Exhaustion set in, and I fell asleep shortly after the boy returned.
I don't know what time it was when I woke up.
But when I sat up and looked across the room—
New faces appeared.
The beds of those who didn't return were filled again, and the teens who had stayed behind yesterday were gone.
The only ones left from yesterday were the boy and me.
They must have called them for another fight and replaced them after they died.
Girls and boys lay in their beds—some sleeping, others awake but lost, unsure of what to do.
Then my gaze settled on the table.
A new crate had been brought in, and the barrel was filled again.
I climbed down and walked toward the table, taking a piece of bread and meat before refilling my cup and returning to the bed.
Step.
But I stopped in front of it, my eyes dropping to the bed below mine.
A boy was sleeping there now.
Alissa was gone.
I stared for a moment before climbing up.
But while I ate or drank, she wouldn't leave my mind.
Alissa.
A delicate and gentle girl.
I still remember her bright smile as she walked out of the cell.
Only to never return.
The memory of her warmed something inside my chest, but it also hurt at the same time.
It was my mistake.
I shouldn't have spoken to her or gotten closer, knowing that most of us would die here.
I won't do it again.
Getting close to someone… learning their name…
In the end, they will all die here—just like she did.
It would be too painful to watch them disappear one after another.
It was easier if I didn't know them.
I finished my food with that thought.
Then I trained my mana control again.
It was one way to keep my mind occupied. To not think about her or the others.
I guided the mana from my core to my shoulder, across my biceps, down my forearm, and into my fingers.
Warmth spread across my right hand.
I held the enhancement until the mana dispersed.
Then I did the same with my left hand.
Shoulder. Arm. Hand. Finger.
Then my legs.
Stomach. Hip. Leg. Foot.
Again.
And again.
The path the mana needed to take became familiar the more I trained.
It felt like the more I enhanced my limbs, the easier it became, as if something that was blocking the path seemed to vanish bit by bit.
Time passed while I trained.
Until—
Step.
Step.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor.
Step.
Too many for just guards.
I turned my head toward the bars.
That was when I saw them.
Teens.
They walked past the cell in rows, flanked by guards.
It didn't take long before one guard stopped at the door.
Click.
He opened it and ordered.
"All of you. Come out."
It seemed strange.
He called all of us, and not just one or two.
I didn't understand what was happening, but of one thing I was sure.
Resisting wouldn't change anything.
So I obeyed.
I climbed down and joined the others as we walked out of the cell.
The guard held the door wide open as he gestured forward, and we followed the line down the corridor.
It didn't take long before we arrived.
The arena entrance.
Only that this time—
The massive black gate was already open.
Guards flanked us from both sides and pushed us inside.
Step.
The bright light blinded me as I was shoved forward.
It took a moment before I could see again, but when I could, my racing heart stopped for a moment.
The arena was empty.
The stands—normally filled with the screaming crowd—were deserted.
The only people here were us teens scattered across the sand and the guards lining the walls.
Thud.
The gate behind us closed with the last teen entering.
We stood uneasy and hesitant as we waited for the next instructions.
But no instructions came.
The guards just watched us like hawks.
Time passed, and I let my gaze drift across the crowd.
When we first arrived here, there were hundreds of us.
But now?
Less than a quarter of that.
Maybe even fewer.
I tried to count—
Screech.
The gate opposite us opened.
Step.
One man stepped through.
Step.
He walked slowly toward us before stopping in front of us.
Thud.
The gate closed behind him.
If I had to describe him in one word—
Intimidating.
He wore black metal armor from head to toe.
Not the polished kind which knights wore.
It looked assembled from different pieces, practical rather than elegant.
A broad sword rested on his back, the handle visible over his shoulder.
Only his brown eyes were visible through the slit of his helmet as he watched us.
His presence felt heavy.
It pressed down on us and made the air thicken.
Breathing became harder.
Seconds passed before—
Step.
He finally moved, taking one step forward and crossing his arms.
His voice carried effortlessly across the arena.
