"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 et the Grandmaster as fast as possible.
As the organizer of the tournant, 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 ho and waited for Lothar to co 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 tournant, 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 ti 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 co back!"
"Late arrivals, please collect your number slips from the rear desk!"
The Sakaar Arena, a recent addition to the Grandmaster’s empire, had beco a hotbed of activity after his official announcent.
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 ," said The Other, ever-determined to beco Lothar’s number one lackey, imdiately 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 nace.
"404? That many ahead of us?"
The Other’s brow furrowed. It didn’t sound like a lucky number, and worse, it ant 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 , 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 nacingly.
"A shortcut for high-tier contenders?"
It stood to reason that such a prestigious tournant 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 , now."
Perhaps it was The Other’s bluster and confidence that cowed her. She muttered sothing 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.
"Soone’s challenging the fast track. Zora, escort them in. Also, tell Frolas to get ready."
"Yes, ma’am."
The woman’s voice was ek over the intercom. But when she appeared in person, she recoiled in shock the mont she saw him.
"You... you’re that blob of at 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 rembered her, Lothar recognized Zora from the brief ti 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 to the arena."
Her forr 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 ."
Lothar’s eyes lingered on her for a mont before replying.
Hela didn’t need to enter. Jennifer wasn’t allowed. And The Other? He was just window dressing.
"Understood. Please, follow ."
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 imdiately spotted the figure standing tall at its center.
"Is it even legal to have hair like that in the sa galaxy?" Hela mused from the VIP box, amused as she observed the man ditating 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 warn you ahead of ti..."
"I’m really strong."
"Haaah!"
Muscles bulging with power, Frolas wasted no ti. 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 abdon.
"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 na 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, seed 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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