Vergil sat quietly among the stone spectator stands, overlooking the dusty arena floor below.
Unlike his previous visits to this place, he was not standing on the sand waiting to fight for his life.
Today, he was merely watching the trials.
His sharp eyes drifted toward the elevated viewing platform where Madam Sierra stood silently beside the golden-haired young man who controlled the underground town.
Over the past several months, Vergil had quietly and subtly asked indirect questions whenever tiny opportunities appeared during chores or free time.
The frontline guards knew absolutely nothing about their master’s origins.
The female servants firmly refused to answer a single word.
No one in the entire compound would dare reveal the young noble’s true identity.
Sierra slowly stepped forward to the edge of the stone platform.
Her commanding voice echoed powerfully throughout the entire expanse of the cavern arena.
“This specific monthly competition will be entirely different from the previous ones you have experienced.”
The relaxed atmosphere among the captives in the stands immediately became intensely tense.
Sierra continued her speech, her green eyes reflecting the blue crystal light.
“In this tournament, you will not be facing starved magic beasts.”
“Instead, you will be forced to fight desperate, death-row criminals brought down from the surface markets.”
Aaron, seated tightly beside Vergil’s flank, immediately stiffened his posture.
His tanned face turned noticeably pale in the dim light.
“Today is incredibly dangerous,” Aaron whispered, his knuckles turning white.
“This might actually be a true life-and-death struggle for us.”
Sierra’s melodic voice continued to spread smoothly across the crowded arena stands.
“Fight the assigned criminals with absolutely everything you have in your vessels.”
Her piercing gaze swept slowly across the rows of teenagers.
For a brief, fractional moment, her sharp eyes lingered directly on Vergil’s calm face.
Then, she continued her announcement.
“We have explicitly promised these criminals their physical freedom from execution.”
“If they successfully slaughter you on the sand, they will immediately become paid members of our camp guard force.”
“So remember this rule well before you step down.”
“The definitive result of this battle will be your absolute death.”
“Or theirs.”
Aaron’s voice became increasingly hysterical and high-pitched.
“See?”
“I told you before.”
“I knew a horror like this would eventually happen to us.”
“I’ll probably die on the sand today.”
Vergil remained perfectly, chillingly silent, ignoring his friend’s panic.
Among the thirty-six captive boys remaining in their original group, only seven had successfully formed official Skill Seeds over the last seven months.
Aaron was definitely not among those lucky seven.
In nearly every single weekly courtyard competition, Aaron consistently ranked near the absolute bottom of the roster.
Sierra spoke out again, settling the rising murmurs.
“Do not succumb to blind panic.”
“The specific criminal assigned to your bracket will only be slightly stronger than your current evaluation.”
“If you fight with everything you have learned, your statistical chances of survival will be much higher.”
Inside her own mind, however, Sierra silently and grimly added another sentence to that statement.
Except for yours, N-25.
Her green gaze briefly shifted toward Vergil’s position in the middle rows once again.
Then, she raised her hand and announced loudly,
“N-01.”
“Come down to the sand.”
Vergil looked toward the boy named Marcus.
N-01.
Marcus usually performed around the exact middle ranks during their daily physical training.
He was neither exceptionally talented nor visibly weak.
Marcus stood up from his stone bench and jumped cleanly from the stands into the dirt arena below.
An armoured perimeter guard immediately threw him a standard iron-tipped spear.
Marcus caught the weapon cleanly mid-air, spinning the shaft.
Then, he walked with measured steps toward the exact centre of the arena floor.
His facial expression appeared remarkably calm and collected from a distance.
But Vergil’s keen observation instantly noticed the tiny, involuntary twitching of Marcus’s fingers gripping the wooden spear shaft.
He was nervous.
Intensely, deeply nervous.
On the exact opposite side of the arena floor, a massive iron gate slowly rose into the rock.
The loud, grinding mechanical sound echoed powerfully throughout the cavern.
Heavy, deliberate footsteps followed from the darkness beyond the threshold.
A man slowly emerged into the blue crystal illumination.
He was noticeably shorter than Marcus, but his upper body was much broader.
His thick, muscular frame looked like a compact, weathered boulder.
In his right hand, he loosely carried a heavy axe.
It was not a polished military axe designed for knights.
It was not a weapon meticulously crafted for war.
It was a simple, rugged woodcutter’s axe with a notched iron blade.
Sierra pointed her finger from the platform down toward the broad man.
“Bug.”
“Kill the boy before you.”
