Speaking of the Colosseum, the Roman Colosseum is a term almost everyone can blurt out.
The gladiators in the Roman Colosseum were slaves, death row prisoners, war captives, or free men, while the fighters in the Colosseum of Fools were all called Fools, all insect warriors. Some, like Simon, joined voluntarily, while others were captured by specialized slave-catching teams.
The gladiators in the Roman Colosseum were divided into beast-fighters and gladiators. Gladiators were further categorized into many professions based on their weapons and equipment, such as the Murmillo gladiator with a large shield, the Thracian gladiator with a small shield and dagger, the Retiarius gladiator with a trident and fishing net, and the Secutor gladiator, who specialized in fighting the Retiarius.
The Fools in the Colosseum of Fools are only differentiated by their weapons and equipment; there is no distinction between beast-fighters and gladiators. They are divided into Shielded Fools, Heavy Fools, Winged Fools, and Strong Fools. They fight each other and face a multitude of "beasts." Most of these "beasts" are ordinary insects, but in the Colosseum of Fools, they are warped by the fervent slaughter, becoming more ferocious and stronger than their kin.
Furthermore, there are some extraordinary "beasts"—no, they cannot be called beasts; they are intelligent, powerful opponents from the Soul Sanctum. For example, Soul Warriors, Soul Twisters, and Lightning Twisters. They are dangerous; their former intelligence is obscured by the misuse of Soul power, but undoubtedly, this has also brought them immense strength. These peculiar insects perhaps cannot be regarded as truly intelligent life forms; freaks are their byword. Though strong, they can never become Fools.
Professional gladiators in the Roman Colosseum were not intent on killing their enemies because they were professional killers trained by gladiator owners at great expense. More often, they were rented out to participate in commercial performances, and as actors, they would show mercy to avoid their respective owners losing too much money.
There is no concept of showing mercy among the Fools in the Colosseum of Fools; they fight purely for the sake of fighting. The bodies of dead Fools are discarded, falling from the high Colosseum onto the clear land of Kingdom's Edge, like an unceasing downpour.
After choosing to join the Colosseum, an insect not much larger than Simon emerged from the shadows, leading Simon to a resting room located beneath the Colosseum. This was a massive space, roughly the same diameter as the main structure above, with various functional areas distributed within it, much more complex than in the game.
They entered through a wellhead and jumped straight down.
Unlike the clamor of the upper level, the resting area was quiet. Apart from the faint cheers, only the low, echoing snores reverberated here. The few Fools who weren't resting didn't communicate, merely gently wiping their weapons.
Simon's arrival did not cause a stir; the Fools paid him no attention, minding their own business.
Simon observed carefully. There were many more races of Fools than in the game, all kinds, but according to equipment and talent, there were indeed only four types. There was also a type that did not use the standard Colosseum equipment; they used their own gear and were considered Fools outside the mainstream.
The insect that led him in entered a dark room, and then a rummaging sound came from within. The insect shouted from inside, "What do you want? Heavy armor? Light armor? Or nothing at all?"
"Nothing at all!" Simon shouted back. Their voices were not low, but the Fools ignored them, showing no sign of being disturbed.
"The Colosseum's equipment is much stronger than those old rags, are you sure you don't want any? Alright then, it's your business if you don't want it." The insect grumbled, emerging from the room covered in a layer of dust. "It's good that you don't want any. For a little guy like you, it's hard to find matching equipment. Hmm, let's just say you're a Shielded Fool. You're carrying a shield, so that's it, you're a Shielded Fool, remember that."
Simon asked him when he could enter the arena. The insect laughed, "Anytime. Come with me."
They entered the waiting area, which was exceptionally quiet and dim. There were only three torches in the vast space, and many areas were hidden in darkness. Simon could smell many odors—fishy, savage, fierce. In the thick, unyielding shadows, there were small cages, where Fools and beasts waiting to enter the arena were held. Their heavy breathing converged, like the exhalation of a giant beast.
"Hoo—hiss—"
The guiding insect stopped speaking, silently leading Simon to a small cage and gesturing for him to enter.
He walked into the cage, the gate closed, and Simon was alone in the cramped space.
He didn't know how much longer he would have to stay here; perhaps in the next second, his cage would rise to the upper level, and the fight would begin.
But the time in between would be difficult to endure. Waiting for the threat of death to slowly descend in a confined environment, and if one survived the slaughter, to continue this cycle—and voluntarily at that—no wonder the fighters here were called Fools.
At some point, just as Simon was starting to feel a bit bored and considering a nap, the cage began to move, rising all the way to the ceiling. Then a small opening appeared above, and Simon's cage emerged from the ground.
Overwhelming cheers erupted, pouring in through the gaps of the sealed cage, a dizzying vibration.
The cage door opened, and Simon stepped out.
The dazzling light was like the surface of a pond in midsummer, making it hard to open one's eyes.
On the wide arena, a few battle groups were scattered in twos and threes, each with four to five Fools fighting each other. Several other Fools lingered outside the battle groups, waiting for an opportunity. Seeing Simon, this unarmored small figure, they immediately locked onto him as a target, pressing closer step by step.
Simon drew his sharpest Nail, raised his shield, and charged at a Heavy Fool closest to him.
This was an insect of an unknown species, its massive body encased in thick, pale blue armor, but its slender limbs had no additional protection, which was Simon's primary target.
The standard Nails of the Colosseum of Fools were uniquely shaped like blades, good for slashing. Simon dodged the opponent's fast and heavy slash, then raised his hand to strike the joint of the opponent's right arm holding the blade. Orange-yellow blood flowed. This Fool hadn't even fully recovered his senses. Feeling intense pain, he roared, switched his Nail to his left hand, and charged, hoping to overwhelm Simon with his weight and finish him with one blow.
Simon took a few small leaps to distance himself, then met a Shielded Fool. He raised his Nail, feigning a thrust. The experienced Shielded Fool on the other side raised his shield to protect his torso; as for his head, it was protected by a helmet, so there was no need to worry.
In the rapidly changing battlefield, Simon determined that the opponent's vision was obstructed by the helmet, so he decided to get to his blind spot. With a leap, he flew over the opponent's head. The Fool raised his shield to the sky, then began to turn, his defense flawless. Simon twisted in mid-air, landing on the opponent's side, and repeated his trick, severing the opponent's arm.
"Ah!" The cry of pain was drowned out by the audience's cheers. These onlookers were thrilled by Simon's flashy and spectacular skill.
Their strange masks concealed faces twisted by bloodlust and violence.
"Kill! Kill! Kill!"