Two Days Later
Alfonso sat in his corner, knees drawn up, resting his head on his shoulders, chewing something gum-like with fascination as he stared at the ground.
He had come up with many plans to escape this cell using the knowledge he had acquired from the Black Book. But none were of any use without the necessary components, and he still lacked the most crucial one—the ritual catalyst.
Helpless, he began thinking through every possible solution, but it was futile.
"The book mentioned that every ritual requires a catalyst or a specific medium," Alfonso thought deeply.
"...But there were some hints about the possibility of bypassing that..."
"If the user is linked directly to the ritual," he pondered, trying to find a loophole.
Suddenly, the door opened, allowing a bald, charred-looking man to enter. Without any introductions, he walked directly toward Alfonso.
"...Ah," Alfonso tried to start a friendly conversation, attempting to appear submissive to the guard's authority—
"Ggkh!" But the guard's kick was faster, hitting his face and throwing Alfonso to the ground dramatically.
'This bastard loves kicking like a mule,' Alfonso thought. He could've dodged the kick, but that would have made things worse.
Behind the guard came his scruffy-haired partner, who approached holding magical shackles and placed them around Alfonso's wrists.
"Alright, strong boy. As punishment for coldly killing one of our comrades," said the bald one as he leaned in, grabbing Alfonso by the hair and lifting his head, "we'll send you to apologize in the afterlife."
He then dragged Alfonso by a chain attached to the shackles and led him outside. Alfonso walked without resistance as they proceeded down a narrow corridor lit by torches. Every few meters, a door led to a cell.
After some time, they reached a wide junction. In the center was a large, dim hall exuding a sense of dread.
"Ah, do you like it? That's the place you'll be visiting soon... once you're turned into mush," the bald guard sneered with a bit of irritation in his voice.
It was clearly a morgue. They kept walking. Eventually, in front of a massive gate, the guards stopped, unshackled Alfonso, and gestured for him to move forward.
At the gate's side, there was a rack of rusted weapons—some pitch black. Alfonso chose a black sword.
Then, he stood before the door as it began to rise, allowing red-orange light to pour through.
Alfonso stepped forward, without a choice.
"Kkh kh kh," he coughed as he inhaled the metallic, ashy volcanic air.
His eyes turned to the bloody sun in the sky. In front of him lay a vast arena, large enough to fit seven football fields, its surface white dirt surrounded by a black path filled with spectators.
He slowly made his way to the center of the arena.
"Haaah, another day, another boring show," sighed a fat man with long hair who looked to be in his thirties.
"I don't know, honestly. The fighter today seems to have decent stamina. Maybe he's worth betting on," replied a pale-skinned man with short hair and yellow eyes that briefly gleamed.
"Heh... don't be a fool. No matter how fit he looks..." the fat man leaned forward, studying Alfonso. "...Yeah, good stamina, but bad luck. He's up against Azul." He leaned back again. "Just another execution today."
"You've watched this kid's matches before?" a voice came from behind the two. They turned.
"So, what do you think, Wallace? Is he worth betting on?" asked the fat man.
"...He's smart. Relies on ranged attacks and targets vital points... But against Azul, that's pointless," Wallace replied confidently.
"Hohoho! Well, gentlemen, I'll take the risk and bet everything I've brought!" the yellow-eyed man declared cheerfully.
"..." The fat man and Wallace fell silent and turned their gaze to the arena, realizing that Zealot had a reason he wasn't revealing.
Inside the arena, Alfonso looked left and right as if searching for something.
"No possible chance of escape," Alfonso thought. He knew escaping without returning to the knowledge of the Black Book would take months or years of planning.
"Krrrrrk..." A grinding sound echoed as a gate adorned with steel creaked open on the opposite side of the arena, revealing a shadow nearly two meters tall. The figure stepped forward—
The pressure from the footfall pushed the air aside, and with equal force, the rest of the body followed. A tall man with long hair and a lithe build emerged, wielding a massive black hammer veined with white strands like arteries. The hilt was black.
Its size alone made one question the strength needed to wield it. Without a word, the man advanced with confidence.
"Azul! Azul!" The crowd's roar fell onto the arena like thunder.
"...!?" Alfonso covered his ears from the sheer volume as he studied the man before him.
"Haaah," Alfonso sighed and moved slowly toward Azul, examining every inch of his body.
'…His genitals are covered with a tin skirt,' Alfonso thought keenly. 'His chest is bare... Haaah, but in the end, he still has eyes and a carotid artery… and of course, a hammer that could turn me to paste.' Alfonso sighed inwardly. His chances of victory today didn't look high.
He turned his gaze toward the bloody sun.
"I don't know what or who brought me to this world... but I'm grateful with all my heart. Even if I'm butchered, flayed, or turned to mush—I'm grateful," Alfonso declared, then turned again toward Azul.
"At the very least, this will be a heroic end worth remembering."
With a sincere smile and growing passion, Alfonso charged toward Azul.
Love. This is love.
Putting your life on the line for power—for dominance, for supremacy—this is love for Alfonso.
Victory or death.
There is no place for losing or losers in this world . This is the law of strength.