“And you will officially become one of us by nightfall.”
The criminal grinned broadly, revealing stained teeth.
A heavy brass bell rang out across the cavern.
The battle officially began.
The short, broad man immediately rushed forward across the sand, kicking up dust.
His wide grin carried an unmistakable, primal malice.
Suddenly, someone sitting in the upper stands shouted out in shock.
“I know that face!”
Everyone in the captive rows turned their heads to look at the speaker.
The speaker was the boy named Leon.
Several nearby boys immediately focused their attention on his trembling form.
Behind Leon’s seat, Cedric, designated N-16, spoke sharply and aggressively.
“Then stop staying silent like an idiot.”
“Who exactly is he?”
Leon swallowed his saliva heavily, his throat clicking.
Then, he looked back down toward the arena floor with wide eyes.
“That man’s real name is Kane.”
“He’s a notorious murderer from my home territory.”
“A literal serial killer.”
“He used to hunt solitary travellers around the borders of our town forest.”
Leon pointed his shaking finger toward the charging criminal below.
“The local constables always found the victims’ bodies left in the bushes.”
“But they never, ever found the heads.”
A cold, palpable chill spread instantly through the captive stands.
Leon continued whispering, his voice tight.
“Kane is extremely, terrifyingly skilled with that heavy axe.”
“People back home used to say that if he had ever received proper noble training, he would’ve formed an official Axe Skill Seed years ago.”
Below on the sand, Marcus launched his body forward to engage.
His iron spear tip thrusts out repeatedly in a rapid blur of movement.
Vergil immediately recognised the underlying patterns of the technique.
Spark Spear.
It was one of the combat techniques taught by the guards to the alternative training group.
The spear point moved incredibly quickly through the air.
Each precise thrust forced Kane to step backwards to avoid a fatal puncture.
At first glance, Marcus appeared to hold the absolute tactical advantage in the duel.
But Vergil’s brow subtly furrowed as he watched the spacing.
Something felt entirely wrong about the flow of the match.
Very wrong.
Marcus technically possessed far better, cleaner martial technique.
His refined spear skills were no weaker than Kane’s unrefined woodcutter axe skills.
Yet, the underlying momentum of the battle continuously shifted in Kane’s favour.
Then, Vergil’s analytical mind understood exactly why the shift was occurring.
Kane did not care about sustaining minor physical injuries at all.
A lightning-fast spear thrust cleanly pierced straight through his left shoulder muscle.
Kane completely ignored the wound, his grin never wavering.
Another deep cut opened across his bicep, spraying red blood.
Kane ignored that as well.
He simply and relentlessly continued charging straight forward into Marcus’s personal space.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Marcus, meanwhile, was continuously forced to dodge backwards.
Forced to retreat across the sand.
Forced to expend his stamina simply to defend his vitals.
Every single heavy attack Kane made carried the terrifying momentum of someone entirely willing to die to land a hit.
And that exact trait made him a monster in the ring.
Because while Marcus was fighting hard simply to survive another day,
Kane was fighting as though his own survival no longer mattered to him at all.
Vergil watched every micro-movement from the stands carefully, analysing the kinetic angles.
As the high-stakes battle continued, Marcus gradually realised his own greatest tactical weakness in the duel.
Kane was fundamentally ruthless.
Ferocious.
A raging, starved beast wearing human skin.
Marcus, meanwhile, clearly possessed vastly superior institutional training and cleaner technique.
Again and again, he fluidly manipulated Kane’s predictable movements, forcing the heavy criminal into highly disadvantageous physical positions.
Yet, despite those constant openings, Marcus remained entirely unable to end the fight.
It was not because he lacked the lethal skill to pierce a vital organ.
But explicitly because every single finishing opportunity required him to risk sustaining a serious injury himself from the counter-swing.
Marcus clearly and heavily doubted the absolute limits of Madam Sierra’s magical healing abilities.
If he permanently lost an entire arm or a leg during a trade, could her magic circle truly restore a missing limb from scratch?
Marcus simply wasn’t willing to gamble his entire future on that unknown answer.
Vergil understood his hesitation completely, his eyes narrowing.
He wouldn’t take that reckless gamble either.
The systemic consequences of a single physical mistake in this realm were far too severe.
Below on the sand, Marcus’s iron spear shaft collided violently with Kane’s heavy axe once again.
Clang!
The heavy shockwave of the impact forced Kane’s broad frame backwards by a step.
Sensing the momentary space, Marcus suddenly pulled his spear back into a tight posture.
