Chapter 10 - Begin! Last fighter standing!

  Remo beamed with pride as the colosseum erupted into deafening cheers, the energy in the arena electric and the roar of the crowd reverberating off the towering stone walls. Turning from the spectacle, he locked eyes with Kenwick, who sat comfortably in an ornate chair at the forefront of the fighting grounds. Kenwick met his gaze with a satisfied smile, nodding in approval.

  Rising to his feet, Kenwick reached for a shimmering crystal, bringing it close to his throat. His voice boomed across the arena, magically amplified for all to hear.

  “I am honored to see so many of you gathered here today for this grand event!” He spread his arms wide, welcoming the cheers. “And to make things even more exciting, today’s champion will be given a choice of rewards. The first—a staggering three thousand gold coins! A sum worthy of any warrior!” Eager murmurs and whispers swept through the audience.

  “But,” Kenwick continued, pausing for dramatic effect, “for those seeking something truly special…” He gestured toward the attendants below.

  From the far end of the arena, an enormous metal gate groaned open, the grinding gears and heavy chains echoing ominously. Moments later, dozens of heavily armed guards marched forward, pushing a massive, reinforced cage on wheels. The sunlight glinted off the steel bars, but it was the creature inside that seized the crowd’s attention.

  A massive white wolf—her fur gleaming like freshly fallen snow—snarled and lunged at the bars, fangs bared in primal fury. Snow’s blue eyes blazed with defiance as she paced within the confines of her prison, testing every inch of the magical barrier encasing the cage. Gasps, cheers, and shouts of disbelief erupted from the crowd.

  “Look at the size of it!”

  “By the gods, how did they even capture that beast?”

  Yumiko clenched her fists, her heart pounding as she watched Snow thrash against the enchanted bars. The fighters assembled in the arena exchanged uneasy glances.

  “Who the hell would want that thing?” one muttered.

  “Think it can be trained?” another asked, eyeing the wolf skeptically.

  “Trained?” a third scoffed. “They’ve got it caged in steel and wrapped in magic! That thing ain’t a pet—it’s a monster.”

  Kenwick turned his attention to the fighters, his grin widening. “As you can see, this northern white wolf is truly one of a kind—a rare and ferocious prize for any who dare claim it.” He leaned back in his chair, amusement evident on his face. “The choice is yours, should you emerge victorious. Now, before we begin, Remo will go over the rules one last time—for the fighters and our eager audience.”

  Stepping forward, Remo projected his voice with authority. “The rules are simple! All weapons will be provided by the colosseum—no outside gear allowed. Potions are not permitted, and no extra weapons may be brought into the fight. Casted magic is allowed, but enchanted armor and tools are strictly forbidden—with one exception!”

  He turned dramatically, pointing toward Lukas, who stood silently in his cursed armor. “Our special fighter will be handicapped with Gelod’s armor! Now, I ask you, spectators—will this man endure, or will he crumble beneath its weight? How long will he stand?”

  The crowd buzzed with excitement as the betting pits erupted into chaos, coins clinking and hands exchanging slips of parchment filled with hastily scribbled wagers.

  “That armor grants strength and speed, right? He’s bound to win!” one spectator proclaimed.

  “You fool,” another retorted sharply. “That’s death row armor! They strap it on criminals and throw them into fights for entertainment. He might take down ten men—if he’s lucky—before it eats him alive.”

  Mary sat stiffly in the skybox, arms folded tightly across her chest as she cast a disgusted glance over the roaring crowd below. The frenzied excitement, the gambling, the thrill of watching others risk their lives made her stomach churn.

  “These people from Braint…” she muttered, her voice laced with disdain. “Gambling on human lives… it’s disgusting.”

  Beside her, Luchs leaned back in his seat, eyes fixed on the arena. “And yet, you profit from bounties, do you not?” His voice was calm, measured. “That small pendant on your shoulder—it’s from the Brotherhood of the Fallen, isn’t it? A group that makes its fortune through killing or capturing people.” He finally turned to glance at her. “Is that so different from what these people are doing?”

  Mary’s jaw tightened as she shot him a sharp glare. “You know nothing about the Brotherhood. It’s not what you think.”

