Salvation of the Scum Fifth Prince

"Candy."

Damien looked over at Soren, who held out his hand without a change in expression and asked, "Are you feeling dizzy, master?"

"No." Soren shook his head, waving his hand slightly as he said, "I have a bad feeling."

The teenager stared at him for a while, but after sensing no other abnormalities other than his master's odd intuition that usually seemed correct, he pulled out a fresh bag of candy and handed it over. He'd monitor the surroundings during the battle a little more carefully considering the warning. 

His master was really like a human danger detector. 

Soren didn't bother paying attention to his little butler as always, and chewed quite happily on the sticks. Well, as happy as one would expect from an expressionless person. 

An entire bag of candy was thoroughly demolished the previous day in between breaks, and occasionally, during the battle itself. The monitor had confirmed that it didn't enhance abilities or have any effect and allowed it during the battles, but watching a noble elegantly fight while nibbling on a sugary stick every second battle — had a way of annoying people.

But the way the sweetness spread through his mouth like gentle clouds, softly grazing his tastebuds, how could he resist? The taste, even without the necessity, was addicting enough on its own.

"Should I order an early shipment?" 

Soren chewed, glancing at the bag in his hands before nodding, swallowing the last bit in satisfaction. He'd burned through the bags faster than he planned, mainly because of the excessive amount of fighting he had done.

For a person with low blood sugar, it was the stupidest thing he could do. Fighting every day for hours on end could kill a normal person, but, Soren, even with his odd setback, was anything but normal.

Damien quietly noted in his head to buy double from now on — better safe than sorry. Not to mention what a hassle it would be to keep ordering things when they ran out. While this sly fox committed to his acting beautifully, he only acted for two reasons: benefit or interest.

As interesting as his master was nowadays, restocking on the prince's candy did not apply to either of the two.

While chewing on another stick, he arrived at the stage once again, ten minutes after the announcement had called. From the night before, only four of the first twelve kept their position on the stage. Brioc had already become a legend for his bloody, gruesome battles that showed no mercy and littered the area in a never-ending sea of blood. 

The crazy magician really lived up to his name.

However, that much was within Soren's expectations. Brioc was the sort that could rival Celine with some tricks, both excelling in their own specialties, and couldn't be stopped before the finale. Instead of growing tired of the battles, he only grew more energetic.

What was surprising was the crowd that surrounded the first stage, standing tall under the illuminated darkness of this city. It was crowded and bustling, whispers and shouts vibrating through the waves of people. 

Soren's face turned ugly.

Damien noticed and asked, "Is there a problem?"

"I dislike attention."

"But master, this is a fighting competition, isn't it?"

"I want to win, not attract people."

Even Damien would find that to be a hard task to accomplish, since 'winning' and 'attention' went hand in hand. Thinking that, he simply turned away and changed the subject. "Kat is waiting in the room with Lock."

"Still sleeping?"

"Do you think you hit him too hard?"

Soren shook his head. "Impossible. I made sure to control my strength." The way he said it sounded almost condescending, implying that he had held back during the bloody, illegal battle, even when facing an unstable opponent. Damien, however, was unperturbed. 

"Count Raphael."

Soren stopped and turned around through his dark mask, frowning. "What?"

The monitor stared at him blandly. "The next round is about to begin."

"Ok."

"From now on, a new rule has been added. For all those who remained on the stage after besting a dozen opponents, weapons will be allowed for future fights."

"What?" It had been an unheard-of thing, so far away from the novel. 

There were always powerful people in this competition, and there were some who stayed on the glorious stage from beginning to end, and others who easily barged their way through. Despite this, the rules remained the same. It was illegal to begin with, and managing would only bring larger costs and more trouble to the sponsor.

“Did the higher ups add this specially, Mr Monitor?” asked Damien on the side, casting a knowing look. The fox always had a way of disturbing others, even if he acted behaved.

The monitor glanced at him, noticeably disturbed. “That is confidential, boy.”

