned to the Arena Master.
"Payment."
The Master carelessly threw a heavy bag onto the table. Gold clinked dully.
"One thousand fifty crowns."
"Why so much?" Jem was surprised, weighing the bag.
"Hazard pay for Snakes," the Master spat, wiping sweat. "Nobody likes fighting them. They are nasty, slippery, and usually rookies die in seconds. Your giant managed. Take the money and get your meat off our sand."
Gunther grabbed the bag. His eyes lit up.
"One thousand fifty!" he exhaled. "Success! This covers..."
He fell silent, watching Vain set Dieter's leg with a crunch. The Tank howled, losing consciousness from pain.
"Audit..." Gunther’s voice trembled. "Income: 1050 crowns. Expenditure..."
He took out his notebook.
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"Repair of gilded armor — 200 crowns (master work)."
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"Dieter's treatment — broken leg. 5 days downtime. Food for downtime."
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"Huber's treatment — deep wound. 7 days downtime."
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"Meds, bandages, Temple fees (to prevent infection) — 300 crowns."
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"Talah's daily wage for these days."
The Accountant looked up at the Captain. There was horror in his eyes.
"We earned a thousand. But we will spend almost all of it just to return these invalids to duty. And we lost them as combat units for a week! Net profit — approaching zero. Four hundred crowns for the risk of losing the entire squad!"
"That is Negative ROI," Jem summarized. "With nerves amortized, we are deep in the red."
Jem walked up to Talah, who was trying to wipe snake blood off the gold.
"How are you, Golden Boy?"
"Fine," Talah shrugged. "Snakes boring. Didn't even drop teeth for a souvenir."
"And the boys?" Jem nodded at the stretchers where Dieter and Huber were screaming under Vain's needle.
"Weak," Talah dropped indifferently, taking off his helmet. "Why did they come with me? Just got underfoot. I almost tripped over them."
Gunther covered his face with his hands, sliding down the wall.
"He is right. Our 'Living Shield' doctrine doesn't work. Snakes ignore them. We need a new tactic. Or new suicide troops. Because these two are out of the game."
We stood in the center of Hikmar with a bag of money that felt too light, and a squad that felt too fragile.
The Captain looked at Gunther, at Talah, and at the bloody stretchers.
"Remember this lesson, Accountant," he said quietly. "Chase the shine of Arena Gold — and you might lose triple."
(End of Chapter 19)