The Gringotts Coliseum – Part 1
"Stupid Percy, I hope he isn't having fun without me," Harry said, somewhat annoyed, stuck at home waiting for him to come back. "Well, as long as he isn't getting himself into trouble, it's fine," he added, trying to convince himself.
He stood up from the couch and walked into the kitchen to pour himself a glass of juice. The sound of the refrigerator opening broke the silence of the house; a silence that felt heavier than usual. Harry leaned against the counter for a moment, the glass still in his hand, feeling slightly lonely in the absence of his brother, something he rarely admitted to himself.
The silence of the house broke when he left the glass in the sink; somewhere else, a far more brutal sound was about to begin.
"Maybe I should have stayed home and made a drawing for Harry and Mom as a Christmas present," Percy said, standing in the middle of a massive stone coliseum, his sword firmly gripped in both hands.
In front of him, a goblin wielded two short swords, watching him with a sharp, unwavering stare, fully prepared to attack at any moment.
In the stands, around two hundred goblins were packed together, watching with palpable excitement. Their voices blended into a constant murmur filled with expectation, waiting for a bloody fight to entertain them. In the main box sat Einjard, Percy's master, accompanied by several high-ranking officials from Gringotts. They spoke rapidly among themselves, exchanging words and gestures that looked like negotiations, or perhaps more accurately, bets.
The air inside the coliseum was heavy with a metallic smell, a mix of iron, sweat, and something older, something more unpleasant. The noise never truly stopped; coins clashing against one another, boots striking stone, and harsh laughter that seemed to wait eagerly for the first mistake to erupt.
Einjard stepped closer to the edge of the box and raised both hands. Instantly, the goblins began to quiet down until the uproar turned into an expectant silence. The rings on Einjard's fingers, engraved with ancient Gringotts symbols, chimed softly as he lifted his hands, and that sound alone was enough to impose silence.
"Let's make this quick. Ten contestants will face each other in a sword competition without magic. Whoever wins the most battles and remains standing will be granted permission to enter the goblins' private vault and choose their prize. The losers will be remembered as the weak they were," Einjard declared in a serious tone.
The stands erupted with excitement.
Percy tightened his grip on the sword. He didn't like any of this, but he was already there; stepping back no longer felt like a real option.
"But sir, there is a human wizard participating," a voice suddenly said from the side.
Einjard turned his head slightly to look at the goblin who had spoken.
"He is my disciple. Is there a problem?" he replied.
The silence that followed was heavy, almost oppressive.
"N-no sir, my apologies," the goblin said quickly, trembling under Einjard's gaze.
"Hmph. The participants are the disciples of each manager from the main Gringotts branches across the world. Representing ours will be Percy Jackson. May honor and glory in battle illuminate you, and may the blood of your enemies flow like a river," Einjard proclaimed.
The goblins repeated the last words in unison, their smiles wild and eager.
"No, please don't let it flow," Percy muttered nervously, wishing with all his heart that he were back home.
"This is not a fight to the death. It ends when your opponent can no longer fight or surrenders," Einjard added, as if he had understood Percy's thoughts and clarified it just for him.
Percy let out a relieved sigh.
Meanwhile, Bill Weasley watched everything with a mix of shock and concern. He couldn't believe they had put an eleven-year-old child to fight armed goblins.
"Care to place a bet?" a goblin suddenly asked as he approached, holding a small notebook and scribbling frantically. A pouch hung at his waist, clinking with every movement.
Bill felt like he had seen that same goblin taking bets for Einjard and the others earlier.
Before Bill could refuse, a female voice spoke from behind him.
"Write down ten thousand Galleons on the brat."
A truly beautiful hand, its nails painted black, placed a heavy pouch beside Bill.
He turned around to look at her and froze completely. For a moment, he even seemed to forget how to breathe. He swallowed late; heat rose to his ears, and he blinked once more than necessary. Red hair cascading down, a perfect face, and a serious, almost bored gaze. She was dressed entirely in black, a color that suited her far too well. She was the kind of presence that made you feel out of place without saying a single word.
The woman noticed Bill's stare and turned her face toward him with clear annoyance.
"What?" she asked, looking straight at him.
"N-n-no-nothing," Bill replied, stuttering pathetically, immediately embarrassed and losing that confident air he usually carried. If his brothers had been there, they would have mocked him instantly. She was unfairly beautiful, the kind that reminded you that you were not ready for this conversation.
"So, are you betting or not, boy?" the goblin asked after counting the coins in the pouch.
"Uh, ah, yes, sure. I have the thousand Galleons from my pay, so maybe just…" Bill began, trying to take out only part of it.
The goblin snatched the pouch from his hand instantly.
"One thousand Galleons on the boy, done," the goblin said quickly as he wrote it down and hurried off toward other goblins.
"No, wait," Bill managed to say, but it was already too late. The goblin was writing down another bet, this time one hundred thousand Galleons on a different contestant.
"Oh no. My salary and my bonus," Bill muttered, knowing he had been completely scammed. That was all the money he had earned that month, plus the bonus they gave him for forcing him to come back and help investigate something.