There was the faintest sliver of a smile on Damien’s face. “Such a simple question can’t be asked?”

His wording practically forced the monitor to admit it, whether or not he denied it. Whatever the case, now that a new rule existed, there was no ridding of it. Soren’s battles only became two times harder — not that it mattered much with the current strength of his opponents. 

The first round of the competition would be over soon. By the end of this day, many of the stronger fighters would jump in close to the end.

Although Soren’s impressive performance had made some weary of him, there were those who didn’t watch and looked down on him as a weak fool. Soren had no intention to correct them — they’d learn once they were beaten to the ground once of twice.

For the stubborn ones, thrice.

“It doesn’t matter.” said Soren casually as he strolled onto the stage, unbothered. There wasn’t a weapon in sight, and he made no signs of searching for one.

The monitor’s impassive face looked a little suspicious. Even if one was strong, a weak man could kill with a weapon in hand. Most of the strong still carried a weapon with them, lest their enemy have similar skills. Excluding the arrogant ones, of course.

Soren, however, didn’t make a move, not even while under stares of confusion and mocking. Some thought he had a secret up his sleeve, others thought this young noble was a little too naïve. 

Those piercing blue eyes said otherwise, boring into the crowd as if they were pests. Soren opened his mouth and said, “Begin.”

And so chaos ensued.

The fights weren’t worth speaking of. Blades flew in a reckless manner, fists were swung aimlessly, and Soren found it all awfully boring.

He’d drag out the battles so long that some of those who planned to fight him turned and went to another stage.

Truly, when Soren wasn’t mercilessly beating somebody to pulp, his fights were rather bland. Though some left to try their luck at another stage, there was still a large mass cheering for somebody to take him down.

Yes, not for him, but against him.

What did he do wrong? He was just innocently fighting to save his dear brother with the purest intentions. If somebody asked him, he’d probably say, “Because he’s annoying.” In the most simple of terms, but as long as nobody asked, he didn’t need to go out of the way to explain.

There were no interesting weapons either, shown on the high dirt stage, almost all being the cheapest common knife or sword. A few had been fancy, gaudier but equally weak.

As he dodged a flying kick, he remembered the pulsing blades sitting in a box in his room.

If Brioc Laurier had a soulmate, those blades would be it.

Soren had every intention of giving them to the magician — Raphael needed strong companions, after all. He wasn’t interested in ruining the storyline, and even less interested in hoarding those suspicious blades. Stealing wasn't his hobby, and what belonged to people in the novel would continue to belong to them in this world.

Well, the chain blades didn't count, nor did the book. The original owners of both had ended up selling them, then the next would do the same again, and again after being unable to find the use of them. That was an 'unneeded item, and Soren had no obligations against taking them.

The blades, however, were Brioc's most precious possession in the novel. 

[Brioc Laurier was not much of a lover, but his amethyst eyes held a hidden gleam as he looked at the blades with a wide smile.

"Woah." said the magician in much awe, feeling the curve of its spine and the sharpness of its tip. It was like a third sense, a vibrating sensation from the depths of his blood-thirsty heart; this weapon was created for him.]

In his distraction, he accidentally punched the other man, sending him flying across the ring as a deep bruise bloomed on his bloodied cheek. 

"Ah." said Soren, hopping on his feet as he walked over. "Sorry."

The man stared at the cold, chilling blue eyes that held no trace of remorse and shivered. "I surrender!"

"?" Soren tilted his head. It was too early for this fight to end — he wanted to drag it out for another hour or two. "No, let's fight. I think I feel weaker."

At his words, the man seemed to shake more. "N-no, I'm okay."

"I'm serious."

"I-I-I'm okay!"

Soren stepped forward with a frown.

The man scrambled back.

"Eh?"

The prince started walking forward, and the man rushed backward at a scary speed until he tumbled off the stage. He trembled, then scrambled to his feet and rushed off. A powerful person who beat their opponent up was fine, but a man who apologized and wanted to torture him longer... no way!