  Luchs didn’t smirk as he normally would. Instead, his expression remained neutral, his tone carrying an unexpected weight. “Then perhaps you don’t know these people either, Mary Pearce.” He shifted his gaze back to the arena. “You call them filth, but for some, Braint is all they have. Maybe we’re here because we have nothing left to lose, or perhaps we’ve already lost too much and hope to gain more.” His voice dropped slightly, the usual teasing edge absent. “Some come here to risk it all for themselves… others do it for their loved ones.”

  Mary opened her mouth to reply but hesitated, the noise of the arena filling the silence between them, his words lingering in her mind like an echo. Below, Remo strutted across the stage, his voice booming over the crowd as he moved onto a small judging platform next to Kenwick.

  “This fight will continue until only one remains standing!” he declared, prompting the audience to roar in approval. “All fighters will begin at once—no teams, no alliances! Any fighter who collapses and remains down for more than five seconds will be removed by magic, and the same goes for the dead.” He grinned at the crowd's enthusiasm before continuing, “Anyone who steps out of bounds or is knocked off the stage will also be disqualified. Break any of these rules, and you will face disqualification.”

  He let the tension build for a moment, then raised his hands, commanding attention. “Now… are you ready?”

  A deafening cheer erupted from the stands, fighters pounding their fists together and some letting out battle cries of anticipation.

  “Then take your positions!”

  From the stage, Yumiko felt her heart pound in her chest, the din of the crowd, the weight of the mask on her face, and the thick tension in the air pressing down on her like a heavy shroud. As the other contestants spread out, she tightened her grip on her wooden staff, forcing herself to take a deep breath.

  Calm down. Focus.

  Shuffling toward the edge of the stage, she kept her distance from the larger clusters of fighters. But her eyes instinctively drifted toward the center—toward Lukas.

  She expected to see him seething with anger, his face twisted in fury at Snow’s imprisonment. Instead, she found something else entirely. He stood still, his posture relaxed yet exuding an undeniable presence. His blue eyes were locked onto Snow’s cage, but there was no rage, no reckless emotion. Instead, a far sharper and stronger essence radiated from him—raw focus. Every ounce of his being was trained on what lay ahead, untouched by the chaos around him. The crowd, the danger, the cursed armor weighing heavily on his body—none of it seemed to matter.

  Yumiko’s stomach flipped, her pulse quickening.

  Why… Why is my chest feeling so tight?

  She swallowed hard, forcing herself to look away, pressing a hand over her racing heart as she steadied her breathing.

  “Don’t get nervous,” she whispered under her breath. But as she risked one last glance at Lukas, the strange sensation returned, creeping up her spine and settling in her stomach like an unfamiliar warmth.

  Then—

  “Fighters! Begin!”

  Remo’s voice sliced through her trance like a blade.

  With a thunderous roar, the battle erupted. Fighters lunged at one another, weapons clashing and bodies colliding, transforming the arena into a chaotic frenzy of movement, shouts, and the pounding of feet.

  The moment the fight began, a man behind Yumiko swung his mace at her head. Instincts screamed within her, and she ducked just in time. In a swift counter, she drove the end of her wooden staff into the back of his skull, the sharp crack echoing in her ears. His eyes rolled upward, and before she could follow up, his unconscious body was whisked away from the stage by magic.

  “Fighter 261 has instantly eliminated Fighter 39!” Remo bellowed, his excitement igniting the already roaring crowd.

  Yumiko barely had time to register the elimination before more opponents closed in, several men sizing her up and assuming her smaller frame made her easy prey. One lunged at her with a short sword, while another, wielding a heavy axe, aimed for her back.

  She reacted instantly. With a quick sidestep, the swordsman’s blade missed her and carved into the man with the axe instead. His weapon clattered to the floor as he let out a pained grunt, and before he could recover, his body flickered out, teleporting from the arena.

  Seizing the opening, Yumiko drove her staff straight into the swordsman’s face. He stumbled backward, flailing—one misstep sent him toppling off the arena, landing hard in the dirt below.

  He barely had time to curse before another combatant charged at her from behind, arms outstretched to shove her aside. But Yumiko felt him coming, sensing the shift in the air and the weight of his footsteps. Reacting without looking, she dove aside just as he barreled past her, unable to stop himself before he hurtled over the edge. His body crashed down onto the swordsman below, kicking up a cloud of dust as they both groaned in pain.

