Thud.
A cloud of dust rose as I stepped forward.
I put all my weight into this step and pushed more mana into the Mana Lines of my legs, strength pulsed in my muscles.
The step was fast.
Faster than any I had taken before.
Now within reach—
I drove my arm forward and delivered a diagonal slash.
Shing.
My arm moved even faster than my foot had.
CLANG.
He blocked.
Of course he did.
But the force behind my attack pushed him backward. His sword shifted aside under the pressure—
And for a brief moment—
A gap opened.
I pulled my sword back and spun with the motion, turning around myself and stepping in again.
Step.
My sword flowed seamlessly as I moved and turned into a stab toward his right shoulder.
Swoosh.
There was almost no strength in the stab.
I focused on speed.
He reacted too late.
Shuk.
"Aghh!"
The blade sank deep into his shoulder, injuring his sword arm.
Step.
He stepped back at once, creating distance.
But—
Step.
I didn't let him.
I followed immediately, stepping in, my sword still embedded in his shoulder.
His face twisted under the pain, and his right hand couldn't hold the sword properly.
I knew the pain he felt.
I had fought through it myself.
My left arm couldn't be used anymore, and every movement of my right arm brought pain.
But I kept going.
Slrrt.
I pulled the sword free and flicked it sideways before delivering a horizontal slash at his lower body.
Shing.
It wasn't a full swing—
Just a light turn of the wrist.
Step.
He attempted to retreat the moment I had pulled my sword out.
But was too late.
His right foot had moved backward—
His left couldn't.
Slrssh.
My blade sliced across his left thigh.
"Arghh!"
A cry of pain left him as he stumbled back, barely creating distance between us.
Haaah.
Hah.
His breathing grew ragged.
He slowly lifted his sword into stance again, forcing through the pain.
But I wouldn't give him that time.
Step.
Shing.
I stepped in and slashed diagonally toward his open side.
He shifted his sword to block—
But I stopped the slash mid-motion.
A feint.
I pulled my sword back in a small arc and brought it into a stabbing motion before pushing it forward.
Swoosh.
At his right leg.
Shuk.
"Aghhh!"
He screamed as my sword pierced his right thigh.
But desperation made him move through the pain.
He twisted his wrist, turning the block into a stab as well, and stabbed blindly at my stomach.
But his attack seemed slow.
Slrrt.
I pulled my sword out, leaving a deep wound behind, and took half a step aside while raising it upward.
Clang.
A light tap of my sword was enough to shift his stab aside.
I guided his sword with my blade away before twisting my wrist to deliver another slash.
Shing.
His injured legs couldn't move in time to dodge while his sword was flung away, leaving his body wide open.
Slrssh.
"Aghhh!"
I cut a clean line across his chest and left arm.
The slash wasn't strong.
The wound wasn't deep enough to kill—
But enough to slow him even more.
Blood gushed out of the wound, coloring his shirt and skin red.
He didn't seem to give up.
Shing.
His sword moved again, aiming to deliver a quick slash at my unguarded side.
Step.
But the slash was slow.
Weak even.
I stepped back barely enough to feel the wind as his blade cut through the air, but not to get hit.
Step.
I took another step back, creating even more distance, and lifted my sword into position.
My eyes shifted toward him as he didn't move anymore.
That was when I understood.
It was over.
His legs trembled while blood flowed out from the wounds on his thighs, body swaying as he stood.
He had barely enough strength to lift his sword into position, but the blade trembled uncontrollably.
I decided to end it.
Step.
I stepped forward.
It wasn't fast.
Slow.
I stepped in and moved my injured leg, raising the knee and delivering a frontal kick at his chest.
He tried to shift his sword to block.
But—
Too late.
Thud.
He collapsed at my kick, crashing to the ground, back slamming into the sand.
Shish.
His sword flew out of his hand and landed a few meters away.
Step.
I took another step closer, standing directly before him, and looked down at him.
He wasn't smiling.
His expression was one of pain.
He looked at me with trembling eyes as our gazes locked.
My voice broke the silence between us.
"The fight is already decided?"
The edge in my tone sharpened.
"Who decided that?"
I raised my sword and placed the blade against his throat, drawing a thin red line.
I did not cut.
I just held it there.
Then—
I turned my head toward the podium.
Where John stood.
He stood still, red eyes staring down at us.
That was when I realized.
The arena had fallen silent.
There was no laughter now.
No cheering.
No shouting.
Only silence.
As they waited for John to speak.
At last, John's voice cut through the silence.
"My...It seems we are all a little surprised by this outcome."
His voice regained its theatrical tone.