Bill felt a hollow sensation in his stomach; he did the math in his head and decided not to finish it.
The woman glanced at Bill for a moment, raising an eyebrow in amusement, before leaning over the box and shouting:
"Good luck, Percy. Don't lose."
Percy, who was standing in the middle of the coliseum, lifted his gaze toward the box.
"Uh, Aunt Mor, what are you doing here?" he asked, surprised.
A small chill ran down his spine. Of all the people who could be watching him, Mor was definitely the worst possible option.
"If you lose, I'll turn you into a guinea pig," Mor replied with a genuinely loving smile, though her words never were. Her tone was calm, almost casual; that was what made it so much worse.
That made Percy tremble slightly. He quickly turned his attention back to his opponent, as if he had gained a sudden surge of energy for a competition he had ended up in for reasons he still didn't fully understand.
"Begin!" the referee shouted just in time.
As the goblin charged toward Percy, the difference in size didn't seem that pronounced. They were almost the same height. However, in terms of musculature, the goblin was clearly more robust, with thick arms and a broad torso that spoke of years of combat.
Both wore leather armor provided for the competition, without enchantments or magical reinforcement. The swords were also standard iron weapons. Still, coming from goblins, they were of excellent quality. They lacked an edge to prevent accidental killings, but even so, being struck or stabbed by them would be extremely painful.
Unlike Percy, the goblin advanced like a locomotive, determined to remove him from the fight as quickly as possible so he could move on to the other contestants.
Percy's expression turned serious. He planted his feet firmly, gripping the sword with both hands. Straight posture, perfectly positioned feet, a stable stance.
Percy didn't watch the goblin's sword; he watched his feet. The weight was poorly distributed. He was going to strike with force, but without control.
When the goblin's sword cut toward his shoulder, Percy stepped to the side, dodging easily. He struck the goblin's wrist in quick succession and then moved his blade toward the goblin's neck, stopping just before making contact.
The goblin blinked, surprised, as if only then realizing he had already lost.
For a brief instant, the coliseum fell into complete silence.
As the goblin seemed to process what had happened, he opened his mouth with genuine irritation and said, "I lost," letting his weapon fall; though he didn't look convinced, his pride as a warrior could not deny what had just occurred.
Then the noise returned all at once, louder and more irritating than before.
"What? How could a human beat him?"
"Damn it, I bet a lot of money on that idiot."
"It was a fluke, a fluke."
Shouts echoed from all around.
It seemed Percy was definitely not the favorite in the betting pools.
He had been clean and precise, without unnecessary movements. He took advantage of the contempt the goblin felt toward him, believing him to be an easy opponent, without revealing anything close to his true level.
Many goblins were left in shock before starting to complain when they realized Percy had won so easily.
"Rilpok, you idiot, you got careless," some shouted, angry that they had bet on him.
From the box, Einjard watched Percy with a faint smile.
"Well done, brat. You need to conserve as much energy as possible, or you won't make it through all nine battles," he said.
The defeated goblin glared at Percy with an expression full of anger and disdain. He snorted, clearly upset at having been defeated due to his own overconfidence.
Even so, he accepted his defeat and withdrew.
Percy scratched the back of his head lightly, feeling a bit guilty. But since he was already there, he had to keep going.
The next opponent stepped forward without delay. This time, his weapon was a halberd far larger than his own body.
"Beginner's luck, wizard brat. But I'm not as careless as Rilpok, so get ready to fall," the goblin said with a serious look.
"How… if it's bigger than you, how do you control the imbalance?" Percy asked, eyeing the halberd with genuine curiosity.
That made the goblin frown, feeling mocked; though if he knew Percy better, he would realize the question was completely sincere.
"Begin!" the referee shouted.
There was no countdown or warning here. You had to be ready at any moment.
The halberd-wielding goblin attacked first. He gripped the weapon with both hands and spun it over his head to build momentum, also preventing Percy from closing in suddenly. The blade sliced through the air with a violent whistle. At the last instant, he slid one hand to the end of the shaft and pushed upward with the other.
The halberd came crashing down toward Percy as if trying to split him in half.
Percy leapt to the side.
The halberd struck the ground with a heavy thud, kicking up dirt and carving a deep gash into the stone. The impact made the ground tremble where Percy's feet had been moments earlier, dust filling his mouth and eyes for a second.
Before Percy could react, the goblin pulled the weapon back toward himself with one hand, using the other to keep it steady.
In a fluid motion, he thrust forward as if the halberd were a spear, aiming straight for Percy's chest.
Percy held the hilt of his sword with one hand and placed his palm against the flat of the blade. He redirected the halberd's tip that threatened to pierce him, deflecting it to the side.
The problem was clear. The halberd had a considerable reach. It gave Percy no room to attack before the goblin could recover it quickly.
If he tried to close in head-on, he would be impaled; he needed to force a mistake, not rely on strength.
Percy stepped back, thinking about how to cross the distance and counterattack. But obviously, the goblin wouldn't make it easy.
Percy returned to his guard, gripping the sword with both hands, watching his opponent closely.
Percy adjusted his grip on the sword. The weight of the halberd was still there, marking the distance, and one mistake would not be forgiven.