  The crowd erupted.

  “Look at that! We got one of those ninjas!” someone shouted.

  “What the hell’s a ninja?”

  “A warrior from the East—fast, deadly! And look at her armor!”

  Up in the skybox, Mary shot up from her seat, gripping the handrails as she stared down in disbelief.

  That’s Yumiko! she thought, her heart racing. She had suspected it, but seeing it confirmed made her stomach churn. What the hell is she doing?

  Beside her, Luchs studied her reaction with amusement. “Something the matter?” he asked, lacing his fingers together in his lap.

  Mary hesitated, then forced a smirk. “N-no… I’m just impressed.”

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  Luchs chuckled, his gaze drifting back to the masked fighter below. “Yes, that little one is quite the spectacle.” He leaned back, watching with keen interest. “It’s a shame your friend Yumiko isn’t here to witness this. A warrior from her nation competing here? Quite the rarity.”

  Mary clenched her fists, struggling to keep her expression neutral, hiding the fact that she knew it was Yumiko. “Indeed…”

  Meanwhile, across the stage, Lukas moved like a force of nature.

  He wove between opponents with effortless grace, his body thrumming with raw power. Each fighter he faced appeared slow—sluggish—as if time had bent in his favor. His sword struck like lightning, cutting down man after man, each falling in quick succession.

  By his seventh opponent, he abandoned the blade altogether, delivering a brutal punch into the man’s jaw. A tooth spun through the air as the fighter’s limp body slammed to the floor, instantly disqualified.

  Then, Lukas turned and faced something new.

  A hulking figure loomed before him, gripping a massive shield in one hand and a small throwing axe in the other. Unlike the others, this man stood firm, unshaken by the carnage around him.

  Quickly, the large man twisted his arm back and hurled his axe at Lukas. The axe spun through the air, its sharp edge glinting in the sunlight. Lukas barely had time to register the threat before instinct took over. He ducked, feeling the rush of wind as the axe sailed past him—only to hear a thud behind him. A choked cry followed as an unfortunate fighter was struck in the back by the axe, vanishing from the stage in defeat.

  Lukas snapped his gaze back to his true opponent—the towering man with the shield. Without hesitation, he surged forward, gripping his sword tightly. He swung down with brutal force, the blade crashing against the shield. The shield-bearer barely had time to raise his guard before the impact shattered the wooden defense like brittle glass, sending the man staggering backward, arms flailing.

  Another fighter, seizing the opportunity presented by Lukas's exposed side, lunged at him with a spear. But Lukas was faster. He sidestepped just as the man’s momentum carried him too far forward. In one fluid motion, Lukas grabbed the back of the man's head and drove it down with bone-crushing force—slamming it straight into the fallen shield-bearer’s skull. A sickening crack echoed through the arena.

  Both men collapsed instantly, their unconscious bodies flickering out of the arena. The crowd erupted into frenzied cheers, a cacophony of shouts and applause that echoed through the stands.

  Lukas exhaled, barely taking a moment to recover—until he sensed a shift in the atmosphere around him. He straightened, his sharp blue eyes scanning the arena.

  Ten men had formed a tight circle around him, their faces betraying a mix of unease and determination as they gripped their weapons, each waiting for the first move.

  It was illegal to gang up on a single competitor, but that didn’t seem to matter. They were united in their intent: they wanted him out.

  From the announcer’s booth, Remo stiffened at the sight. He hesitated before turning to Kenwick, who sat above him, watching the scene unfold with a wicked grin.

  “Sir… do you see this?” Remo asked cautiously, his voice laced with concern.

  Kenwick chuckled, resting his chin on his hand. “Oh, I do indeed.” His grin widened. “It seems they intend to take down our golden-haired friend all at once.”

  Remo swallowed hard. “Should I intervene? Disqualify them?”

  Kenwick waved a dismissive hand, a glimmer of amusement dancing in his eyes. “No! Listen to the crowd!” He gestured toward the stands, where the audience roared with excitement, chanting for blood. “They love him! This is what they came to see! Besides…” His eyes darkened with a cruel delight. “I want to see the desperation in his eyes when he realizes he won’t get his precious beast back. It will be delicious.”

