The Emperor Has Returned

Chapter 5 – The Awl in the Pocket (1)

Chapter 5 – The Awl in the Pocket (1)

"Why do all of you pray to the emperor?"

Juan asked the goat-horned man who was still praying. The goat-horned man seemed to be taken aback for a moment.

"Why, you ask? I never thought about it."

"The emperor is dead. Just like the other gods. So why are you praying?"

"He is not dead. Erm, he… he’s asleep. We know because his body still remains intact in the center of the empire.”

"...Does it not rot?"

Juan tilted his head, and thought that maybe the magicians or extreme followers had done something to preserve his body. The art of making mummies had also been known during his time as the emperor, but he had never imagined it would be used on him.

"Yes. It is a token of his promise to return in due course, after the spirit of His Majesty has wandered enough."

"It looks like he’s too late for the slaves who are dying here.”

"He suffered from our betrayal, so we are being punished with our current suffering.”

‘Our’ betrayal. Juan thought of Gerard who had stabbed him. His death had been due to the betrayal of Gerard Gain. But the people who remained on this land seemed to have a slightly different idea. Juan couldn’t understand why these people had to suffer because of another's sins.

"That's stupid."

Juan could have refrained from saying it out loud, but he said it anyway. The goat-horned man laughed bitterly.

"Did you really have to say that?"

"Why not pray to the supervisor instead? He is alive, can see you, is strong, and at least if he heard you, he would respond to you. Or praying to the demonic beasts or the owner of the colosseum would be good as well. Either way, it's better than praying to a dead body."

"Everyone prays to His Majesty."

"Sure. And everyone’s equally stupid. The praying method should be changed to hanging oneself. Then people will only pray at a real moment of desperation. Plus, there would be fewer stupid people in the world...”

Juan shut his mouth when he saw the crazy woman praying in the most pious posture in this cave. The goat-horned man patted Juan on the back and said, "I understand you don't like His Majesty very much. Especially if you're from outside the empire.”

Juan snorted. The goat-horned man continued talking.

"I can't explain it very well, but think of this as me trying to rely on someone that’s better than me. Wouldn't it feel good if a great person that even the supervisor and the colosseum’s owner can't go up against was on my side?" the goat-horned man asked.

Juan then replied, "Do you think that the suffering that's happening now is just a step towards a better future?"

The goat-horned man exclaimed, "That's right. This is all part of the Great Emperor’s big plan."

Juan then asked, "What do you think is his plan for the colosseum’s slaves that come from outside the empire?”

"I don't know since I’m just a colosseum slave. The same goes for you, and this lady here. But I believe that when the plan is completed, everyone will be convinced of it and be rewarded for the suffering that they are experiencing," the goat-horned man replied.

"But the emperor was born for humankind, wasn't he? Do you think mountain goat arles like you will be rewarded when the big plan is completed?” Juan questioned him.

The goat-horned man's expression stiffened. He stared silently into his bowl for a moment, then smiled and shrugged as if he were embarrassed.

"Well, maybe like you said, we're really like grains of sand; sand that His Majesty doesn’t care about in the huge colosseum that he’s making."

***

The supervisor had a headache right from the start of the day. It was due to an order that came from Daeron, the manager of the colosseum. The Emperor’s Birthday celebration would be held a few days later. The colosseum, which was the largest facility in Tantil, was also a space for events held by the city. The supervisor was already busy preparing for that event, but he received an order that gave him a bigger headache.

‘Dyeing the sand? Why should?we do something so unnecessary ...?.’

The colosseum floor was covered with sand. The sandy floor was messy with teeth, hair, and dried flesh that hadn’t been cleaned up. Because of this, new sand was regularly brought in to fill the arena. But around this time every year, Daeron ordered people to dye the sand. He didn’t like the white sand and wanted the color to match with the rest of the colosseum.

Daeron, who was obsessed with the gladiators' battles, paid attention to such subtleties. The problem was that sand dyeing was an exhausting task that drained people more than just physically and mentally.

But an order was an order. The supervisor visited the cave for the first time in a long time to pick slaves to dye the sand. He had to select useless slaves because he couldn’t use the gladiators for the task. However, the supervisor saw a strange sight as he entered the cave.

"Who the hell did this...?”

“Did Rekto do this for fun?”

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“Rekto? We would have seen that big guy if he came inside the cave, though."

The soldiers were gathered around one side of the cave walls and whispered among each other. The supervisor was annoyed to see the soldiers loitering inside the cave where the slaves were working and asked them, "Did something happen here?"

"Oh, supervisor. Look at this," replied one of the soldiers.

As the soldiers stepped aside, a hole was seen in the center of the cave wall. It felt alien because it was a hole almost the size of a person's height. A huge rock could be seen broken into smaller pieces strewn across the floor; the biggest piece was tall enough to reach a person’s waist.

"The rock was so big that we had told the slaves to leave it be, but we found it broken today," said one of the soldiers.

"Is there anyone among the slaves who could break this?" asked the supervisor.

"With a pickaxe? That'd be crazy. You’d first break your pickaxe, and your wrists too,” one of the soldiers replied.

The supervisor looked at the broken parts of the rock. Breaking boulders the size of an adult was difficult without professional tools. A stonemason was able to do it, but there was no reason for such a person to be sold to the colosseum. Of course, there were no signs of explosives or fire being used. The supervisor asked the soldiers, "Did you ask the slaves about this?"

