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The snow lion and the six-legged fire horse-thing were still alive, though both had suffered some injuries.  The fifth-tier ape had been brought low by the gladiators; perhaps because it didn’t use any elemental magic, relying entirely on its comparatively titanic strength to tear apart its foes.  Such tactics worked for a time, but, in contrast to what Leon might’ve thought, the gladiators didn’t even hesitate when the beasts entered the arena.  As soon as they were allowed, they threw themselves upon the beasts with reckless abandon, killing the ape in the process, but otherwise being wiped out by the other two.

All forty-eight of the ‘victorious’ gladiators were now lying in the dirt, having been ripped asunder in all manner of ways by the beasts, leaving only the snow lion and the horse-thing.  But despite the fall of all the gladiators, the crowd screamed in ecstasy as if their favored champion had won, roaring louder than they had during all forty-eight of the initial bouts.

Next to Leon, Alfonso was leaning forward in his seat, a wild smile upon his face, the King clearly taking greater pleasure in this outcome than he had during nearly all of the previous fights.

“Wonderful…” he murmured before leaning back and then finally giving Leon a look.  “Did they not fight beasts where you’re from?  Was it all man-on-man fighting?”

“For the gladiators?  Yes,” Leon replied, though Elise was quick to interject.

“There were a few fights against animals, but they were rare and poorly attended.”

“A shame,” Alfonso replied.  “Watching two men bloody each other can get old.  But beasts can provide so much more entertainment.  They change the game and can bring so many strange and unique powers to the table.”

“What will happen to those two?” Leon asked, tilting his head slightly towards the lion and the horse-thing.

“Taken back into custody and kept for other fights,” Alfonso explained.  “We’re not so uncouth as to slaughter them now that the gods have shown them favor.”

Leon smiled thinly, the beasts having just gorged themselves on the ‘winners’ of the previous fights.  If those winners were not chosen by the gods, then why did they win?  If they were chosen by the gods, as their victories might indicate, then why were they thrown against such beasts as reward?  Was it the losers of those fights that had been chosen by the gods, or did the gods just demand blood of their followers?

These questions Leon didn’t ask, but they lingered in his mind.  As far as he could tell, the victorious gladiators had done well, and yet they’d still somehow offended the Cortuban gods enough to be essentially executed.  He didn’t see anyone around that he would identify as a priest, so he wondered just how exactly it was determined that those gladiators had offended their gods, because it seemed entirely random to him.  Or at least, entirely dependent on the mood of the crowd, which he supposed wasn’t that bad of a reason, all things considered.

If the people demanded blood, and they weren’t getting it, then the Royals giving them what they wanted while simultaneously using it as an excuse to ‘honor’ the gods was a good way to please both the people and the priesthood—assuming there even were any priests to appreciate it.  It also allowed the rulers of the Alliance to please the people without directly bowing to their demands, letting them maintain their power and position without overtly indulging the people, who might then get ideas of challenging the status quo.

Leon didn’t particularly agree with the concept of feeding gladiators, especially those who had won their fights, to wild animals, but he had to admit that he respected the mental gymnastics that the Royals were using to justify doing so.

Then again, as Leon glanced at Alfonso, he wondered if they even were just justifications, for the King seemed genuinely into what he was saying.  Leon wasn’t a particularly religious person, but he got the impression that Alfonso was more devout in the Cortuban religion than Leon was in the spirituality of the Bull Kingdom.

As he glanced at the King, he found his eyes sliding off the hulking man and toward his compatriot; Queen Isabella was still quietly speaking with Cristina, and the young Princess was breathing heavily and pointedly not looking at the arena.  Leon got the sense that Cristina was far more uncomfortable with these events than even he was, though Emilie sitting next to her looked more bored than anything.

“Are you worried about those beasts, Leon?” Alfonso inquired.

Leon pulled himself back to the present conversation and shrugged.  “I was interested in that snow lion.  One of my proudest moments was hunting a third-tier snow lion when I was only a first-tier mage.  I still have my coat that my father made of its hide, and it’s one of my most treasured possessions.  I suppose I just wanted to know what might happen to the lion…”

“Looking to purchase it?” Alfonso asked.

