One Piece: The Legendary Pirate

Chained and dragged by the awaiting soldiers, Darvy departed the underground area full of corpses. Walking across the long hallway that was filled with the disgusting stench of the dead and the torches that illuminated said hall just enough to recognize walls and paths, Darvy was brought back to the overworld and unto a room he didn't know existed within the colosseum.

And there she was, Topman Vallerina. Though the fights were yet ongoing just outside and were viewable from a large window by the side, such didn't seem to be of interest to her; instead, she stared at Darvy with a light smile—as if having found a new toy to play with.

"So, you've won."

Darvy was forced down onto his knees, with his hands cuffed by the back. With his long, unkempt red hair covering his visage, his state was befitting of a slave.

"A miracle, that's what everyone said."

Standing up, she finally turned to gaze upon the ongoing battle. However, such a stare didn't last for long, for she almost immediately turned her eyes back onto Darvy as if it wasn't interesting at all.

"Miracle, in other words, means unusual. Unexplainable. Extraordinary. It brings a surprise... and surprise is the antonym of mundane."

With the soldiers standing by without any motion or sound, the steps of Vallerina walking toward Darvy were the sole sound that resounded within the room.

"What's the fun of watching a battle where a winner and loser is obvious? What's the fun of betting on such, without getting to feel the thrill of gambling?"

She came to a stop, looking down on Darvy who knelt right in front of her. Leaning down, she swept Darvy's hair, revealing his visage and his eyes—equally crimson as his hair. Such eyes, looking back at her impassively, seemed to be saying that Vallerina—she was just as boring to him as the predictable battles were to her.

"You haven't disappointed me, my little slave. Surely, it has been a while since I got to enjoy an entertainment of such a quality... what a fine clown you are."

As the crimson-colored eyes met the violet-colored ones, there was an exchange of emotions. Interestingly enough, such an unexplainable exchange seemed to be something meant for those of equal standings, and this was probably because of Darvy's defiant and fearless persona.

On the outside, there were sudden bursts of cries and laughter; it seemed that a fight had come to a conclusion. Frowning at the noise, Vallerina snapped her fingers, and having read her intent, one maid quickly expanded a curtain to cover the window. Now satisfied, her face loosened, smiling once more.

"Now, as for the reward."

A chair, luxurious in character, was reserved for her to take by the side. Taking a seat and crossing her legs, Vallerina leaned her cheek into her hand—which was supported by her elbow atop a handstand.

"Surprisingly, there are many peers of mine who are generous to their slaves, saying that it's akin to growing a game character. In that aspect, I would unfortunately have to say that the idea of a game isn't that appealing to me."

Tapping her fingers, Vallerina chuckled mischievously.

"I want to see you struggle. The miracle that you performed... I want to see it again. Therefore, I need to control the rate of your growth... not slow, not fast, but just right."

There was no choice for Darvy to make. Seemingly having made her decision, she after quite some period of thinking, stood back up and reached the bookcase at her back.

"Can you read?"

She asked. Darvy, reading her intent, looked at her blankly, silently. After some time, he finally answered, albeit with a dry voice due to dehydration,

"...Yes."

A book was chosen. Then thrown in front of Darvy.

Its title read: "Resistance Training I".

"Read, and train. The current round will last for days. The following round will follow the format of ten battles per day—after a month-long rest for all, that is. Roughly, you will be given approximately one to two months of time to strengthen yourself..."

Vallerina eyed Darvy,

"Surely, that will be enough time for you to perform another miracle, no?"

__________

Brought out from the area with a book in his hands, Darvy was dragged elsewhere—to somewhere that he didn't recognize. It was neither the place where an auction happened nor the place where he stayed for some time prior to the fight.

However, it didn't take long before Darvy got to see just where he was brought to. Unchained and thrown, Darvy turned without restraint and saw the metallic door closing on him. The soldiers left and the only form of cuff on him was a collar on his neck.

Knowing that there was nothing that he could do against such a door, Darvy picked up the heavy book and walked forward to an open area. 

There it was, the number of other people who had collars on their necks just as he did. They, all sitting down on tables that were positioned here and there, were busy with plates of food, which Darvy found unusual for those with the title of a slave.

Then, he realized. These people, they were the slaves who just won their own share of battle like him.

"Hey, you! The book-holding, bony one!"

Someone called on Darvy. Turning, he saw a cook waving at him while holding onto a scoop.

"Hurry up and get your food! If someone here dies, all of us are done for!"

Said cook had a collar on his neck just as any other; he too was a slave.