A bright, volatile fire instantly ignited around the steel spearhead.
Kane’s smug expression changed to genuine shock for the first time.
Marcus thrust the weapon forward with explosive velocity.
The burning spear slammed directly into Kane’s hastily raised iron axe face.
Then,
Boom!
The dense fire surrounding the spearhead exploded outward violently in a flash of light.
Kane was thrown completely backwards through the air by the concussive pressure.
His heavy woodcutter’s axe flew clean from his numbed hands, spinning away into the dirt.
He crashed heavily into the sand, rolling several times before finally stopping near the perimeter.
Dark blood covered his lacerated body.
Shocked gasps erupted instantly throughout the captive rows in the stands.
“He actually formed a Spear Skill Seed in secret!”
“The active ability is Spark Explosion!”
Before the dazed criminal could even attempt to recover his footing, Marcus charged forward across the distance.
The cold iron spear point pierced directly and deeply through the centre of Kane’s chest.
The broad criminal stiffened violently for a fractional second.
Then, his head fell back, and he collapsed flat onto the blood-stained sand.
Dead.
Loud, chaotic cheers immediately erupted throughout the arena rows.
The suffocating tension among the captive boys noticeably and rapidly weakened.
If a middle-tier fighter like Marcus could win his match,
Then perhaps they could all survive their brackets, too.
Some of the more naive boys even began imagining themselves mastering their training techniques and forming their own Skill Seeds directly after today’s battle.
High above, Madam Sierra calmly raised her hand to quiet the noise.
“N-01.”
“You may officially return to your seat in the stands.”
Marcus pulled his bloody spear free from the corpse and walked quietly toward the arena exit.
His face remained deathly pale and drenched in sweat, despite securing the victory.
Sierra continued reading down her slate ledger.
“N-02.”
“Enter the arena floor.”
The boy named Dennis immediately stood up from his bench.
Eager cheers from his friends followed his movement.
Dennis grinned confidently toward the stands and jumped gracefully into the dirt arena.
A perimeter guard tossed him a standard steel sword.
Dennis caught the hilt effortlessly mid-air.
He even spun the weapon playfully in one hand, putting on a brief show for the audience.
Several boys in the upper rows laughed, relaxed by the display.
His absolute confidence seemed entirely infectious to the crowd.
On the opposite side of the arena, another heavy iron gate ground open.
A massive criminal emerged from the darkness, carrying a towering iron mallet.
The heavy bell rang.
The battle officially began.
This time,
The ultimate result of the trade was completely, horrifyingly different.
Dennis died.
The massive criminal’s first heavy mallet swing completely shattered his wooden guards and steel defences.
Then, the secondary swing thoroughly crushed his physical body into the sand.
The brutal fight ended so incredibly quickly that many spectators in the stands couldn’t even process the movement.
The criminal stood over the remains in the arena, roaring and celebrating his new freedom.
The captive stands fell into a dead, absolute silence.
The collective confidence previously created by Marcus’s victory instantly vanished into thin air.
Reality returned to the cage.
This was not a standard training exercise.
This was a legal execution.
Sierra remained entirely expressionless on her platform.
“N-03.”
Gregory stood up without a word.
Then, he calmly walked down and entered the arena.
Unlike the unfortunate Dennis, Gregory showed neither visible fear nor cheap confidence.
He carried only pure, clinical focus.
The match lasted for less than five minutes overall.
Gregory completely and utterly dominated his criminal opponent from the first exchange.
At one critical point in the duel, he revealed a second sub-ability from his Spear Skill Seed framework.
His spear swept through the air in a wide, sweeping arc.
A massive wave of concentrated fire burst forward across the sand.
The criminal screamed in pure agony as the bright flames completely engulfed his torso.
Moments later, Gregory calmly secured his clean victory.
Even Vergil felt a trace of physical pressure tightening his chest while watching the display.
Gregory was becoming stronger at an alarming, exponential rate.
The brutal competition continued down the ranks.
N-04: Victory.
N-05: Dead.
N-06: Dead.
Then came Basil’s assigned turn.
Basil slowly and stiffly stood up from his seat.
The gruesome deaths occurring right before him had clearly shaken his baseline confidence.
Vergil reached his arm out and patted him firmly on the shoulder to steady his mind.
Basil nodded weakly in gratitude before jumping down into the arena.
The resulting battle was incredibly brutal and sloppy.
Several times during the exchanges, Basil nearly died from a knife thrust.
