About a week had passed.
I won all my fights easily.
I had gained enough experience to defeat my opponents without killing them.
But that didn't mean the wall beside my bed remained untouched.
The crowd had called for mercy only twice.
The rest—
I had to kill them all.
By now, I had slowly adapted to it.
I could have tried to spare them again. But disobeying John openly would only anger him.
And I didn't know what would happen if I did.
Would they put me in the chair next?
And death—no matter how cruel it sounds—was still better than torture.
It was better than ending up like number 8.
I ended their lives fast.
One clean stab was enough.
They would feel less pain.
I stopped my thoughts and lifted my sword again.
Shing.
Over time, I had adapted to the heavy longsword.
It was still more demanding than a shortsword, but the more I trained, the more natural it felt in my hands.
My mana control had also improved significantly.
I could now maintain the mana lines throughout the entire day—even during fights—without them collapsing.
It still required focus to sustain them, but it no longer drained my mind.
Sometimes...
It felt strange how fast I adapted to mana.
But I dismissed those thoughts immediately.
Shing.
After finishing another slash, I stopped.
It was time to rest.
I planted the sword tip into the sand and leaned slightly on the hilt while calming my breathing.
My eyes wandered across the arena.
Almost all remaining teens were training daily now.
Either the ones who refused had died, or desperation had finally reached them.
Our numbers had shrunk again.
There were barely more than fifty left.
I wondered what would happen once the number dropped even lower.
Would they change the format again?
Send us somewhere else?
Dispose of us?
The thoughts lingered.
Then something hard pressed against my foot.
Curious, I shifted my foot away.
There was something buried in the sand.
Frowning, I pushed the sand aside with my foot to get a better look.
It was some sort of metal.
I crouched and brushed the rest of the sand away.
My eyes widened slightly as I saw what it was.
It was the broken tip of a sword.
Never before had I found something in the arena.
It was like they had someone cleaning it every day.
Blood, weapons, bodies—everything vanished.
As if no battle had ever taken place.
But this piece remained.
Which meant it was either overlooked—
Or it had broken recently.
Taking anything from the arena to the cell was forbidden.
If we were caught, punishment would follow immediately.
The risk was high.
But so was the potential.
For a while now, I had been thinking...
The number of teens was shrinking rapidly.
I didn't know what would happen once our numbers shrank further.
Maybe they would send the survivors somewhere worse.
Maybe they would get rid of us.
I also didn't know how long I would remain here.
And that uncertainty forced me to think about escaping.
I had started to look for another way to get out of here.
But there wasn't really anything.
We were allowed in only three places.
The arena.
The cell.
The bath.
The corridor connecting all of them would be the fourth, but the patrolling guards would approach me if I were to linger around.
There was no way to escape from the arena.
Guards were positioned in the stands, and two guarded the entrance.
The cell was useless.
Three stone walls and one with metal bars.
The corridor had no side passages—only other cells, the bath, and the smithy.
Other cells were useless, and the smithy was closed.
I tried one time to walk toward one of the other corridors, but was stopped immediately by a patrolling guard.
And every one of these places was under constant watch.
The only place without guards—
Was the bath.
This was the last place we were allowed to enter.
A few days ago, I had searched it carefully, early morning when no other teens were awake, and I had found something.
There was a small metal panel embedded in the floor, hidden between the pool and the shelf.
I hadn't noticed it at first.
And when I investigated it, I found out that it wasn't just a metal panel.
It was a hatch.
Maybe a trapdoor.
I wasn't sure, but it had hinges along one side, as if it were meant to be opened.
The problem was—
There was no handle.
Nothing to open it.
I had tried pulling it open by gripping the edge, but it hadn't budged.
Either some sort of mechanism locked it—
Or I lacked strength.
That hatch was the only potential escape route I had found.
But no matter how often I tried to open it, I couldn't do it.
My eyes returned to the broken piece of metal in the sand.
If I used it as a lever…
Maybe I could wedge it into the seam and pry it open.
Slowly, I looked around.
The two guards at the entrance were playing cards, barely paying attention to us.
The guards scattered along the seating rows were occupied—some even fiddling with metal tools.
No one was watching me directly.
I needed to pick it up without drawing attention.
The most unnoticeable way?
After thinking it through—
Thud.
I simply dropped to the sand as if exhausted.
The metal piece was between my legs.
I glanced one more time toward the guards.
No reaction.
With my eyes still looking at the guards, I dug both of my hands into the sand casually and gripped the metal piece.
If someone looked over, I could drop it instantly.
Once it was secured in my palm, I lifted my shirt slightly and slid the metal piece inside the waistband of my trousers, pressing it against my stomach before letting the shirt fall over it.
I remained seated for a few more minutes and acted as if I were resting to avoid suspicion.
When I stood, the piece slipped down my trousers, but I quickly tightened the waistband to secure it again.
Satisfied that it wouldn't slip, I pulled my sword out of the sand and made my way toward the rack.
The guards barely glanced at me as I returned the sword.
I left the arena calmly.
Instead of heading to the bath immediately—other teens could be there—I walked straight to the cell.
The cell was empty as I entered.
The others were still in the arena or bath.
'Good.'
I walked toward the bed and reached beneath my shirt to take out the piece—
Step.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor.
Without hesitation, I shoved the metal piece beneath the mattress and climbed onto the bed, sitting as naturally as possible.
Step.
The footsteps grew louder and louder until a guard walked past the cell.
His eyes shifted toward me briefly before he continued walking.
Sigh.
Only when his footsteps faded did I climb down again.
I threw a last glance toward the mattress before turning and heading out of the cell.
'Too risky.'
There were too many guards around now.
I couldn't be sure when the next one would walk by.
I would inspect the piece properly at night.
For now—
I walked toward the bath.
A few teens were already inside.
A boy was standing in front of a faucet, and two girls were in the pool.
Seeing the girls surprised me for a moment.
I hadn't seen any girls for days and had assumed most of them had already died.
They must be some of the last remaining ones.
They were bathing with their clothes on, clearly uncomfortable around the boy.
I looked away, not daring to stare too long, and headed for a faucet.
I removed my shirt and trousers and began to wash myself.
Warm water ran over my skin, washing away sweat and sand.
I finished quickly and grabbed my clothes.
The trousers were still in decent shape—only a few cuts.
But my shirt—
It was barely a shirt anymore.
The left sleeve was completely gone, making it resemble a half-torn tank top.
The right sleeve hung loosely while the chest and stomach areas were plastered with cuts, and only a few threads held the cloth together.
While I was dressing myself, I noticed the familiar glances.
The others always stared.
I assumed it was because I was the only one wearing shackles around my wrists and ankles, and a collar around my neck.
I would stare as well if I were in their position.
After finishing, I returned to the cell.
I grabbed some food from the crate and climbed onto the bed.
While eating, I began small mana exercises.
Sitting upright, I maintained the mana lines and practiced controlled bursts—tiny pushes through specific muscles.
The training wasn't difficult, and I could rest my sore muscles while doing it.
Time passed.
The others returned from the arena.
And the atmosphere inside the cell shifted.
The fights would begin soon.
And as if on cue—
"29! 31!"
A guard's voice echoed through the corridor.