Soren was left behind on the stage, blinking dazedly. He hadn't even tried to be threatening at that moment, so why had the man looked so terrified?

"The next opponent has arrived." said the monitor suddenly, interrupting his thoughts.

A chilling air crept onto the stage, seeming to surround Soren in a suffocating fog. This sort of presence that was made so obviously known... Soren turned his head to stare at the robed figure approaching. It seemed to make his blood boil, this overwhelming aura that had been so carefully hidden before.

But in a battle, all cards were revealed. 

The man stepped onto the stage, amid the roaring crowd, he stood straight and arrogant. His bottomless abyssal eyes seemed to burn with a bright flame, scorching through the thin fabric that covered Soren's head. Fingerless, black gloves framed his rough, slender joints while his arms revealed the mass of scars earned through many lifetimes.

On the other side of the ring, Soren stood quietly, icy orbs gazing from underneath his mask, while a name lingered on his tongue.

'Raphael.'

It was only a thought, but the other seemed to hear as his lips curved into a smile. "Wow, the fighters here are so strong. Hey little guy, take it easy on me, okay?"

Mocking and all-knowing came his magnetic voice. 

This was more than just another bloody fight for the entertainment of nobles; it was a fight of strength — honest and volatile.

Raphael would not go easy. 

And Soren had no intention of doing so, either.

Because, 'With this person, I cannot win.'

Soren was not weak, but in this world of beings with powers stronger than any other, his body lacked the potential required to gain that strength. 

Unlike Damien, who had natural skills learned over time and a talent for many things he did, or Raphael, whose body attracted all sorts of powers and allowed him to utilize the mana of this world, Soren was incapable. In a way, he could be described as weak — unable to house the same talent as the others.

To Raphael, who was brimming with a god-given gift of ability, he would lose.

He would lose, but it was the feeling Soren craved more than anything else.

That burning adrenaline as sweat dripped down your skin, inking into your skin like a roaring fire. The shortness of breath that caught in your throat, leaving you heaving and panting, tired beyond disbelief as you struggled.

Soren lunged.

'The feeling of being alive.'

Through his battles, even if he could not die, even if he was not the strongest, he would persist. Because it was only through his limbs, through the blood rushing through his body, only in these moments could he feel alive.

'I can feel it... if I fight with him.'

Instinct.

In a world where one could only helplessly move forward, leave a path of blood in their wake, that sensation was like a drug.

An addiction.

Raphael's mana shrouded around him like dense darkness, suffocating and consuming. The mana strands attacked Soren, while Raphael swung his sword violently.

Soren jumped back, avoiding the dozen concentrated mana strands that stabbed around his body, flipping over as his leg spun towards Raphael. It slammed into his arm, but the man didn't budge as he grabbed the leg and flipped Soren over.

The prince's body turned upside down, and he pressed his hand against the floor, grazing it as he pushed it up and jumped back, only to have another mana strand skim through his side.

Blood trickled down, a fresh sign of battle.

The icy eyes glanced down for a moment before he pulled the whip out, black coiling chains rushing from the tattoo on his wrist. There were no thoughts about holding back at this moment, just the truthful desire to fight with everything.

Other than feeding off violent or dark memories, the chains would also push his physical abilities to the extreme, with the risk of adverse side effects when the battle was over. 

But, 

'Who cares.'

The chains slammed against the ground, crisp ringing echoing into the air amidst the screaming crowd, as Soren wrapped his arm around the blade handle and swung his arm.

Raphael tried to avoid it again, but Soren swung the other end of the chain around, stopping his movements for a split second — though a split second was all Soren needed. The blade scratched Raphael's cheek, red running down.

The protagonist paused for a moment, distinct fingers grazing against the blood before his lips curved up further.

"Not bad!"

His movements became faster than before, jabbing and swiping at an impossible speed as Soren was pushed into the defense. Soren had already forgotten his purpose of winning.

It was like a blood-thirsty dance, so beautiful and oh so deadly as the two exchanged blow after blow — Soren's cold eyes bright with a burning gaze and Raphael's smile wide, excited, like a child gaining a new toy. There was no way somebody who'd been through hundreds of battles couldn't appreciate such like this.