But in the end, his desperate sword slashed cleanly across the criminal’s exposed neck.
Victory.
Basil stumbled away toward the medical exit, covered entirely in dark blood.
N-08: Dead.
N-09: Victory.
N-10: Victory.
N-11: Victory.
N-12: Dead.
N-13: Dead.
N-14: Victory.
Then, the ledger reached Aaron’s name.
Aaron’s face was completely pale, almost translucent.
His hands trembled visibly as he looked at the sand.
Still, driven by the guards’ spears, he forced his shaking body to jump into the arena.
The fight immediately turned incredibly ugly and desperate.
Aaron fought extremely cautiously.
Far too cautiously.
Pure, paralysing fear controlled his every movement and footstep.
Again and again, he retreated blindly across the dirt.
Again and again, the aggressive criminal pressed forward into his space.
Eventually, under a heavy strike, Aaron completely lost his grip on his sword.
The weapon flew from his slick hands and landed several meters away in the sand.
A collective cry of despair escaped the captive stands.
Everyone watching thought it was completely over for him.
The grinning criminal raised his weapon high for the execution strike.
Suddenly, Aaron lunged straight forward beneath the arc.
Like a cornered, desperate animal.
He tackled the criminal’s waist, dragging him hard to the ground.
The arena stands erupted into chaotic shouting.
Aaron ignored every heavy punch hammering into his ribs.
He ignored every strike, drawing blood from his face.
Then, he sank his teeth directly into the soft flesh of the criminal’s throat.
The criminal screamed in absolute horror.
Red blood instantly sprayed across the dry sand between them.
Aaron bit deeper into the windpipe.
Harder.
Until a massive chunk of flesh completely tore away in his mouth.
The criminal’s screaming stopped abruptly, turning into a wet gasp.
The man’s body convulsed several times violently.
Then, it went completely still in the dirt.
A heavy, dead silence filled the entire expanse of the arena.
No one cheered.
No one spoke a single word.
Even Madam Sierra raised a surprised eyebrow on her viewing platform.
Aaron remained sitting atop the bleeding corpse.
His face was completely covered in a mask of dark crimson blood.
Moments later, his exhausted body swayed weakly.
Then, his eyes rolled up, and he collapsed entirely unconscious directly beside the dead criminal.
Only after the medical teams quickly rushed into the arena did the captive stands finally erupt into a wall of absolute noise.
Many of the young boys stared down at Aaron’s bleeding form in absolute disbelief.
Some looked thoroughly horrified by the raw brutality.
Others looked deeply inspired by the sheer willpower.
Aaron had successfully won his match and survived.
But absolutely nobody in the stands wanted to win their own freedom like that.
The relentless competition continued down the line.
Madam Sierra’s commanding voice echoed sharply through the stone arena.
“N-16.”
Cedric immediately stood up from his designated bench.
A highly confident, smug smirk rested comfortably on his handsome face.
Then, he jumped gracefully down into the dirt arena, dust swirling around his boots.
Among the seven elite Skill Seed users in the compound, Cedric was recognised as one of the absolute strongest.
He had successfully formed a powerful Sword Skill Seed from his training with the Wave Sword Technique.
Just like Vergil, his very first awakened ability within the seed was the defensive Water Wave.
The only real difference was that Cedric had formed his personal seed months earlier in the training cycle.
His fluid execution and overall mastery were significantly deeper.
Cedric was undeniably an arrogant individual.
But unlike many arrogant people who overreached, he possessed the genuine physical strength to fully support that arrogance.
His assigned death-row opponent was also a confirmed Skill Seed user from the surface.
The resulting battle was incredibly fierce and fast.
Sharp, glowing sword energy collided repeatedly in the centre of the ring, ringing off the walls.
Several times during the rapid exchanges, both skilled fighters traded shallow flesh wounds.
But Cedric steadily and methodically gained the tactical advantage over his opponent.
Finally, his steel sword flashed in a brilliant blue arc.
The desperate criminal’s throat opened cleanly under the edge.
Red blood sprayed heavily across the dry arena sand.
Cedric calmly and slowly wiped his blade completely clean with a cloth before arrogantly leaving the field.
The young crowd watched his exit in total, respectful silence.
In this camp, raw strength commanded absolute respect.
Even among fellow forced captives.
The brutal competition continued rolling forward.
N-17: Victory.
N-18: Dead.
N-19: Dead.
Then, Sierra called out the next number on her ledger.
“N-20.”