Leon shook his head.  “Not really, though if it was going to be slaughtered, then I might’ve made a bid for its fur.”

Alfonso let loose with a booming laugh.  “Ha!  While I would normally have such a thing arranged as a gift for you, I can’t do so in this case.  This beast is now favored by the gods and cannot be touched until its next fight!”

Leon nodded in understanding, not pressing for his desire.  It wasn’t even a powerful desire, more a passing thought, anyway.

He leaned back in his seat, lost in thought, and he barely noticed the remaining two beasts being wrangled by the Cortuban beastmasters back through the gates they’d come from.  He certainly did his best not to pay attention to the enslaved arena cleaners who swarmed the sands and removed the forty-nine corpses, though they blatantly didn’t even touch the blood soaking into the arena’s sandy floor.

But he did notice when the next fights started, for after the announcer was done with his spiel, a fifth-tier gladiator came out of his gate with spectacular fanfare.  His steel plate armor glittered like silver, his blade glowed with golden power, and the crowd’s cheering practically shook the red and pink brick arena down to its foundations.  Leon assumed this handsome man with his helmet tucked under his arm to be one of the more famous gladiators who frequented this arena, though for what reason, he couldn’t presently say.  He certainly had the face for fame, being more than handsome enough to make many man-lovers in the crowd swoon, but his aura didn’t strike Leon as anything special.

When the gate opposite to his opened, the gladiator’s opponent was revealed.  Three sixth-tier mages came in, keeping a fifth-tier griffin chained up between them.  The poor beast was snapping and straining against its bonds, but the sixth-tier mages hardly budged.

Leon frowned, feeling some momentary empathy for the creature, thoughts of Anzu filling his mind.  He did his best to push that part of him back down, though it wasn’t that easy.  This part of the games hadn’t even properly started, yet, and he already preferred the ‘boring’ first part, for at least the inexperienced gladiators had all consented to their battles, whereas the beasts simply couldn’t.

The Cortubans may have religious justifications for this, but to Leon, it was looking like it was nothing more than pointless slaughter.

The sixth-tier mages eventually released the griffin with a few tugs of their chains, revealing them to have been enchanted with just such a function.  Before the griffin could then launch itself at them, one of the mages conjured a wall of stone that forced it to move closer to the gladiator instead, and the crowd roared its approval.

The gladiator then began to force the griffin’s attention to remain upon him by, after donning his helmet, unleashing a barrage of strikes from his blade, sending rays of light rippling at the beast with every swing.  The griffin screeched its fury, and charged at the gladiator, but took several bad hits on the way, spilling its blood before it even reached the gladiator.

At that point, Leon was able to see exactly how the fight would end.  The gladiator’s aura barely shifted, indicating either he had much finer control over his powers than Leon had initially given him credit for, or his blade had been heavily enchanted.  Either way, he was going to beat the griffin, which seemed to have had its wings clipped to keep it from flying out of the open-roof arena—also deeply crippling its ability to fight back and to use its magic, if Anzu’s fighting style was anything to go by.  Leon didn’t want to watching something that reminded him greatly of his griffin getting slaughtered for entertainment, so he averted his gaze and turned his attention elsewhere.

The sixth-tier mages that had brought the griffins in were his initial mental landing point.  He wondered just how much they were being paid to do such work.  A sixth-tier mage wasn’t rare by any means, but they were hardly common, too, so the fact that there were three whose job appeared to just be escorting captured beasts was of interest to him.

When Leon turned to glance at Alfonso, he found the King leaning forward again, his eyes alight with amusement as the gladiator used many literally and metaphorically flashy magical attacks in his battle with the griffin, playing to the crowd as much as he was fighting for his life.  So, Leon knew he wasn’t going to get much out of the King—or at least, he didn’t want to disturb the King just to ask his inane questions about the process.

