Branwen's Final Choice
The next attack was easy to predict. The monstrous frog with a body like an elephant's lunged at Branwen, its lengthy tongue sweeping between her legs. With a swift step, she dodged it, stabbing the beast's tongue into the ground with the tip of her sword. Immediately, she swung around the iron ball chained to her leg, dealing a blow to the creature's exposed head. Ending a fight in such a manner was easy for Branwen.
However, things didn't go as planned. Her sword bounced off the ground and Branwen found herself swept off her feet by the whip-like tongue of the beast. Of course, that was expected. The issued sword was a rusty piece of junk, barely functioning as a weapon. Branwen could do nothing but fall clumsily on her backside.
"Ah yes," she thought, "this is what they all want."
Her fighting spirit momentarily faltered, allowing her to take in the sight of the dusty arena with startling clarity. Roars from the crowd, so loud they made the air vibrate, pressed against her skin. She was in the arena of a small country where the masters made their slaves fight for entertainment. The spectators' excitement was at its peak, their clamoring not for her victory but for her defeat. They wanted to see her lose, to expose herself more, reveling in the disgrace of a slave warrior.
"Branwen, are you about done?" came the loathsome voice of an ugly man from behind. The iron ball chained to her leg drained her strength, and Branwen found it increasingly difficult to rise again. Just as her stamina was about to run out, it was time for 'that.'
"Do as you like..." she murmured.
A sigh mixed with resignation and rage escaped her lips, followed by an explosive pleasure that made her body tremble. The match was already decided. Branwen writhed in the center of the arena, tormented by the monstrous frog's tongue. The floating crystals around the arena broadcasted her humiliation to taverns across the country through magic.
Branwen, the captive dragon warrior, was forced to wear a device created by the goblins. The bikini armor, altered to be even more revealing under their touch, reeked of their captivity. The waves of magical energy sent to her private parts made even a strong warrior like Branwen kneel, overwhelming her with a woman's punishment.
"Heh, your show's over," sneered the ugly man as Branwen lay on her back in the arena, her body still quivering with the aftershocks of pleasure. As she was forcibly dragged by the collar, her empty gaze fell upon the ecstatic crowd.
Years ago, the swamp witch had been eradicated by the efforts of the rebellious beauties. With the witch's protection gone, the goblin trainer Dogura dragged Branwen around, forcing her to perform in various shows to earn his living. She sometimes fought with proper weapons, but now it seemed the demand was for Branwen's humiliation. Despite her formidable skills, she spent her days enduring Dogura's punishments without much resistance.
That night, Branwen was strung up like a crucifix by chains extending from the ceiling in the basement cell of a mansion that Dogura had rented. Amidst the oppressive dampness, a few dimly lit candles cast their light on Branwen's battle-weary body.
"Usher..." Branwen spoke to the spider weaving its web in a corner of the ceiling. Usher was the name of her former dragon companion, who once soared through the open skies alongside her. That dragon friend was now being held hostage by Dogura. The spider couldn't respond, of course. She saw Usher's majestic figure superimposed on the tiny creature's body. "I won't yield. I dream of the day I can save you..."
"Branwen, how are you?" A nauseating voice echoed through the dungeon, sending a chill down Branwen's spine.
"......"
"You look rather alluring, drenched in sweat." Out of the shadows emerged a hideous little man. Dogura, the goblin trainer, swaggered over with his plump body, eager to say something. All Branwen could do was stare back, anger boiling in her eyes. The idea of Dogura considering her "alluring" made her feel sick to her stomach.
"Did you enjoy today's match? Your image was reflected in the crystal balls. Want to take a look?"
"Ridiculous. State your purpose." Dogura settled onto a nearby sofa, grinning smugly.
"Lately, I've been a bit short on money..."
"........."
"So, I've decided to send you off to a brothel soon." Branwen didn't let her shock show on her face. She knew her role extended beyond merely being a warrior. She had always been aware of the lust that the men around the arena sent her way. She had simply expected this move to come later.