"Slaves. My name does not matter. But you can call me Breaker. I am here to teach you."
Gulp.
I heard someone swallow beside me.
Breaker paused before continuing.
"I heard you are the lucky ones who survived the Rounds of Hell. Congratulations."
'Rounds of Hell?'
The name confused me, but none of us could react before he spoke again.
"But don't feel too proud. This is only the beginning of your journey."
His gaze moved slowly across us.
"It seems there are about two hundred of you left. But I don't see two hundred children. I see perhaps a dozen young warriors. The rest?"
He paused.
"Living corpses."
Silence thickened.
"Most of you will die within the next few months. And I am here to make sure you bring at least a bit more profit to our masters before you do."
Most of the teens around me were frozen in fear at his words, while others just lowered their heads at our impending fate.
Clap.
His hands came together once, clapping.
The sound cut through the air like a spell and made every head snap toward him again.
"But there are even better news."
He paused for a moment before continuing.
"Your fights will now be duels. One against one. Until one dies—or yields. You will be armed with weapons of your choice."
A murmur moved through the group, but Breaker continued, ignoring it.
"And you are allowed to train here. In this arena."
The news made my heart feel a bit lighter.
No more mass slaughter.
No more death matches.
No more numbers added to my wall.
Breaker's next words broke my thoughts.
"Now about the lesson."
He lifted one finger.
"First rule. No hesitation. If you need to kill, then kill. The moment you hesitate is your end. If you swing and stop, you die. If you think too long, you die."
His voice hardened.
"You are not friends. You are not people. You are slaves."
Breaker raised a second finger.
"Second rule. You are not nobles. Don't duel. Don't fence. Don't play. You are gladiators. You fight to kill. Don't waste your breath on fancy moves. Strike where it kills."
He lifted a third finger.
"Third rule. The crowd."
His tone shifted slightly.
"Earn their favor. The crowd brings the money. And you are here to earn money. If they love you, you might live one more day. If they hate you, you'll die sooner. Make them watch you. Cheer for you. If they want blood. Give them blood. If they want a show, give them a show."
He looked across us.
"Make them remember you."
His hand dropped as he finished.
Silence settled again.
Then—
A boy at the front raised his trembling hand.
All eyes shifted to him as he spoke.
"H-how… how do we entertain?"
Breaker's gaze made the boy flinch.
He waited for a breath before answering.
"Have your own style. You could kill your opponents fast. Or you could grind them down slowly, letting them bleed. You could finish them in one clean strike. Or be brutal and torture them. It doesn't matter what you do, but having a style will make you stand out."
He paused in thought before adding.
"You could also simply entertain them. Bow to them like an actor. Scream or taunt. Wave at them or ignore them. Read the crowd. See what they like. What they want, and give it to them."
Silence settled again before another boy raised his hand.
"Ehm... Sir Breaker, what's the fastest way to kill our opponent?"
Breaker laughed for a moment at the use of 'Sir' but stopped as he gestured toward the boy with his hand.
"Step forward, slave."
The boy walked forward, shaking, until he stood before him.
A knife appeared seemingly out of nowhere in Breaker's hand, which made the boy flinch.
He pressed it lightly to the boy's throat.
"Stab or cut him there, and he will bleed to death."
The blade moved toward the boy's head, the tip pressed against his forehead.
"Stab here and instant death."
He lowered the knife to his chest.
"The heart. One stab and it's done."
The knife slightly shifted to the side, brushing against the boy's clothes.
"The lungs. He won't die directly, but he won't be able to breathe and will die slowly."
The knife moved further left toward his armpit.
"A hidden weak point. Cut him here, and he will bleed to death."
Then he lowered the knife further down to the boy's thigh.
"That would be the last one. If you get close enough to cut the inside of his thighs, it's over for him."
He withdrew the knife as he finished.
His gaze traveled across us as he asked.
"Anyone else with a question?"
Nobody moved.
Breaker nodded.
"Then that's all."
He turned and walked away.