So, without any other outlet for his curiosity, he let his mind wander again.

And a possibility occurred to him: what if the Cortubans weren’t just using their religion as a justification?  Leon knew that powerful beings existed, and he shivered as he recalled his personal experience with a Primal God.  He also knew that there was great power in blood—it was not only a vital fluid for bodily function, but it was also the medium through which magic power flowed.  Mana was just blood that had been properly mixed with magic power, and there was quite a bit of mana now wetting the sands of the arena.

It was easy for him to dismiss their religion as nothing at all, but there was also a strong possibility that they were actually sacrificing people to something…

Leon reached out with his magic senses as softly and delicately as he could, examining the brickwork of the arena from the inside, the outside being warded against such inspection.  The bricks, however, didn’t lead him to believe that there was anything sacrificial going on here; at least, nothing that was worth noting, for there was still quite a lot of magic flowing through the walls, powering the various enchantments that ensured the comfort of those spectators who paid for it.  He couldn’t sense anything that he might reasonably think was blood magic.

So, he turned his attention back down to the sand, where the gladiator was now playing even more to the crowd, raising his arms and reveling in their cheering as the griffin whimpered in pain, now so heavily injured that it could barely stand, let alone keep furiously attacking the gladiator.

He concentrated on the pools of blood, trying to determine if the power contained within them was flowing anywhere.  It wasn’t that easy, for up until this point, the only blood that had been spilled onto the sand was that of lower-tiered mages, with not nearly as much magic in their blood as someone like the gladiator, let alone someone like Leon.  However, Leon was still able to perceive a kind of ripple in all that blood.  The magic wasn’t going anywhere, but it was definitely doing something, and it was being damned subtle about it.

Leon let his attention then drift to his right, landing upon Maia.  He didn’t turn to face her, not wanting to seem conspiratorial as his blood began to run cold, the cruel possibilities of what this resonating blood could mean running through his mind, but it only took a moment or two for his attention to attract hers.  She didn’t turn to face him, either, but he could feel her silent, unspoken question.

[Can you feel what’s happening with the blood down there?] Leon asked.

He could sense her narrowing her eyes, pondering his question for a second, before her magic senses projected outward, being only marginally less subtle than his.

After a moment, his river nymph lover whispered back, [… No…?]

[The magic power in the mana… it’s vibrating,] Leon responded, hoping he wasn’t sounding crazy.  But now that he was keyed into it, he could see the same vibrations in just about every pool of blood upon the sand, and he was convinced it wasn’t just some kind of trick, some illusion or wish-fulling hallucination.

[I can’t—] Maia began before falling silent and leaning forward a bit in her seat.  [I… think I can see what you’re talking about, actually…]

[Can you make heads or tails of it?]

Maia scowled and shook her head.  [No, I can’t…]

Leon silently swore.  [Keep an eye on it.  You might see something I don’t, and vice versa.]

He felt Maia’s acceptance, and he devoted all of his attention back to observing the blood.  At first, it seemed almost like the magic power within the blood was subtly resonating at random intervals, but after a couple of minutes, he began to see a pattern.  The mana closer to the center of the arena vibrated with greater frequency and intensity, though at the scale he was observing, it still wasn’t particularly intense.  He thusly assumed that whatever was going on was originating from somewhere closer to the center of the arena, and concentrated his magic senses in that area.

Unfortunately, the first fight ended during this time, and the second began.  The griffin had been killed before the citizens of Andalus and was then replaced with some kind of large feline about twice the size of an average lion, but with bronze hide—as in hide of actual bronze.  Leon found himself momentarily distracted, but after a curious once-over, he tried to turn his attention back to his observations.  But the second gladiator and the bronze cat started to clash right there in the center of the arena, directly over, within, or beneath whatever Leon was trying to observe, and the emanations they gave off during their fight obscured nearly all of what Leon was trying to perceive.

To his annoyance, Leon was forced to wait until they either moved or the fight finished.  During this time, he decided to cast his attention inward and speak with his passengers.  The Thunderbird wasn’t around, but Nestor and Xaphan never went anywhere.