"Hmph. It'll be a relief not to have to smell your foul breath."
"What did you say?" Magic flowed into the training tool, and Branwen bit down on her teeth, trying to withstand the humiliating pleasure. Despite her efforts, her rough breathing gave away her arousal to Dogura right in front of her.
"Heh, you've run out of hope. All that's left for you is to fall!" Dogura's voice echoed in the chamber as he forcibly closed the iron door. Branwen caught her breath and looked up at the corner of the ceiling once more. The web remained, but the spider was gone.
―――Fall as far as I can, huh...
There was hope. A long time ago, a warrior priestess she had fought against once said so. Although Branwen had dismissed it as nonsense, perhaps she had been quietly dreaming of it in her heart. But Dogura didn't give her the chance to find hope. Exhausted by the battles where defeat was always assumed, the flame of resilience that had once burned brightly in Branwen had become a flickering candle in the wind. The image of Usher had also grown cloudy in her mind.
―――Even if we could reunite now...
Branwen grimaced, trying to endure a chilling suspicion that flitted through her mind. Just then, the sound of metal clashing echoed through the dungeon. The room next to hers should have been vacant, but the noise was unmistakably the sound of iron bars being removed.
"It's been a long time."
"That voice..."
Individuals shrouded in cloaks crawled through the bars and came to her. They knelt before Branwen and lowered their heads. When they removed their hoods, she recognized them as the warriors from her homeland, who had revered Branwen as one of the Dragon Tribe.
"Ah, Lady Branwen...to see you in such a state..."
Their voices trembled, and they tried to hold back their tears.
"How dare they do this to a warrior of dragon blood..."
"Lady Branwen, your compatriots back home eagerly await your return."
"Ah, I see… but..." Branwen caught herself before she could blurt out something inappropriate. She quickly composed herself and asked with determination, "Why are you here? If you're found, you'll be killed."
Upon hearing Branwen's words, her compatriots began to speak.
"We've come here with a carefully crafted plan, ensuring we would not be discovered. There's something we had to tell you at any cost... We spent a great deal of our wealth to make it this far..."
"We've discovered where Lord Usher is being held captive."
Branwen instinctively leaned forward as much as her bindings would allow. The once faint image of her dragon companion was suddenly vivid in her mind.
"It's an old fort on the border of this country. That's where Usher is," they said. According to them, Dogura was either by chance or by arrogance holding a show in the very land where he had a hostage that could control Branwen. Branwen felt a shudder run through her body when she realized that Usher was nearby.
"But Dogura is a cunning man."
"That’s no longer the case."
"...What do you mean?"
"We have hundreds of our companions gathered in this country now."
".....!"
After Branwen was captured, they gathered comrades from various places without being noticed by Dogura and had finally grown in numbers enough to launch a surprise attack.
"We have confirmed that Dogura has made a reservation at the slave market for tomorrow night."
"We will capture Dogura. Lady Branwen, you'll go to the dragon."
Branwen's heart throbbed and stirred. It was the first time her dragon blood was stirred outside of battle.
The next morning, Branwen couldn't get the secret talk from the previous day out of her head. There was a chance to recover the dragon taken hostage. In the lukewarm slave life, that chance awakened the rebellious spirit sleeping inside Branwen.
"Hey, Branwen! We're starting the paddock again today."
The moment her collar was pulled, she came to her senses. Her view was filled with the faces of lowly men, and Branwen had no choice but to acknowledge her situation. This was the backstage located underground in the arena. A place where gladiators waiting for their turn were made to standby. Branwen was now being exhibited for the gladiators to scrutinize. The audience of the arena looked closely to gauge the condition of the ones they were going to bet on. But most of the rubberneckers just wanted to feast their eyes on Branwen's exceptional proportions, which could not be seen from a distance.
"Hey, spin around for us."
Insults flew from various parts of the narrow basement, and it was unclear whose they were.
"Stick out your butt, do it."
