It was dark.
Step.
I had stopped in front of a gate.
The light from the corridor behind me cast a dim glow across it.
Thud.
The heavy metal doors groaned as they opened slowly. A flash of light spilled through the narrow slit, widening as the doors parted completely.
Step.
The boy beside me moved first, stepping forward before he walked toward one of the weapon racks near the entrance.
I waited for a moment, taking in the sight before me.
Haah.
With a slow breath, I lifted my leg and began to walk forward.
Step.
"29."
I stopped and turned my head toward the voice, looking over my shoulder.
A guard stood behind me.
His buttoned shirt was disheveled—half tucked into his leather trousers, the other half hanging loose. A sword rested at his belt. The pair of small horns protruding from his forehead, showed that he was a dragonkin.
His posture was relaxed.
One knee bent slightly, one hand resting casually at his waist.
His red eyes settled on me.
"John left a message for you."
I didn't answer.
Didn't nod.
I just stared at him.
Seeing that I was listening, he continued.
"Entertain the crowd. Make it slow."
I turned away as soon as he finished and continued walking.
"Hey, slave! Are you even listening?!"
I ignored his shout and headed toward the weapon rack. With slow steps, I walked along it, letting my hand brush across the hilts and shafts of various weapons.
The long shaft of a spear.
The heavy grip of a battle axe.
The familiar hilt of a short sword.
Even the leather-wrapped handle of a bow.
The weapons we could choose from had expanded by a lot.
My fingers brushed over the cold metal.
Step.
I only stopped when I felt the familiar worn-down leather grip of my sword.
With a quick motion, I tightened the leather binding around the grip before wrapping my fingers around it and pulling the sword free.
Shing.
The blade hummed faintly with the movement as if it were happy to be used again.
I lifted it slightly and cast a brief glance along its blade.
It wasn't razor sharp, but sharp enough to cut skin. Small cracks and nicks ran along its surface—proof of its frequent use.
A pair of deep blue eyes stared back at me from the reflection. The eyes, which had once been a pale blue, had regained some of their color again. But the dark circles beneath them remained.
After a moment, I turned the sword and placed it over my shoulder. Its weight pressed down on me—not heavy enough to burden, but enough to be felt.
I held the hilt of the sword near my chest, but there was still more than a meter that extended behind my shoulder.
A longsword.
Too heavy for a child to carry.
Too long for it to swing.
But that didn't matter to me.
With the sword in hand, I turned and made my way toward the center of the arena.
Step.
Sand sank beneath my feet, grains slipping between my toes.
I lifted my head.
The familiar sight of the arena greeted me.
A massive circle of sand—at least a hundred meters in diameter. Stone walls rose high at its border, circling it. They merged into rows upon rows of seats that stretched endlessly upward.
The structure would be called a historical site on Earth.
Here it was just—
A colosseum.
The stands were filled with people—men, women, children—dressed in vibrant colors that turned the crowd into a sea of shifting patterns. Their voices echoed across the arena as they placed their bets, talked about the upcoming matches, or discussed their favorites.
Above us, where a sun would normally shine, there was none. Instead, a field of lightstones were embedded in the ceiling, mimicking daylight.
They shone, casting their light across the entire arena.
Step.
I had already reached the center, and my gaze turned away from the arena and settled on the teen opposite me.
My opponent.
He wore the same black pants and shirt as I did. The only difference was the number stitched onto his chest.
[114]
The number felt strangely familiar.
Like a distant memory or dejavu.
But I dismissed the thought.
He held a spear with both hands, gripping it firmly. His trembling gaze drifted across the crowd before settling on me.
He was afraid.
Scared even.
Of whatever would happen next.
'There was nothing more to see.'
I turned my head toward the white platform.
Thud.
The metal door behind it opened and the same man stepped out as always.
The process never changed.
A slow, measured walk toward the podium. He adjusted the sleeves and buttons of his crimson suit with red-gloved hands as he walked.
After the suit came the mask. His hands reached for it, fixing the white mask—tilting it left and right, making sure his face was covered. Then, just as he finished adjusting his attire—
He reached the podium.
His gaze drifted across the crowd before lowering, looking down at us. He placed his right hand over his chest while his left shifted behind his back and bowed.
His voice followed.
"I greet our young lambs."
Straightening, he turned toward the crowd and spread his arms.
"I greet my dear guests."
"WOOO!"
"JOHN! JOHN!"
The crowd answered with a roar. But a single shift of his hand silenced them again.
He paused in that position for a moment, with his hand raised, before turning toward us again.
"My young lambs, today you have been chosen to perform the first fight of this season. It should be an honor. I hope you do not disappoint us."
A pause.
"The rules are already known. The warriors are ready. Let us not wait any longer."
He raised his arm high.
"Blood!"
Then dropped it.
The crowd answered, starting the fight.
"NO MERCY!"
My opponent shifted into stance immediately—feet shoulder-width apart, spear pointed forward, grip firm.
I watched as the teen positioned himself, sword still placed over my shoulder.
The guard's words rang again.
'Entertain the crowd.'
'Make it slow.'
They wanted me to play with him.
To give him time to deliver a few attacks.
To make it more exciting.
But—
No.
I wouldn't play their games.
Playing with someone's life just to satisfy an audience?
To entertain the crowd?
Not with me.
I had accepted the fact that I am nothing more than a slave.
That I am another man's property.
That I am entertainment.
But—
My grip tightened around the hilt.
I would not play with another's life.
That was one of the rules I had set for myself.
I lowered the sword from my shoulder and raised it into position. My feet shifted slightly in the sand as I readied myself.
I looked directly into his eyes.
My leg lifted.
Then—
Thud.
I pushed myself off the ground and toward the teen.
It was fast.
Not even a breath had passed.
Step.
And I was already in front of him.
Only a cloud of dust remained where I had stood.
My feet sank into the ground as I shifted my weight. I rolled my shoulder and lifted my sword, turning it into a swing.
Shing.
Metal cut through air.
The teen had good reflexes.
He reacted well to my attack, pushing his spear forward, tip aimed at my stomach. But this wasn't the first time I fought against a spear user.
No matter his next move.
I had already seen it.
The way his eyes shifted as I pressed forward.
How is jaw clenched.
The tightening of his grip around the shaft.
The twitch in his shoulder.
I saw it all.
He couldn't escape my enhanced vision.
My left arm dropped as soon as his shoulder twitched.
I swung at his spear.
Clang.
His spear clashed against the shackle on my wrist and bounced aside.
At the same time—
Shing.
I slashed diagonally, aiming right for his throat.
And—
I stopped.
The edge of my blade touched his skin, barely enough to draw blood, but not to kill. A thin red line appeared where sword met skin, and a single drop of blood slid along the blade and fell to the ground.
Drip.
The teen's eyes widened immediately.
Between my attack and his thrust.
Only a second had passed.
It must have been a shock.
Seeing death straight in the eye.
Because—
Thud.
His legs gave in, and he dropped to the ground.
My sword moved with him, tip still aimed at his throat.
I turned my head after he went down.
Toward the podium.
Toward the man in red.
John.
Our gazes locked.
Red met blue.
A few seconds passed while we just stared at each other.
Then—
The crowd erupted, cheering.
"WOOO!"
"So fast!"
"It was over in a flash!"
"Yeahh!"
John shifted on the podium, about to speak.
But—
"The Survivor!"
A chant began, silencing him.
"THE SURVIVOR!"
"THE SURVIVOR!"