Essentially, this was a society in its own right—the society of slaves, that is.

'Why pit us together here?'

Darvy questioned as he complied and walked toward the cook.

He knew that for slaves, their treatment—apart from the life-threatening battles that would take place on a regular basis—was quite good. Fed, given a place to sleep comfortably, they were technically being bred like livestock, to ultimately feed Celestial Dragons the entertainment that they anticipate.

The question of slaves uniting and revolting therefore isn't as problematic. First of all, they had enough forces to shut down any rebellion that may arise—thanks to the collars on their necks that could explode at any time.

Secondly, Darvy noticed... that just like him, the slaves eating the food all received something like he did. One had a nice-looking sword leaning by the table he was eating from, while another wore fancy-looking clothes that seemed so out of place.

"Funny, isn't it?"

Seeing what Darvy was looking at, the cook in front of him snorted as he lazily scooped loads of food on top of a previously empty plate. The flies flew over it and the quality of the food was definitely not fresh, but the cook didn't seem to care.

"Those oh-so-almighty gods set rules of their own to make this experience as enjoyable as possible. Once, one slave was given an incredibly powerful devil fruit together with some serum that raised his strength by loads of times, enough to pull off an easy win against every single slave. After such a case, a rule was imposed—to limit the extent of giving a reward."

"...You seem to know much."

"Well, I've been stuck here for more than thirty years by now."

A plate full of full was forcefully placed on top of the book that Darvy was holding.

"Seems like your master doesn't like you though. A book? Hah, good luck kid, you'll need it."

"...One question."

Though his arms shook from holding onto the book and plate of food altogether, Darvy asked as if such violent shaking was a usual occasion. The cook seemed amused by this disparity between Darvy's body and his facial expression. He chuckled.

"Go ahead."

"That lucky slave, what happened to him after?"

"Hm? What do you mean by that?"

"If given the power like that, won't he try to launch a rebellion and break himself free?"

"...Why do that?"

The cook raised an eyebrow.

"The treatment as a gladiator slave is a thousand times better than whatever the hell is going on down there—countless wars and raids are ongoing. Sure, it will be hell for you if you're weak or are treated as a generic slave. The Celestial Dragons tend to view slaves as bugs after all. However, gladiator slaves are a little different."

"How so?"

"They view you guys as their game characters, an avatar of their own! Given that fact, and given that they are quite immersed in this so-called game, of course they will treat you differently—giving you things better than the ones that slaves are supposed to receive!"

The cook scanned Darvy from head to toe. Then, he snorted again.

"But that applies only if you're strong. I have no idea how you won and arrived here, but you managed to do it. As for those who lost... it would be a hell. First of all, they may be beaten or killed by their masters out of anger. Even if that didn't happen, the food given to them would be barely enough to survive. Then, there is a round of punishment waiting for them. Lastly, even if they survived after going through all that, they will become a personal 'ride' of their master until death."

"...I see."

"And to answer your original question, that guy whom I spoke of is still in the colosseum. He's not here yet, so I assume that his turn to fight hasn't come. Brody, the guy of rank 3. That's the name."

With that, the conversation ended with the cook leaving Darvy first. Feeling that his arms were about to let him down, Darvy reached one empty table, placed the food down, and looked around.

Those who finished their food walked toward a hall by the side. Surprisingly enough, there didn't seem to be a feud going on among the slaves. Darvy attributed this fact to a likely possibility that there is a consequence of a clash, and that someone is monitoring them.

However, that didn't mean that they weren't paying attention to each other.

One man looked at another man's sword and flinched. Another man looked at fancy clothes and snorted, as if thinking, 'What use do they have in a combat anyway?'

Darvy noticed that by putting them together here, the Celestial Dragons also managed to rouse the sense of competition within them. Just as how the Celestial Dragons were immersed in this tournament of fights, so were these slaves, excited by the fact that these treasures called rewards, ones which they would've never got to see in their lives if not for their statuses as gladiator slaves, were now in their possession.

And all of them were snorting upon seeing Darvy. Clearly, they saw him as someone under. With a book with him, they probably viewed his reward just as underwhelming as the one with fancy clothes. After all, all these slaves felt it during the fights—that being book-smart doesn't help in a primitive life-or-death battle where one's instinct and combat skills mattered the most.

Looking down, Darvy saw the pile of unrecognizable food and thick book.

'One month...'

Darvy surely did take in many information within a short amount of time. 

There were many ideas to process and integrate. However, whatever it be, he will continue to strive—to survive, strengthen himself, and in the end, break free.