He glanced at Vaern.
That was soft treatment?
Vaern just stood there — arms crossed, eyes fixed on the gate — and didn't look like he was about to say "Just kidding" anytime soon.
Then he spoke.
"Why do you think this place is called a dungeon?"
Riven blinked. "Because it's underground?"
Vaern gave him a look.
"No."
A pause.
"Because it used to be a prison."
He grinned — not wide, but sharp.
"And still is."
Riven's stomach tensed.
He had a bad feeling about this.
Vaern tapped the gate with a clawed finger. "From now on, no more sparring partners. No more volunteers or servants."
He nodded toward the darkness beyond the bars.
"You'll fight criminals."
Riven's fingers curled slightly at his side.
"They'll aim to kill," Vaern went on. "No hesitation. No mercy. So you better be ready. You said you want to be strong? You want to succeed at the trial?"
He looked at him, deadly serious.
"Then learn what it means to fight like your life's on the line. Because it will be."
Riven didn't answer right away.
His gaze drifted down.
To his side.
To the space where his right arm should've been.
You think I haven't had life-or-death experiences before?
Either way — if this gave him a better shot at the Newcomers' Trial, he'd take it.
He had to.
He needed to reach Verdance.
He needed a map.
He needed to find his way back.
Skrrr.
The gate opened with a low, grinding groan.
Vaern stepped through first, then beckoned him forward.
Riven followed.
They didn't enter another training ring.
This time, it was a corridor — narrow, cold, lined with rusted iron bars on either side.
Cells.
Some were empty. Others weren't.
Figures lay or sat inside — bound, scarred, sleeping. Breathing.
But not resting.
Vaern stopped in front of a cell on the right.
Inside, a thin man sat in the back corner. Slouched. Still.
Chains dangled from his wrists, and a blindfold sat loose around his neck like it had been forgotten.
"A rogue cultivator," Vaern said simply. "Killed four disciples. Two civilians. Took their hearts, probably ate some of them."
Riven's stomach turned.
The man moved.
Lifted his head. Slowly.
Eyes locking onto them from the dark — sharp, yellowed. Not beastkin. Just broken.
He grinned, teeth bloodstained.
"Visitors?"
Vaern didn't reply.
He just reached into his coat, pulled out a heavy brass key, and unlocked the door with a click.
Then, without ceremony, he shoved Riven inside.
The door clanged shut behind him.
"No qi," Vaern called through the bars. "He can't use it either."
Riven turned sharply. "Wait, what—?"
But the man was already rising to his feet.
Tall. Lean. Muscles like rope pulled too tight.
One eye twitched as he cracked his neck to the side.
"Heh," the man muttered. "He must really want you dead, throwing you in here with me."
He rolled his shoulders.
"Or maybe you pissed him off."
His smile widened.
"I like when they beg. Do you beg, kid?"
Riven didn't answer.
He shifted his weight. Dropped into stance. His heart was loud, but his feet stayed grounded.
The man cackled.
"Oh good," he said, stepping forward.
"Then scream instead."
And then he lunged.
The man came fast.
Not flashy. Not elegant.
Just raw, brutal motion — the kind that came from someone who'd fought without rules for years.
Riven barely dodged the first strike.
A looping hook meant to take his head off.
He stepped back — only to catch a sharp elbow to the ribs.
Pain shot through his side.
The man was already laughing.
"Only one arm?" he spat. "What's a cripple doing here?"
Riven gritted his teeth and snapped a low kick forward — aiming for the shin.
It didn't land. The man simply sidestepped as if having known about the kick beforehand.
Then he surged in again, fists flying.
Riven blocked one. Sidestepped another. But he was getting pushed back. Fast.
Each blow came harder than the last.
More than once, the man faked left, then swung right — where Riven couldn't guard properly.
He saw the pattern. Knew what the man was doing.
But knowing wasn't enough.
Not yet.
He stumbled as a punch grazed his temple.
Another hit slammed into his chest, knocking the breath from his lungs.
