John's voice broke through the crowd, silencing them as he spoke.
"A great performance from number 29! He had overwhelmed his opponent in a matter of seconds. What a great start for the evening."
The crowd hadn't noticed it.
But I had.
The sarcasm in his words.
He looked straight at me while speaking, and I could clearly tell he was angry.
Or maybe just annoyed.
He had given me an order through the guards. And I had ignored it. Instead of slow, I ended the fight in seconds.
There was one thing I had understood during my stay here.
John.
He hated it when things didn't go as planned.
There was likely some kind of plan or script he created for every fight. And when something ruined that plan…
He didn't take it well.
But at the same time, I understood something else.
The crowd could be your enemy.
Or your ally.
Just like Breaker had once said.
They will either protect you—or push you down.
That was the only reason I could lash out sometimes without getting punished. As long as the crowd liked me, John had to sit still. And even though I didn't entertain them the way he probably wanted…
They still liked me.
Maybe because I survived the first Blooding. Or maybe because they somehow found my style appealing.
They wanted attention.
But I refused to give it to them.
And that only made them crave it even more.
That was my guess.
"Dear guests, as you are all familiar with the procedure…"
John's voice broke me out of my thoughts.
"I ask you to decide the fate of number 114."
He paused.
"Is it Blood… or Mercy?"
The crowd answered, breaking into shouts.
"BLOOD!"
"Kill him!"
"We don't need the weak!"
Almost no hands were raised.
The meaning was clear.
Death.
Sighing, I waited for John's command. After already disobeying him once, there was no reason to make him even angrier.
John waited a moment before speaking again.
"Death it is."
He gave a small nod.
"Kill him."
I turned back toward the teen and looked directly into the boy's eyes.
His pupils trembled, and his whole body shook.
A familiar sight.
That was normal.
Hearing your own death sentence decided right in front of you…wasn't pleasant.
Seeing the fear in his eyes, I ended it clean and fast.
Shuk.
The tip of my sword pierced straight into his heart.
Cough.
The boy coughed once, blood coloring his lips and throat red.
Slrrt.
I pulled the sword free and watched as the light slowly faded from his eyes.
He shouldn't have felt anything.
Step.
I turned away from his body and swung my sword to the side.
Shing.
A thin red line sprayed across the sand.
Then I placed the now clean sword over my shoulder and headed toward the gate.
Step.
Lost in my thoughts about the boy's final moments, I barely heard the crowd chanting.
Step.
I reached the weapon stand and placed my sword back in its place before turning toward the gate.
It was already open, metal doors leaning against the walls.
Step.
I walked straight out, passing the guards who waited near the entrance. As I passed the guard who had brought me here, I heard him mutter under his breath.
"You were supposed to entertain… damn it."
I ignored him and headed straight back toward my cell.
Step.
My footsteps echoed through the corridor, followed by the ones from the guard behind me.
Step.
I stopped next to the door as we reached the cell, waiting for the guard to open it.
Click.
The familiar smell of sweat and stone greeted me as I entered.
Thud.
The door closed behind me, and the guard left.
I walked to the table and grabbed some bread and meat from the crate before heading toward my bed.
The other teens in my cell had gathered near one of the beds close to the entrance. Some sat on chairs they had dragged over. Others sat on the bed.
My entrance silenced their conversation for a moment.
They turned their heads and glanced at me.
Then they went back to talking.
"See? They called him to fight today."
"Yeah. I told you they wouldn't leave him alone."
"But still… he didn't even participate in one of the Rounds of Hell."
"Fucking bastard."
"Must've done something for the guards."
They thought I couldn't hear them.
But I could.
Their whispers behind my back had been going on for a while now. I had ignored them until now, since they wouldn't stay long.
Step.
My steps halted as I reached my bed, and I cast a glance toward the one opposite mine.
There, on the upper bed, curled up and sleeping, was my last cellmate.
The only girl among us eight boys.
Her number was 116.
I turned away from her and climbed up.
The bed was still hard, as I sat down, but time had softened the straw enough not to sting.
Haah.
A breath left me before I turned around. Toward the wall. I raised my hand and bit down on my finger.
Blood filled my mouth.
