I stepped out into the arena, sweat already trailing down my brow, neck, and spine. The sunlight bore down like punishment, and though Kushim's gift—this armor—would massively improve my chances of not dying, I still wished it wasn't so heavy. Or so damn hot.
My eyes scanned the crowd. It took a moment for them to adjust to the light. What struck me as strange was how many people stood there—unarmed, unarmored, just… waiting. I didn't understand. Was this the challenge?
I shifted the weight of my blade on my shoulder, where it rested comfortably, if not naturally. My thoughts drifted, clouded by discomfort and confusion. Then—thunk—a small jolt hit the side of my head.
I blinked, slowly turning to see where it came from. One of the people had thrown a stone. I stared at him for a moment, unsure whether it was meant as an attack or a test.
Another hit struck me—not hard, but firm enough to make my head jerk forward slightly. Someone else had thrown something too.
I moved toward them, stride long and confident. Somewhere beneath the armor, beneath the tension, I realized I was performing. A showman at heart, maybe. The crowd wanted blood—but not just any blood. They wanted spectacle.
My eyes locked on a woman near the front. She looked frightened, trembling. I assumed she was the one who'd thrown the rock.
I raised my hand, palm open, trying to gesture something calming—maybe even merciful.
She screamed and charged me.
There was no hesitation. No panic. Just motion.
In one fluid, practiced sweep—something I'd done a thousand times—I readied my blade and swung.
Her head hit the ground before her body finished the charge.
The next few who rushed at me seemed to have known her. They screamed her name, and their tears were already falling before they even raised their fists.
Grief made them reckless. I didn't want to hurt them, but they gave me no choice.
One by one, they charged.
And one by one, I struck them down.
It didn't take much.
I didn't feel good about it—none of it felt right. This wasn't a fight. It was a slaughter. And worse, I had tried to defuse it. I'd offered a chance as I felt there was a gimmick to this fight but they chose death anyway.
And if this was all going to end in blood, then I might as well give the crowd a show.
The rest of the prisoners had learned. They didn't rush. Smarter—unfortunately or maybe fortunately as I could still get tired from the rush of activity. The crowd grew quiet, but not the kind of silence born of awe. This was boredom.
I focused on a small group across the arena. They looked like they were planning something. Then, the crowd's murmurs shifted—pulled toward the announcer's voice.
Something had changed. Both out side and inside, i felt something off with the atmosphere.
I didn't realize what until the other prisoners began fleeing from the sides of the arena.
Looking left, I saw it—a kobold. Larger now, its coloration slightly different. But it was the same one. That twisted posture, that strange flicker of intelligence in its eyes. It left one of the side doors.
Then I looked right—and raised an eyebrow. The goblin. The same as the kobolt just opposite.
Even after all this time, I recognized it. I could've sworn I'd killed it—more than once—but somehow, it was still alive. Or maybe it had become something else.
It stood at my height now, its once wiry frame packed with thick muscle. Greying hair hung wild around its twisted face, and its jagged grin stretched ear to ear—dripping with blood and viscera.
I was too focused on the goblin to notice the kobold rushing me.
Its jaws clamped down on my arm, dragging me toward the ground. I didn't feel the pain—not yet—but I saw the blur of motion, felt the sudden shift in my balance as the sky tilted overhead.
Gritting my teeth, I slammed my fist into its snout. The impact snapped its head back and forced it to release me.
I staggered a step, steadying myself. Glancing at the arm it had bitten, I noted the armor had held—the steel dented, but intact. Deep grooves marked where its teeth had tried to pierce through.
I looked back at the creature. I would've loved to use my greatsword, but it wasn't the right tool for this.It had no tip for a proper thrust, and my hammer would be dulled by that thick, furred hide—blunting any real impact.