"But as you can see—number 29 clawed his way back from defeat! Injured. Cornered. And yet victorious! What a fight!"
The stunned crowd regained its bearings.
"Noo!"
"My money!"
"8 you son of a bitch!"
"29 did it!"
"Yeah, I knew you could do it!"
John lifted a hand, silencing the crowd.
"29 is declared the winner, we will let the crowd decide again! Hold up your hand like always!"
He paused.
"Blood or Mercy?"
The words echoed through the arena.
For a heartbeat—
There was nothing.
Then a man in the upper stands jumped up and raised his hand.
"Mercy!"
Another voice answered.
"Blood!"
Followed by even more.
"Kill that bastard!"
"I lost all my money because of him!"
"Blood!"
"He fought well!"
"Spare him!"
Hands rose.
Voices clashed.
The number of raised hands was hard to tell.
But there seemed to be slightly more who raised their hands.
My eyes lowered to number 8 beneath me.
'So… mercy it is.'
I was about to pull my sword back—
"I see! It seems quite even to me! How frustrating, now I have to make the final decision!"
When John's voice rang again.
'Even?'
My head snapped toward him.
He raised his right arm high into the air, thumb up.
The drums began.
Boom.
Slowly, his hand shifted left and right.
Boom.
When the final drum hit—
Boom.
His thumb turned downward.
The arena exploded.
"BLOOD!"
"BLOOD!"
My eyes locked with John's for a moment.
Red met blue.
And this time—
There was no playfulness in his voice.
"It is blood. Kill him."
My gaze dropped to number 8 again.
'The decision was made.'
I pressed my sword slightly deeper, about to cut.
A thin line of red flowed as I cut skin.
But—
I stopped.
The decision?
The word echoed.
'Decision.'
Something seemed to shift inside me at the word.
Deciding.
It fell into me like a stone into still water.
The questions that tormented me returned.
The fear.
Lukas.
Adonis.
Who am I?
Who would I become?
Would I still be me after all this killing?
Would I wake up one day as someone else entirely?
With another set of memories?
Another name?
I didn't receive the answers I was searching for.
But I understood—
What I had to do next.
I will survive.
And for that, I had to kill.
There will be more fights in the future, and even more people I have to kill.
Nightmares will haunt me during the night.
And—
I won't be able to do anything about it.
Because that was the price I had to pay for my survival.
But what I could change was—
Who I was.
It doesn't matter—
If I was really Lukas reborn as Adonis or not.
Right now.
I am Adonis.
...
I was Lukas.
I died and was reborn.
Why?
Because I decided it.
And who will I become after all this killing?
It doesn't matter.
Because I choose who I become.
If another person's memories resurface?
Then I am still who I choose to be.
When I leave this arena one day.
After all the death and survival.
I'll be someone else.
Not because they shape me.
But because I chose to become someone else.
My thoughts settled, and I looked down at number 8.
His eyes trembled as he looked up at me.
My gaze shifted away, toward the blade resting at his throat.
Just one push.
That was all it took.
To end it.
Exactly what they all wanted.
The crowd screamed.
"Kill him!"
"BLOOD!"
"End it!"
My head turned away from the teen, gaze drifting through the crowd.
Until my eyes found him.
John.
He stood at the podium with his hands crossed over his chest, waiting.
As if feeling my gaze, his mask lowered, and he looked directly at me.
A moment passed.
Then—
I smiled at him.
And—
Thud.
I let go of my sword.
It dropped into the sand beside number 8's head.
The arena fell silent.
Hundreds of eyes fixed on me, staring.
And I?
Step.
I just turned and walked toward the gate.
Step.
Slowly.
Step.
Nobody spoke, and only the sound of my echoing steps was heard.
Step.
I halted before the gate as a pair of guards blocked my path.
They towered over me, clouded in black armor from head to toe, only their eyes were visible through the slits in their helmets.
Their grips around their black spears tightened as they looked down at me before their gazes shifted away.
I followed their gazes.
Toward the podium.
Toward John.
A moment passed before—
John gave the slightest nod.
The guards stepped aside at once.
Thud.
And the metal gate opened.
Step.
As I was walking out of the arena—
"29!"
A voice rang out from the stands, making me halt.
"Son…!"
A heartbeat of silence—
Then it came.
"Son of mercy!"
A shout that broke through the silence.
The chant spread.
Another voice joined.
Then another.
And another.
Until the entire crowd roared in unison.
"SON OF MERCY!"
Step.
I walked through the gate.
Step.
Their voices echoed behind me.
"SON OF MERCY!"