"Even so… you're still going to enter this so-called Gladiator Championship?"
"Why not?"
Lothar didn't even look back as he responded.
Nothing else mattered, as long as the Grandmaster had the divine remains in his possession, that was enough.
His reason for entering the Gladiator Championship was simple: to meet the Grandmaster as fast as possible.
As the organizer of the tournament, the Grandmaster would have to make an appearance on opening day. Lothar was sure of it.
Otherwise, the Grandmaster could've just sat comfortably at home and waited for Lothar to come knocking, instead of using the divine remains as bait to lure him into this arena.
"Unless… you've got a better way to get close to him?"
Lothar stopped and turned.
Hela faltered at the question, her expression twitching before she turned her head away without replying.
Truth was, other than joining the tournament, she had no faster route to the Grandmaster.
She didn't even know where the Grandmaster actually lived.
The arena's location, detected by Woz, was simply the place where the Grandmaster appeared most frequently.
Rather than wasting time fumbling in the dark, why not take the official route right to his front door?
"Please, no pushing!"
"Maintaining order in line determines how fast you get through registration!"
"If you two want to fight, take it elsewhere, sort it out, then come back!"
"Late arrivals, please collect your number slips from the rear desk!"
The Sakaar Arena, a recent addition to the Grandmaster's empire, had become a hotbed of activity after his official announcement.
When Lothar arrived, following the map Woz had provided, the sight of two enormous lines made him frown deeply.
"Prince Lothar, leave this lowly task to me," said The Other, ever-determined to become Lothar's number one lackey, immediately springing into action.
After a respectful bow, he took off running with staff in hand to the ticket booth, snatching a number slip from the terrified slave with practiced menace.
"404? That many ahead of us?"
The Other's brow furrowed. It didn't sound like a lucky number, and worse, it meant there were at least 403 people ahead of Lothar.
And patience wasn't exactly his lord's strong suit.
After serving Lothar for so long, The Other knew his temper like the back of his hand.
"Hey! You, tell me, is there a VIP lane?"
Glancing nervously at Lothar, who was already showing signs of impatience, The Other pressed his face to the glass, glaring menacingly.
"A shortcut for high-tier contenders?"
It stood to reason that such a prestigious tournament would offer an express route for the powerful, or the wealthy.
"There is one, sir… but are you sure you want to take it?"
The woman at the window looked up hesitantly.
"No nonsense. If there's a faster way, give it to me, now."
Perhaps it was The Other's bluster and confidence that cowed her. She muttered something unintelligible into her communicator, then handed over a golden badge with only the arena's emblem etched into it, no number.
What's this?
The Other turned the badge in his hand, curious, but found nothing revealing.
"Someone's challenging the fast track. Zora, escort them in. Also, tell Frolas to get ready."
"Yes, ma'am."
The woman's voice was meek over the intercom. But when she appeared in person, she recoiled in shock the moment she saw him.
"You... you're that blob of meat from back then?!"
Zora hadn't forgotten The Other's resurrection.
"You?"
"What are you doing here?"
Running into a familiar face in such a distant corner of the cosmos clearly surprised them both.
"Prince Lothar." Badge in hand and Zora in tow, The Other returned to his master.
"Zora? You're here too?"
Unlike The Other, who barely remembered her, Lothar recognized Zora from the brief time they had spent together, and from watching that Ego flick.
"Well, after… the auction incident, I couldn't pay for the damages. So… they assigned me to the arena."
Her former liveliness gone, Zora was now timid and subdued.
She bowed respectfully, eyes downcast.
"So, it's the four of you entering the Championship?"
She clearly didn't want to dwell on her current situation. Hardened by reality, her only thought now was to do her job and survive.
"No. Just me."
Lothar's eyes lingered on her for a moment before replying.
Hela didn't need to enter. Jennifer wasn't allowed. And The Other? He was just window dressing.
"Understood. Please, follow me."
Zora bowed again and led them inside.
"The Grandmaster has prepared a challenge for anyone who claims to be powerful."
"Defeat Frolas, the guardian of the fast track, and you qualify as a seed contender, skipping the prelims and group stages, straight into the Round of 16."
"If you don't want to go through the standard entry process, this is your only other option."
"Oh, and by the way, thirty-six challengers have already died trying."
Their bodies still hung from that twisted tree outside the arena gates, grim warnings to would-be heroes.
"So please… be careful."
Perhaps out of old familiarity, Zora paused to offer a sincere warning.
"That's Frolas, huh?"
Lothar ignored the caution entirely. Upon entering the arena, he immediately spotted the figure standing tall at its center.
"Is it even legal to have hair like that in the same galaxy?" Hela mused from the VIP box, amused as she observed the man meditating in the ring.
A deep violet tunic, green martial pants, sharply angular features, and hair that looked more Saiyan than Lothar's.
Frolas, the Grandmaster's top fighter, undefeated champion of the Sakaar Arena.
"A new challenger?"
Eyes still closed, Frolas spoke as Lothar leapt down from the stands.
"Let me warn you ahead of time…"
"I'm really strong."
"Haaah!"
Muscles bulging with power, Frolas wasted no time. He pointed at Lothar, declared his pre-fight creed, then launched a flying kick straight at his opponent's face!
"Dragon Rises!"
Lothar frowned. Arms folded behind his back, he tilted his head slightly. The kick whooshed past harmlessly.
"Scorpion Strikes!"
Frolas pivoted smoothly, using his landing foot as an anchor. He spun and whipped a roundhouse toward Lothar's chest, only for Lothar to catch it cleanly in one hand.
No matter how hard he struggled, he couldn't break free.
"Electric Venom Drill!!"
Abandoning defense, Frolas twisted his body midair, driving his other leg like a drill toward Lothar's abdomen.
"Tyrant Blade: Demon Seal Slash!"
"Windhawk Sword: Piercing Gale!"
"Aquabull Rampage: Torrent Impale!"
"Whitefang Shock: Thunder Rend!"
"Sky Tiger: Earthsplit Slash!"
"Locust Axe: Treecleaver!"
"Tornado Devastates—!"
"Overly theatrical."
Before Frolas could finish shouting the name of his final attack, Lothar, clearly annoyed, punched straight through his chest.
Eyes wide with disbelief, Frolas stared at the man who, by all appearances, seemed smaller and weaker.
"How… can this be…?"
"Does killing him count as passing?"
Standing with one foot on Frolas's shattered chest, Lothar glanced up coldly at the stunned Zora in the stands.
She nodded slowly, her face blank with shock…
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