  He leaned forward, framing Lukas between his fingers like a work of art, savoring the anticipation of the unfolding drama. “He is the star of the show. I’m glad I allowed him into this fight after all! I would love for him to partake in future events.”

  Remo cleared his throat, uncertainty creeping into his voice. “Yes… But that won’t be the case… right? Because of the armor, I mean.”

  Kenwick’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a knowing gaze. He understood the cursed metal's toll all too well. He had seen it before—fighters who started strong, burning bright like comets before their bodies crumbled beneath the weight of their own power. Most never left the arena alive; the few who did were never the same. Lukas would be no exception—a one-time performance, a spectacle to be savored before the inevitable collapse.

  As his gaze drifted across the battlefield, it settled on another competitor—one far smaller, yet no less dangerous.

  “The Ninja, they call her,” he mused, watching as the masked fighter effortlessly dismantled men twice her size with nothing but a wooden staff. His smile twitched, intrigued by the unfolding chaos.

  Kenwick smiled, “Perhaps, once the golden-haired fool is finished, she can take his place.”

  She moved like a wildfire—quick, unpredictable, untamed. More importantly, she was still standing. The Gelod armor would devour Lukas soon enough. When that happened, Kenwick would need a new piece for the board. Yes, if Lukas fell, this ‘Ninja’ would be next for his upcoming event.

  Back in the arena, one of the men from the encircled group roared as he charged at Lukas, his sword arcing down with deadly intent. Lukas met him head-on, their blades colliding with a shower of sparks that lit up the air.

  The clash triggered the other men into action. The circle collapsed inward, their intent clear.

  With a sharp kick, Lukas sent his attacker stumbling backward, crashing into another fighter. The two tumbled into the chaos, where surrounding competitors quickly turned on them, joining the frenzy.

  Another opponent lunged—a man wielding a heavy sword. Lukas pivoted, striking with the back of his blade, cracking against the man’s temple. The fighter went limp, teleporting off the stage before he even hit the ground. But the onslaught wasn’t over; four more competitors surged forward.

  Lukas moved like a phantom, weaving effortlessly through their strikes, his blade flashing in the sunlight. A quick slash to the leg sent one tumbling out of bounds, his foot slipping past the edge before he vanished. Another swung wildly; Lukas ducked, countering with a sharp strike to the ribs that left the man gasping and stumbling backward, only to be finished off by yet another competitor.

  One by one, they fell, until only two remained.

  The last two fighters hesitated, locking eyes before nodding, a silent agreement passing between them.

  The nearest fighter lunged at Lukas, his sword glinting dangerously in the sunlight above. Lukas reacted in an instant, slamming his own blade down, pinning the man’s weapon to the ground with sheer force.

  Before the swordsman could comprehend what had happened, the second attacker screamed in from the side, wielding a heavy mace.

  Panic flashed in the swordsman’s eyes. His grip on the hilt faltered, and in a desperate bid for survival, he abandoned his weapon entirely, trying to escape.

  Lukas moved just as quickly. He released his own sword, seizing the swordsman by the collar, yanking him forward in one fluid motion.

  The man barely had time to cry out before Lukas spun him around—just in time for the incoming mace to crash into his chest, the impact resonating like a thunderclap.

  A sickening crack echoed across the arena. The swordsman coughed violently, blood splattering from his lips as his ribs caved under the force of the blow.

  The attacker’s eyes widened in horror. “I—I didn’t mean to—”

  Before he could finish, Lukas shoved the wounded man aside and drove his fist into the mace-wielder’s face. The brutal punch sent the attacker sprawling, unconscious just as he hit the ground.

  The crowd erupted. Cheers and shouts filled the air as Lukas calmly bent down, reclaiming his sword.

  But as his fingers curled around the hilt, he noticed something—his hands were trembling.

  Just like when he used magic.

  A deep, aching soreness spread through his body, his limbs growing heavier with each breath.

  “I can hold out…” Lukas told himself, swallowing back the pain. “If I just don’t use magic, maybe—maybe the disease won’t get in the wa—”

  His body lurched. His stomach twisted violently. Before he could stop it, a fresh wave of agony tore through him. He doubled over, coughing hard—then vomited blood onto the stone floor.