A battle with no motives, no reason, but pure, savage instinct to attack, to hunt, to kill.

It reeked of freedom.

Freedom that had been lost for them both.

However, the outcome was as predicted. Soren's physical strength couldn't keep up with his output, and his knee collapsed as his body wobbled. At this moment, Raphael's leg swung down toward Soren, throwing him to the edge of the ring.

Soren slammed against the ground, skidding across, and coughing, straining his muscles as he steadied his breath. As he laid, the gradual pain inflicted throughout the battle that had been dismissed under the overwhelming adrenaline returned, rushing through his body.

The boy wasn't a fool; this was the end of the fight.

Raphael had won.

He gritted his teeth, pushing up to a standing position while ignoring the rest of his aching bones. He recalled the whip, watching it dance in the air as it flew back into his wrist. He didn't intend to take a fight seriously to begin with, but Raphael's aura was a seduction to the fighting addict Celine, and equally addicting to the tired Soren, and had overwhelmed him in raw desire.

Raphael watched on with an interested look, huffing as sweat trickled down his forehead.

"I surrender." said the man through shallow breaths, ignoring the irritated glare from the prince. After all, the protagonist didn't come on the stage in order to win.

He walked over, offering a hand with an excited grin. "You're pretty good."

Soren glanced at his hand and pushed himself up completely as he steadied his breath. "En."

"You're good too."

"You think? So, did your respect for me rise?"

"No."

"Not at all?"

"Yes."

"....." Raphael stared at him, smiling with a long sigh as he laughed. "Haha... ah, I should've expected that. Damn fool."

Soren straightened, frowning. "I'm the fool?"

"You're the fool." nodded Raphael.

"No."

"No?"

Soren closed his eyes under the glaring lights, sweat trickling down his tired skin. "No."

"Then, am I a fool?" asked Raphael.

What was the point of this stupid conversation? Even thinking this, Soren said, "No."

Raphael was surprised and grinned. "A compliment from you, how rare."

"You're a hippo."

"...what?"

"Deimos told me of his time traveling when he saw an obese animal that seemed harmless but was aggressive on the inside, hopelessly violent and stupid."

It had been a rare, long text of speech from Soren, but that didn't make Raphael feel happy at all. "A hippo?"

"En."

"Are you serious?"

"En."

"I look harmless?"

Well, Raphael was once a kind hero of justice who easily attracted people to him. That kind of him was really honest and harmless — until everything changed. But really, that darkness that rose after Raphael's many lifetimes... whose to say it never existed at all? Perhaps it was a manifestation of the simmering feelings in his heart.

However, Soren couldn't explain that, and instead stared at him seriously. "You look dumb."

"....."

"Dumb things seem quite harmless," explained Soren kindly, lazily pressing his feet on the floor, as he somehow seemed to find a balance in the most comfortable way.

"Haa... you're really great." sighed Raphael again, running a hand through his hair. "What a talent."

'A talent at pissing people off.' 

Soren stared at him, not quite getting the hidden meaning nor caring for it. He turned around and left the stage, under the roaring audience, with his exhausted body. For a fight with Raphael, it had been better than he expected. The prince was by no means humble, aware of his skills, but he also knew when somebody was stronger than him.

Raphael was that person.

His fingers twitched, still relishing in the aftereffects of the fight. Soren cared little about the future and about the protagonist. The chance encounters were unnecessary, and he harbored no feelings at all.

Tonight, something changed.

He glanced back at the figure standing on the stage, illuminated by bright lights. The protagonist... It was like the faintest spark, so small it could easily be blown out, but it wasn't. At that moment, Soren undoubtedly felt something.

He thought,

'It would be a waste if he died.'

From nothing, a tree cannot grow, but when a seed was planted, the possibilities were endless. Even if it was the smallest, weakest seed. Who knew what sort of beautiful and strong tree could form?

It was only the beginning.