The short boy, Maras, stood up stiffness overtaking his limbs.
Immediately, Vergil, a dazed Aaron, Basil, Gregory, and Damien began quietly encouraging him from their seats.
“You can absolutely do it, Maras.”
“Stay perfectly calm out there.”
“Fight carefully and watch his spacing.”
Maras nodded his head repeatedly, his eyes wide.
Despite the intense nervousness twisting his stomach, he forced a brave smile for his friends.
Then, he took a deep breath and jumped down onto the blood-stained arena sand.
The heavy bell rang, and the battle officially began.
Maras fought incredibly bravely on the floor.
Far more bravely than anyone in the stands had ever expected of the short youth.
Again and again, his body stood back up after being knocked down into the dirt.
Again and again, he aggressively launched counters despite his growing physical injuries.
His entire small friend group found themselves unconsciously standing up from their benches.
Watching the exchanges with bated breath.
Hopelessly hoping for a miracle.
Quietly praying to whatever gods existed.
Then, the definitive moment happened in a flash.
The criminal’s cold blade cleanly pierced straight through the centre of Maras’s chest.
The entire cavern arena instantly became deathly silent.
Maras staggered backwards several clumsy steps, his eyes losing focus.
His standard weapon slipped loosely from his unfeeling fingers, clattering onto the stones.
For a brief, agonising moment, his small body remained standing upright.
Then, his knees gave out, and he collapsed flat onto the sand.
Dead.
No legendary miracle occurred to save him.
No last-minute dramatic reversal saved his life.
No hidden, latent strength awakened within his vessel.
There was only cold, unceremonious death.
Vergil felt something dark and heavy twist violently inside his chest.
The previous deaths of the other boys over the hours had certainly saddened his thoughts.
But the emotional impact had only affected him slightly.
Most of those dead boys were complete, nameless strangers to him.
Some of them he had spoken to fewer than ten times during chores.
Maras, however, was fundamentally different.
They had actively trained together in the courtyard.
Studied the basics of cultivation together in the classroom.
Shared their meagre protein meals at the same table.
Laughed together at the absurdity of their rooms.
Vergil knew Maras’s personal stories and background.
Knew all about the young girl he deeply liked back in his surface village.
Knew about his ageing father’s health.
His loving mother’s cooking.
Knew exactly how desperately and passionately Maras wanted to escape this underground prison and return home.
And now,
He never, ever would see the surface sky again.
Beside his seat, Aaron silently lowered his bloody head into his hands.
Damien stared blankly and silently at the stained arena floorboards.
Even the powerful Gregory’s calm expression darkened significantly.
Absolutely nobody in their rows spoke a single word.
The competition continued processing its targets mercilessly.
N-21: Victory.
N-22: Victory.
N-23: Victory.
N-24: Victory.
When the fourth consecutive winner finally left the bloody sand, Vergil slowly stood up from his bench.
His face remained completely, terrifyingly expressionless.
Calm.
Cold.
Stoic as ice.
But beneath that deceptive, placid exterior, a towering, volcanic rage slowly and deeply burned within his soul.
His rage was not directed at the desperate criminals fighting for their lives below.
It was not directed at Maras’s tactical weakness.
His boiling fury was directed entirely at the actual people responsible for constructing this entire nightmare.
At the unfinished underground town.
At the cruel spectator arena.
At the systemic machine that systematically turned innocent children into commercial entertainment and tools.
Madam Sierra’s sharp gaze landed directly on his silhouette from across the expanse.
A faint, highly amused smile appeared on her painted lips.
“N-25.”
“It is officially your turn to grace the sand.”
Sierra paused briefly, her voice amplifying through the array.
“And please, do be remarkably careful down there.”
A strange, twisted amusement entered her melodic tone.
“Your specific opponent today is entirely different from the others.”
“I selected this particular individual for your bracket completely personally.”
Several of the nearby boys in the stands immediately frowned at her warning.
Even the stoic Gregory narrowed his eyes in suspicion, looking toward the platform.
Vergil slowly turned his head toward Sierra’s elevated position.
For one brief, silent moment, their eyes locked across the distance.
His dark gaze contained absolutely zero fear.
Zero explosive anger.
Zero curious emotion.
Absolutely nothing.
He looked directly at her as though she were a completely insignificant, non-existent ghost.
Then, he completely and deliberately disregarded her presence entirely.
Without speaking a single word to the stands, Vergil stepped forward to the stone edge.
And jumped down into the blood-soaked arena dirt.
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