Let's rewind to two hours before the gladiatorial combat began.

Six o'clock in the morning, in the main hall of the Royal City of Ulster.

King Conchieber sat on his throne, looked at the elderly nobleman standing beside him, and slowly said, "Vojal, how many days has it been?"

The elderly nobleman with a full gray beard looked at the rising sun in the east and replied, "It's been three months."

Conchierber leaned back in his chair, his voice low: "Cú Chulainn should be dead."

Fugal nodded: "He must be dead."

“One less person to give me trouble.” Conchubert rose with difficulty from his throne, looked at Vorgal and said with a smile, “This way, your daughter Emerald won’t have to marry that brute.”

When the king spoke of 'Emer,' his voice became more excited, and his eyes shone brighter than before.

Pretending not to notice the other's intentions, Fugal changed the subject: "Speaking of people who give you a headache, isn't there one less today?"

“Boyle? That clownish traitor?!” Conchierber laughed. “In my eyes, he’s nothing but a worthless bug! The only reason he’s still alive is to show those who have no loyalty to me what a miserable end awaits those who disobey me!”

Fugal stroked his beard, seemingly lost in thought: "I heard that the opponent 'Red Circle' found for him is that infamous 'Skinner'?"

Conchierber patted his fat belly: "Traitors should be given the most brutal death penalty! Peel off every inch of his skin, sever every fascia, break every bone! His flesh and screams will be the best lesson for those watching today!"

Vorgal shrugged, already used to such roars.

An attendant appeared at the entrance of the hall and respectfully said, "Your Majesty, the gladiatorial combat will officially begin in one hour."

Conchierber tossed his fur robe behind him, strode toward the palace gate, and burst into laughter: "These dull and tedious days have made me sick! I need a carnage like this to cheer me up! Come, let us witness together the new sacrificial lamb in the 'Red Circle'!"

One hour later, at the "Red Circle" arena.

Todd kicked "The Skinner" into the air, and Conchierber also spat out a mouthful of liquor into the air.

"What's going on? What's going on?!" King Ulster slammed his bronze goblet to the ground, shouting furiously, "Where did you find such a good-for-nothing! He can't even defeat a dying man?!"

Looking at the arena manager beside him, who was drenched in cold sweat, Fugal said to the king in a speculative tone, "Could it be 'acting'?"

Conchierber turned around, his anger still blazing on his face, and yelled, "Acting?!"

"I've often heard people say that, to enhance the fighting effect of gladiatorial combat, the stronger fighters often feign defeat at the beginning to stir up the audience's excitement," Fugal said, stroking his beard as he pondered. "Your Majesty, think about it. If the weaker side is slaughtered right at the start of the fight, without even a chance to fight back, how will the ticket-buying spectators react?"

Conchierber was taken aback, lowered his head to think for a moment, then exclaimed with a radiant face, "That makes sense! So that's how it is!"

Then, he turned to the trembling arena manager and said approvingly, "It must have been hard for you to even consider these things."

The supervisor forced a smile that looked more like a grimace, inwardly screaming, "I didn't make any of those arrangements!!!"

Compared to this poor manager, there was another person on the scene who was also in a state of panic.

Todd, carrying a sword and shield, had large beads of sweat on his forehead.

As he kicked out, his first reaction was, "Oh no, oh no, did I accidentally kill this guy?"

Seeing his opponent struggling on the ground, Todd pretended to be weak and confused while whispering encouragement to his enemy: "Get up, get up! Believe in yourself, you can do it!"

Whether it was heaven hearing his voice or not, the 'Skinner' eventually managed to stand up, albeit unsteadily.

This two-meter-tall man, with a clear intellectual disability, looked at Todd in bewilderment, completely unable to understand how he had just been defeated. The blood trickling from the corner of his mouth indicated that he had suffered severe internal injuries.

Next, Todd mustered all his energy and accompanied his opponent in his 'debut' in the arena.

The skinner swung his scythe and struck Todd's shield.

Despite the weak and feeble attack, the latter pretended to be hit hard. First, he pushed off the ground with both legs and jumped backward, then fell heavily to the ground, rolled two or three times, and finally pretended to use his weapon as a crutch to get up and support himself for a while before falling to the ground again.

Fortunately for him, his opponent's IQ was questionable, and he stubbornly continued to "cooperate" with Todd's performance.

A short while later, the skinner's scythe sliced ​​through Todd's leather armor, splattering blood; the latter retaliated, leaving a wound on the enemy's thigh.

Unaware of the danger, the audience erupted in thunderous cheers, seeing it as a closely contested and spectacular battle.

King Ulster, watching the gladiatorial combat from the VIP stands, was ecstatic. He pounded on the railings and shouted excitedly, "Great! That was a brilliant block! I never would have guessed that Boyle could hold out this long under such attacks!"

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