He staggered — feet scraping the stone.
His eyes flicked toward the bars.
Vaern stood there.
Unmoving.
Arms crossed.
Expression blank.
Riven's lips parted.
Help—
But nothing came out.
Vaern didn't move.
Didn't blink.
It hit Riven, cold and sharp.
He's not going to help me.
I have to deal with this myself.
But also.
I practiced for this.
The criminal lunged again, just as Rivens mind cleared up.
Riven dropped low, just barely ducking the blow — but still caught a knee to the shoulder.
He fell back. Skidded.
His side burned. His ribs ached.
His vision blurred, just slightly.
"Come on, cripple," the man jeered. "Fight back already."
Riven rose. Slowly.
Wiped blood from his lip.
This is just another fight.
Just another fight.
His stance narrowed. He focused his breath.
How the hell is this malnourished freak so fast?
Riven thought, tightening his guard.
But there wasn't time to think harder.
The man feinted high—
Then went low.
Again to the right.
Always the right.
Riven turned with the hit — just enough to absorb the blow — and used the momentum to kick out with his left leg.
It grazed the man's thigh.
Didn't slow him down.
Another punch slammed into Riven's gut.
Then a second came from the blind side — a hammering cross that caught the edge of his cheekbone.
He reeled back — only barely keeping his footing.
His head rang.
His blood was hot in his mouth.
But his eyes — they stayed sharp now.
Same move. Same rhythm.
The man was fast. Vicious.
But too confident.
He lunged again — another hook aimed high.
Now.
Riven had been waiting for it.
He didn't dodge.
He stepped in.
Weight low. Shoulder dipped. His body moving like it was about to throw a punch or drive a knee straight into the man's gut.
That was the bait.
At this angle, he knew his knee would land first — fast, direct.
And the moment the man instinctively sidestepped left to avoid it?
That was when the real strike would come.
A turning kick. Full force.
Straight into the ribs.
He'd practiced the sequence before.
The motion lived in his bones now — smooth, brutal, efficient.
Except—
Something was off.
As Riven surged forward, his knee driving in—
The man didn't sidestep.
Didn't dodge.
Didn't react.
Riven's eyes widened — a flicker of understanding too late.
He's not dodging.
He's taking it.
Just to get in close.
This madman!
The man's grin twisted as he dropped his shoulder — arm cocking back, eyes gleaming with cruel certainty.
Why would he dodge some kid's blow?
He could slam his elbow straight into Riven's neck and end it.
Riven's eyes widened.
It was too late to change anything now.He could only hope his attack would reach first.
They both struck at the same time.
The man's elbow grazed Riven's shoulder on the way —
One centimeter away from the side of his throat.
CRACK.
Riven's knee slammed into the man's ribs with everything he had.
There was a sickening pop — a deep, wet sound like thick branches snapping underfoot.
Cold sweat slid down Riven's neck.If he hadn't already been through near-death before, he might've been shivering too hard to stand.
The elbow froze.
Stopped.
Half a centimeter short of his neck.
The man's eyes went wide.
Then his body folded.
Lifted.
Thrown backward like a sack of stones, he flew across the cell and slammed into the wall with a crash that rattled the iron bars.
Dust shook loose from the ceiling.
He crumpled.
Didn't get up.
Didn't move.
Silence flooded back in, thick and ringing.
His eyes were still open — glazed now, unfocused —
but the shock in them lingered.
That expression Riven had seen too often these last two weeks.
The disbelief that someone like him — small, incomplete — could hit that hard.
It wasn't skill that had gotten him here.
Not really.
It was strength. Raw, freakish strength.
Still his biggest advantage.
He didn't like that.
But at least now, he could use his strength.
If he'd faced this man two weeks earlier, no matter how strong he was, he wouldn't have been able to even land a hit.
The cell door opened behind him as Vaern approached.
Then, calmly:
"Finish it."
Riven blinked.
Chest still rising and falling.
"…What?"
Vaern's eyes were cold. Still.
Voice flat.
"Kill him."