  Gasps rippled through the stands.

  “Lukas!” Mary shot up from her seat, her voice laced with worry as she watched him struggle to push himself upright.

  Lukas wiped the blood from his mouth, forcing himself to stand. His vision blurred at the edges, but he managed to glance at the arena board. Half the fighters still remained.

  “Shit…” he muttered, the suffocating weight of the armor pressing down on him. I need to make this quick.

  Before he could regain his bearings, something huge flew toward him—three bodies.

  They came crashing down like discarded dolls, forcing Lukas to roll out of the way. The fighters groaned, barely conscious from whatever had tossed them aside. Instantly, all three men teleported out of the arena.

  Lukas looked up.

  Striding toward him with a grin was Benny the Boulder—the reigning champion, the same giant who had tried to pick a fight with him in the locker room.

  The red-haired giant stood tall, brushing his damp bangs from his face. His sheer size was almost unnatural—his muscles bulging beneath his armor, making him look more monster than man.

  He grinned down at Lukas, his voice filled with amusement.

  "I lost you earlier 'cause of these damn chumps that keep getting in the way," he said, rolling his shoulders.

  One of the remaining fighters seized the opportunity, lunging at Benny with his sword raised. But Benny didn’t even glance his way. In a single, effortless motion, he caught the man’s face in his massive hand and hoisted him off the ground like a light sack.

  The man choked, dropping his weapon, his fingers desperately clawing at Benny’s wrist as he was hoisted up.

  The champion simply grinned. "Like rats," he muttered, watching the poor man struggle. “They scurry around, getting in the way, all while trying to take something that doesn’t belong to them.”

  The crowd booed—furious at Benny’s cruelty. But he didn’t care. With a flick of his arm, he hurled the fighter clear off the stage.

  The audience switched instantly, cheers returning as Benny played up the theatrics, spreading his arms wide like a victorious gladiator.

  Then, he turned back to Lukas, his grin widening, "You're next," he said, cracking his knuckles.

  Lukas squared his stance, but his breathing was ragged now. Sweat dripped down his face, and he could feel the toll of the armor pressing against him like a vice.

  Benny noticed. "What's the matter?" he taunted, eyes gleaming with amusement. "That fancy armor catching up to you?"

  Lukas clenched his fist, his fingers still trembling slightly around his blade.

  Across the arena, another battle raged. Yumiko stood firm against her own opponent.

  Unlike the others, this fighter wasn’t using swords or maces—just his bare fists. Thick brass knuckles gleamed as he weaved through Yumiko’s strikes.

  Yumiko circled her opponent, light on her feet, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. For a full minute, they danced around each other—him lunging, her slipping just beyond reach, testing his reactions.

  Then, she saw her opening. Without warning, she dropped her wooden staff.

  The move caught the man completely off guard. His eyes flickered down in confusion—just for a fraction of a second, but it was all she needed.

  Yumiko twisted her body with precision, pivoting on her heel as she drove her palm into his jaw with brutal force. The man’s head snapped back, his body followed.

  He hit the ground hard, his brass knuckles clattering against the stone floor. Before he could even groan in pain, a magical force whisked his unconscious form away, teleporting him out of the arena.

  The crowd erupted. Cheers and shouts filled the air, the audience buzzing with excitement at the clean, effortless takedown.

  But Yumiko barely noticed. Her eyes darted across the battlefield, scanning for Lukas.

  Where is he?

  She had to help him—without blowing her cover. If she made it obvious, if anyone suspected her real identity, Lukas could be disqualified. And if that happened… he would lose his only chance to save Snow.

  Before she could continue processing the fight, a flicker of motion was caught in her peripheral vision.

  Yumiko instinctively dodged as a body came hurtling toward her, crashing into the ground where she had stood a moment earlier.

  She turned sharply—just in time to see Benny the Boulder making his way to Lukas. She watched as Lukas knelt on the ground. A small puddle of vomit, mixed with blood, glistened before him.

  Yumiko’s stomach dropped, Her mind flashed back to her dreams—visions of Lukas sprawled out on the arena floor, bathed in blood, unmoving.

  “No! It’s already starting!” she yelled, panic rising in her chest.