The conversation between 31 and the guard halted as we arrived.
It hadn't really been a conversation.
It had been begging and dismissal.
31's eyes widened the moment he saw me approaching.
The color drained from his face.
He had lost to me yesterday. And now—after betraying me—he clearly understood what this meant.
His lips parted at once, and he pleaded again.
"No, that—"
Thud.
But his sentence broke as the gate opened.
The guard before him rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.
A silent warning.
31 swallowed whatever words he had left.
His head turned away from the guard, despair flickered in his eyes.
I was quite happy with him as my opponent.
First, he was the bastard who snitched on me.
But that was less important right now.
Important was that I had already fought against him.
I knew a bit about his fighting style, even though it wasn't much, as the duel ended in a flash.
Then came his psychological state—he had lost helplessly.
This was the most important factor, since I was in no state to fight.
Yes, last time was easy.
But now?
Now was a matter of life and death.
I waited for 31 to enter the arena before I stepped inside.
Step.
My back burned with every movement.
Step.
Each step sent a sharp pull through the torn flesh, like invisible hooks dragging across raw skin. But I kept my posture straight—not showing any weakness.
I couldn't let him see my injuries.
My jaw clenched shut, stopping myself from screaming.
The sand shifted beneath my feet as I walked toward the weapon rack.
I halted in front of the rack and stopped my hand as I instinctively reached for the short-sword.
31?
I glanced over my shoulder and toward the teen, focusing on his weapon.
A short-sword.
My eyes returned to the weapons in front of me, mind racing.
My fingers hovered over the sword.
The injuries would make each swing hurt.
I was not confident enough to push through the pain.
The sword would be slow.
Weaker.
And the extra weight would hold me back.
I pulled my hand away from its hilt and let my gaze drift over the other weapons.
Spears, axes, daggers, halberds, flails.
They posed the same problem.
Maybe daggers?
But my head shook a moment later.
Using a new weapon in my state?
That would be a gamble.
Too risky.
No answer came, and my gaze dropped further, thinking.
Something metallic flashed in my vision.
The shackles.
They were unbreakable.
At least for the other teens and me.
I couldn't take them off, so the extra weight wouldn't matter.
I could use my hands and legs freely.
Better mobility.
And less strain on my back.
A thought settled.
It was risky.
But if I played it right...
I decided at once and turned away from the rack.
My feet carried me toward the center.
31 was already there, waiting.
Each step brought another wave of pain, but I clenched my jaw and stared at 31 without changing my expression.
It must have looked cold, intimidating.
But inside?
'Don't react.'
'Breathe.'
'Think about something else.'
I was barely holding it together.
Step.
I reached the center and halted a few paces away from 31.
He stared at me, eyes widening for a moment before he bit his lip, jaw clenched tight.
His expression shifted from fear… to confusion… to anger.
He thought I was mocking him.
Because I was bare-handed.
'Perfect.'
The later he realizes, the better my chances were.
I raised my hands slightly, just enough to guard.
Warmth spread through my limbs as I enhanced my entire body.
The pain lessened, albeit a little.
Soon—
"My dear guests! Today we had some, let's say, extraordinary things happening!"
John's voice rang through the arena.
"As you can all see, we have our little bad boy here, number 29! You had seen him today, and we received a great performance already! But the interesting part isn't him but his opponent!"
A pause.
"Number 31! If some might remember, they had fought yesterday against each other, with 29 being the clear victor! But—"
The crowd held their breaths.
"—now we have a whole new backstory to their returning fight! Because it was number 31 who gave us the tip about 29's, let's say, bad behavior! Bad blood must be between them!"
The crowd exploded into cheers at once.
"Yesterday he lost! Today he betrayed! Will 31 take the victory or 29 revenge! Oh, how exciting! I hope you feel the same anticipation I do! But let's not talk any longer and begin!"
"BLOOD!"
The crowd's chant started the duel.
"NO MERCY!"
We stood still at first.
Normally, I would have made the first move.
To test my opponent and gain momentum, but I couldn't take that risk.
Not today.
If I overextended, I would lose.
If he found out I was injured, I would lose.
One mistake could bring defeat.
31 was clearly nervous, the sword trembled slightly in his hands.
My mana lines hummed faintly through my body.
I pushed a thicker stream toward my back—trying to dull the pain.
It barely helped.
This fight had only one rule.
31 wasn't allowed to find out that I was injured.
I needed to act as if nothing was wrong.
The best way was to lead the fight and end it quickly.
Step.
I stepped forward.
Step.
And into range, close enough for him to attack but far enough to dodge.
He adjusted his stance and lifted his sword slightly, ready to attack.
My legs were my most usable body parts.
I could move them without putting too much strain on my back.
And I would use them as much as possible.
Step.
I stepped in and rolled my shoulder, while slightly raising my arm as if I were going for a punch.
He took the bait.
Shing.
His sword moved, slashing through air, aimed at my head.
Step.
But I went in.
I raised my left arm high enough for pain to course through my back, but also to intercept his sword.
It was a gamble.
If the angle wasn't right.
If I were too slow.
If he reacted fast enough.
I would die.
But—
Clang.
His blade struck the shackle.
I pushed his sword aside, redirecting it, and threw my right fist.
Bam.
Straight at his elbow, aiming for the joint.
Pain flared up as I moved, but I clenched my jaw and kept going.
Stopping meant death.
His arm lost all its strength, and my left arm carried enough force to push the sword out of his grip.
Thud.
His sword dropped at once, falling to the ground.
Step.
I moved immediately, stepping back and kicking his sword far away.
Haah.
A breath left me.
Now it was even.
A bare-handed brawl.
I took another step back to gain some distance and time to rest.
Haah.
Breathing hurt.
Standing hurt.
Every movement hurt.
But I had to keep going.
His right arm trembled ever so slightly as he shifted into a boxing stance.
Step.
I didn't give him more time and closed the distance.
Just as I was in range—my hands lowered, confusing him.
My back screamed as my hip twisted.
I delivered a calf kick.
Mana-enhanced at that.
Bam.
"Aghh!"
His body swayed, left leg almost snapping, but he regained his balance.
Without giving him time to rest—
Bam.
I went for another, right at the same spot.
Adrenaline streamed through my body.
The pain lessened.
Not enough to vanish.
But bearable.
The kicks had injured his leg enough to break his balance.
Without losing momentum—
Step.
I stepped in and delivered a quick jab to his head.
Thud.
His arms moved, raised into a high guard, blocking my jab.
But they also obscured his vision, giving me another opportunity to—
Bam.
Land another calf kick on his left leg.
His arms fell as soon as the pain came.
A gap.
I moved at once, delivering a straight to his face, making his head jolt back.
Thud.
There wasn't much force behind the punch as I focused more on speed than strength.
But it was enough to create another opportunity.
Bam.
Another kick.
The fourth.
And all targeted the same spot.
Finally—
Thud.
His leg gave in, and he collapsed to the ground.
Surprised by his own fall, he forgot about me for a moment and moved his hands to get up.
But that was his mistake.
I delivered another kick after twisting my hip.
Smash.
Normally, you would strike with your shin, but I shifted my leg slightly and hit him with my ankle instead.
It would have injured me under normal circumstances.
But now—
"Arghh!"
The metal shackle smashed against his skull, sending him down again.
Thud.
I took my time as he lay on the floor and walked toward the sword he dropped, and picked it up.
He had already regained his bearings as I reached him.
While he was shifting in the sand, about to rise again—
Shing.
I aimed the sword at his throat.
Ending the match.