“Anyone here know anything useful about blood magic?” Leon shouted as he momentarily opened his eyes upon his throne within his soul realm.

“Hardly,” Xaphan responded.  “I’ve told you many times, human, though I suppose I can forgive your pathetic human memory if you’ve forgotten, but I never took well to blood magic.  Unless it’s the very basics, I can’t answer any questions.”

“A shame, truly,” Leon drily replied before turning toward the ruby that imprisoned Nestor.

“I have some knowledge of the subject,” Nestor coyly stated, his voice tinged with interest and intrigue.

Leon took a deep breath and responded half to himself, “The only surprise I feel is at my lack of surprise.  I think I’m sensing some blood magic out in the physical world and could use more perspectives.”

“I’ll do what I can, but my range of perception is limited,” Nestor replied.

Leon nodded, and then returned to his physical body.  He began to describe his observations to Nestor as best as he could with the second fight raging all across the sand, but unfortunately, all Nestor could confirm was that there was certainly some blood magic at work here.  Without getting close enough for his limited magic senses to examine the arena, the dead man couldn’t say more.

With that, Leon could only sigh in temporary defeat, his feeling of vindication being greatly smothered by his feeling of relative powerlessness.  But he wasn’t going to just let this go.  As the fights continued, eventually returning to matches where gladiators faced off against other gladiators, Leon didn’t pay any attention at all to the fights, instead choosing to take as much stock of the arena itself as he could.

He only began paying attention again several hours later, when the time came for the final event: the execution.  He tuned in sometime during Isabella’s speech, though he still couldn’t understand a word, and as she spoke, seven men were led out onto the sands of the arena.  Leon immediately recognized them all, but the man in front was especially notable: the sixth-tier Santiago, standing proudly before the people of Andalus even as said people threw their garbage at him and his bandits.  All were in chains and surrounded by half a dozen sixth-tier mages and two dozen fifth-tier mages, ensuring that they couldn’t escape no matter how hard they might try.

Isabella continued her castigating speech, and three more gates opened, letting the auras of the beasts within spill out into the crowd.  Instantly, nearly every commoner in the stands quieted down under the weight of such unrestrained animalistic fury.  Nearly all eyes were drawn to the newly opened gates, but Leon’s eyes never wavered from the bandits as the Cortuban guards unchained the bandits.

The bandits then quietly closed ranks and faced the open gates as their guards hurried out of the arena, leaving them to face their fate unarmed.

The first beast—a centipede more than twenty feet long, thicker than two men side-by-side, and most disturbingly, with an unsettlingly human-like face nestled within six clicking mandibles—charged into the arena just as Isabella’s final damning speech finished and the Queen returned to her seat.  The people in the stands reeled as the monstrosity revealed itself, and their disgust only grew as the second beast followed shortly after.

Slinking into the arena came a massive black spider-like thing with ten legs, large enough to eat a man whole, and covered in bright red urticating hairs.  It had no eyes, but its face—if it could even be called a face—had three pairs of viciously-fanged chelicera that glowed red with heat.

Finally, the third and final creature came stomping in, moving surprisingly quickly for how tortoise-like it initially appeared.  It had a thick green shell, with four stout legs, each one more than six feet thick in order to prop up its enormous body.  It’s head, however, had more in common with a dragon, with a long serpentine neck covered in shining dark green scales, while its angular head had a pair of horns that curved out and then around its face almost like ribs.  It couldn’t retract its head back into its shell, but from the way its blood-red eyes gleamed with malice, and how fire danced across its horns, Leon didn’t get the impression that such defensive tactics were something it was predisposed to.

All three beasts were sixth-tier, making Santiago’s death effectively guaranteed, but when Leon turned his head back in the bandit’s direction, he saw no fear: only resignation and determination.  He had the distinct feeling that Santiago wasn’t going to die just yet, and for the first time that day, he started to lean forward, the blood magic in the arena momentarily forgotten, and watched the fight unfold before him.

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