Branwen did not know how many times she had tasted the humiliation of posing in obedience to the orders of these common men. She turned her back as told and stuck out her butt. The men's cheers rose as her buttock flesh was exposed by the T-back-like training tool, the slave marks carved by Dogura blatantly visible as if they were a highlight on her body.
"Can't you do that? The one where you sway your butt."
What flashed through her mind was a slutty dance, swaying her buttock flesh skillfully in a squatting position. She had seen other slave fighters being made to do it.
"If you have such a big butt, it should be easy."
‘You riffraff’. Branwen glared at them sticking out her butt as she was. Then suddenly, there was a shock on the cheeks of her buttocks. Dogura's whip had disciplined her with a snap.
"I'm sorry, gentlemen. I haven't trained Branwen yet. So today..."
While Branwen was writhing in pain, Dogura kicked her butt this time.
"Let's show this clumsy one first. Now, do it!"
There was nothing to be done about it. Branwen started trying to sway her buttocks vaguely remembering the motions. But due to her clumsiness, it only ended up looking like the awkward movements of someone with a bad back. The men burst out laughing at her movements.
"I'll train that butt dance next time and showcase it. This one will learn it without any problem with my training. Oh, it's about time."
When the reel was pulled again, Branwen turned her back on the men who were making fun of her, climbed the stairs, and was led to the entrance of the dark arena. The light leaking from the iron door leading to the stage shone on Branwen's body as if it was piercing it.
"This is the last time I'll bring you to the arena."
Dogura said, picking his nose. There was no trace of sorrow. All he had in mind was the amount of money the future prostitute would make. Branwen despised him in her heart.
"Well, make sure you follow my orders. Now, fight."
He slapped her butt sharply. Branwen just kept her eyes down, pressing her eyes against the dazzling light as the door opened.
For Branwen, the usual buzzing cheers were as annoying as flies. Several matches had probably already ended. The sandy field of the arena was terribly wrecked. Far away, a woman in the same outfit as Branwen was preparing herself with a sword and a shield. Right next to her was a goblin trainer, just like Dogura. It seemed to be a fight between slave fighters today. Just before the gong rang, Branwen let out a small sigh.
It was easy if the opponent was a demon with no intelligence. She just had to fight with a rusty sword. But it was difficult between swordsmen who had fallen into slavery. The opponent's sword strokes were pretty good, but her expression was bad news. She was clearly too wary of me. Branwen pitied her while dodging the sword tip at the last minute, probably knowing the far-off fame she used to have.
"You don't need to fear my former title."
Branwen thrusted the back of her sword towards the opponent's hand. The weapon the opponent was holding flew into the air, and Branwen immediately drove her elbow into the opponent's solar plexus. The slave swordsman let out a heavy voice and collapsed on the spot. Among the rising cheers, there were some boos, but Branwen didn't feel the need to care.
"Hey, it's punishment time over here!"
The opponent's trainer dragged the crouching female swordsman away, dragging her body along. The woman, who had fallen flat on her back, was sobbing "No, no" like a prayer. It seemed that it was her first battle. The final blow that Branwen had struck was not one that would leave lasting damage. If her wounds were deep and she couldn't fight anymore, she'd be mercilessly sent to the brothel and become a comfort woman for men. All Branwen could do was to render them unable to fight without ending their lives as swordswomen. As a fellow female slave, it was the maximum consideration Branwen could show.
"What the hell was that just now!?"
Her buttocks were slapped sharply with a bare hand. The feel of Dogura's sweaty palm lingered slimily.
"I told you I’d fight. I didn't say I’d kill anyone."
"What?!" Dogura initiated the usual punishment. Branwen trembled like a deer and endured the pleasure. The cheers of the spectators grew more blatant.
"Next, no matter who the enemy is, kill them!"
Branwen was a little relieved when the next match began. A pack of hellhounds, a giant orc, a monster with tentacles, all enemies that left no room for discussion. Branwen fought mindlessly as usual, driven by instinct. But her mind was filled with expectation and anxiety about the possibility of freeing Usher.
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