I stopped and leaned forward, hand reaching for the wall, and added another number.
[114]
The number shone, crimson on grey.
My hand lowered as I leaned back, eyes gazing at the wall.
It had once been grey.
But over time, as more numbers were added…
The grey had almost disappeared beneath red and brown lines.
Yes.
Brown.
The blood had dried over time and turned more brown than red.
Staring at the wall of numbers, I asked myself.
'How many more must I add before I leave this place?'
I lifted my hand and brushed it across the surface.
The stone was rough and old. Small pieces of stone broke loose and fell onto my bed like grey snow.
I hadn't even dared to count how many numbers were written there.
There was no point.
Because I had the feeling…
That many more would follow soon.
While brushing my palm across the rough stone, I remembered something the guards had mentioned earlier.
They had talked about the news or something. But that wasn't the important part. There was one line in their conversation that stuck in my mind.
The date.
Today is the 24th of Lunar.
Which means...
Today is my birthday.
One full year had passed since I arrived here. It seemed fast and slow at the same time.
Time felt strange in this place.
There were no clocks or watches. And no sun or moon. I didn't even know if it was day or night. Let alone the date.
Sometimes it felt like only a few months had passed. Other times it felt like years.
Training.
Fighting.
Sleeping.
And training again.
That was life here.
This was how the days passed in this place.
There was no rest.
No pause.
Day after day.
It was always the same.
I already knew that time had passed.
I would be stupid if I didn't.
New batches of teens had arrived. And we had gone through the Rounds of Hell again and again.
They called it Blooding.
An event where teens fought to the death against each other. The one I participated in at the beginning was the first time they had ever held the event.
Now…
This was the fifth.
Five Rounds of Hell.
Five seasons of Blooding.
Five new batches of teens.
And every single one of them who entered this colosseum…
Had died.
All of them.
All—
Except me.
I was the only survivor.
Luck had saved me too many times to keep count.
Or…
Should I even call it luck?
Wasn't it closer to misfortune to survive in a place like this?
This new season of Blooding had started a few weeks ago. I had been surprised when they hadn't called me for a single fight.
This had never happened.
They always forced me to participate in the Rounds of Hell.
And suddenly...
They didn't.
I remained in my cell while the others had to fight death matches where only one survived. That alone had turned the other teens against me.
Jealousy.
I understood how they felt.
Maybe I would've felt the same. But I had already survived four Rounds of Hell.
A little bit of rest was good.
It felt strange at first.
But I needed it.
A break.
The constant battles and training slowly wore my body down. It was exhausting. And that wasn't even the worst part.
The worst part was the psychological strain.
The nightmares.
They plagued me since I arrived here.
They had never stopped.
Not even once.
Every single night.
Whenever I closed my eyes…
I went through hell once more.
Not even sleep offered me rest.
My body was slowly breaking, bordering on collapse.
Then—
They let me rest.
A few weeks.
That time was enough to stop myself from falling apart. But that rest ended today.
From now on—
The duels would begin.
I pulled my hand back, letting it fall to my side before—
Thud.
I dropped onto my bed.
Staring at the ceiling, I thought back to the reason why I had survived all this time.
I had said that it was luck.
But there was more behind it.
In the beginning…
I held on because of her.
Lisa.
The promise I made with her.
To survive until tomorrow.
If I wanted to find her—
I had to stay alive.
To survive.
And get out of here.
But honestly…
That promise alone wasn't what kept me alive.
Turning my head slightly, I looked at the wall beside me. At the countless numbers written there.
The real reason that had kept me alive all this time wasn't the promise.
It was revenge.
I had accepted my own death long ago.
But I couldn't die.
Not yet.
Not before I had paid all these bastards back.
Not while they continued living their lives as if they hadn't destroyed mine.
John.
The man who turned my suffering into entertainment.
The slavers from the ship.
I experienced hell because of them.
The slavers from Elandor.
I still felt pain when I thought about them.
The Empire.
A trial that was nothing more than a staged performance.
Selene.
The one who made me a slave.
Anton.
It was his order that sent me to Drakoria.
Favian.
The two-faced bastard who started it all.
Revenge.
That burning desire kept me alive.
And one day…
I will get mine.