"Oh, of course, we asked them. But they said something ridiculous...” one of the soldiers replied.

"What did they say?" the supervisor asked.

"It's...." replied the soldier.

Upon hearing what the soldier said, the supervisor completely forgot about the sand dyeing. He frowned as he said, "A little boy?"

***

"Come on in." the supervisor commanded.

The door opened, and a scruffy boy walked into the room. The supervisor carefully scanned the boy. He looked grubby, wore muddy clothes, and had greasy hair that seemed to have not been washed for a considerable period of time. That was just how an ordinary slave looked.

But his eyes were different. It was hard to find any emotions in the boy's eyes. If there were any, it’d be a slight irritation. The supervisor couldn't help but find that strange. Gladiators were ranked higher than slaves, soldiers higher than gladiators, and he himself way higher than soldiers. When slaves were usually called into the room, they were bound to be afraid or nervous, regardless of the reason.

The supervisor wondered if the boy was out of his mind.

"What's your name?" He asked.

"Juan," the answer came out snappily. The boy seemed neither crazy nor nervous. ‘Juan,’ the supervisor thought over his name. He began to admire the boy's boldness and said, "That's the same name as the Emperor. It's a nice name."

Juan did not say anything in reply. The supervisor asked, "Juan, did you break that big rock in the cave?"

"Mhm," Juan replied.

The supervisor thought for a moment about how to respond to Juan's tone and attitude. Tantil was on the outskirts of the empire, and slaves were often captured outside the empire. He had seen slaves who couldn’t speak the imperial language at all. Juan’s words would be understandable if he was not familiar with the imperial language.

"How did you do it?" the supervisor asked.

"With a pickaxe," Juan replied curtly.

"…How did you do it with a pickaxe?” the supervisor asked again.

"I struck it," Juan answered curtly again.

Of course, he could only have struck the boulder with a pickaxe. It was not like anyone could dig through it using the pickaxe like a shovel. The supervisor had an urge to strike Juan's head with a pickaxe himself. Suddenly, a thought went through the supervisor's mind as he pondered over Juan’s response. He wore an incredulous expression for a moment before asking, "How many times did you strike that rock with the pickaxe?"

"I didn't count… I did it all day yesterday." Juan replied.

The supervisor stood up and touched Juan's arm. Then he checked his hands, which had calluses. The supervisor was soon disappointed. Juan was just an ordinary boy, not in a very good shape.

“That wasn't a rock that would break even if adults struck it all week, let alone a single day. No, it's too big to break with a pickaxe in the first place. So how did you—” asked the supervisor.

"Oh, that’s only if you strike it randomly," Juan cut off the supervisor in an irritated tone. The supervisor didn't care about Juan’s tone, as he understood the meaning behind his words.

"Wait. So you struck the same spot all day long?" the supervisor asked.

Juan nodded, giving a ‘What's so difficult about that?' kind of look.

The supervisor pulled out a dagger from his waist. Juan raised his eyebrows as he looked at the dagger with the handle pointed at him. The boy gave a look that seemed like he was asking, ‘What’s that for?’

The supervisor knew that it was dangerous to give weapons to slaves, but he didn't think a child could do anything to him. Satisfying his curiosity came first, and so he told Juan, "Try striking the desk with this."

Juan looked at the supervisor suspiciously but accepted the dagger. Then he hit the desk as he was told. The hardwood desk was left with a white scratch. The supervisor nodded and said, "Do it one more time."

Juan sighed and hit the desk again. The dagger struck the exact same spot again. The supervisor fiddled with his lips as if he were nervous at the sight of the dagger having struck so accurately at the same spot. Juan had done it at once, without aiming or tensing his shoulders. The supervisor said, "One more time…”

Thud, Thud, Thud, Thud, SLAM!

Even before the supervisor could complete his sentence, Juan struck the desk five times in a row. On the fifth strike, he stuck half of the blade in the desk. However, there was no scratch anywhere else except for the spot where the dagger was embedded. Juan looked at the supervisor with an expression that seemed to ask, ‘Is this good enough?’

‘This boy was telling the truth.’

There was a saying that went, ‘Constant dripping wears away a stone.’ If drops of water fell in one place over hundreds and thousands of years, it would bore a hole through rocks and eventually pierce it. The innate talent needed to swing a dagger in a straight line toward a single point—that was what this boy had. The supervisor thought, ‘He has incredible talent.’

Being able to wield and move weapons exactly as intended was proof that he had the potential to become an excellent swordsman. And while he had been a little rude, he had a lot of guts. Nothing would break his concentration if he fought in a real battle.

‘He’s not meant to rot away as a slave.’?The supervisor’s job was not limited to just buying slaves. It also included keeping them alive and managing them. His main task was more along the lines of recruiting potential gladiators and getting rid of them if he felt that they would not make the cut. The supervisor asked, "How old are you?"

"I don't know," Juan replied.

"I see. Well, it doesn't matter. If you grow a little taller and get older, there’s a chance you could beat Rekto and become the champion.… It will be hard to raise you until then, though,” the supervisor said regretfully. If Juan had looked 13 or 14, the supervisor would have suggested to Daeron to train the boy as a gladiator. But Juan was too young. Still, it’d be a waste to let go of this talent. The supervisor thought it would be better to keep Juan within his sight and use him in moments of need.