The healing potion had worked wonders. By the time the guards dragged me back to the holding cell after the third fight, most of my broken ribs had knit together, and the deep cuts had closed into ugly scars. I could move without gasping in pain. Arena Survivor was already proving useful, the dull ache in my body felt more like background noise than crippling agony.
Harlan and the one-eyed dwarf, Thorne, were waiting when I returned. The cell was crowded with other fighters, but they kept a respectful distance. My three consecutive victories had earned me status among the prisoners.
"You’re making waves, Slayer," Harlan said quietly as I sat against the wall. "The pens are talking. Some are calling you the start of something real."
Thorne grunted, sharpening a small shard of bone he’d hidden. "Grimgor doesn’t like it. He’s watching you closer now."
I kept my voice low. "Tell me about the south. And don’t hold back."
Harlan leaned in. "The Liberation Army isn’t just scattered rebels anymore. There’s real leadership, former generals, mages who survived the Beast Wars, and whole villages that escaped the purges. They’re based in the Whispering Marshes and the old Silverpeak ruins. Grimgor’s planning to crush them before they grow too strong, but his supply lines are stretched thin. That’s his weakness — he’s overextended. If someone could disrupt his logistics..."
Thorne added, "There are sympathizers inside Blackfang Hold too. A few human guards who were forced into service, some dwarven smiths who hate the orcs. And there’s an old drainage tunnel beneath the western pens that leads toward the river. It’s guarded, but not impossible to breach if you have help from the inside."
I filed every detail away. Escape was no longer just a fantasy. With the right timing and allies, it could become reality.
A guard suddenly banged on the bars. "Orc Slayer. Grimgor wants a word."
They dragged me out again, this time to a private audience chamber deep in the hold. The room was lavish by orc standards, looted tapestries, golden treasures, and a heavy iron throne. Grimgor sat upon it, massive and imposing. Thragor stood to his right, my axe still hanging from his belt like a taunt.
"So," Grimgor rumbled, studying me with cold amusement. "The slave who refuses to break. Three wins in one day. The crowd loves you. Even some of my own warriors are whispering your name."
I stood tall despite the chains, meeting his gaze. "Maybe your fighters are not as competent as you think."
Thragor growled, but Grimgor raised a hand, chuckling darkly. "Bold. I like that. But your little rebellion ends here. Tomorrow you face Varak the Unbroken an ogre champion I captured from the eastern tribes. He has never lost in my pits. After you die screaming, I’ll have your fox bitch and the old soldier thrown in next... for entertainment."
The words sent ice through my veins, but I kept my face neutral. Lira and Garrick were alive. That was enough for now.
Grimgor waved dismissively. "Take him back. Let him rest... for what little time he has left."
Back in the cell, I relayed the information to Harlan and Thorne. Their faces darkened.
"Varak is a monster," Thorne muttered. "Twice your size. If you’re going to fight him, you’ll need everything you have."
That night, sleep came in fragments. I reviewed my status internally, conserving energy. No new points yet, but Phantom Edge was still available. I would need it.
The next morning, the arena was louder than ever. The crowd sensed blood.
Varak the Unbroken was everything they promised, a hulking ogre with gray-green skin, massive muscles, and a spiked club the size of a small tree. He roared as we faced each other in the sand. He was stronger than I was, that was for sure, but my desire to not die far superceded his desire to win,
The fight began, and Varak was immediately upon me. He was faster than his size suggested, and his movements weren’t dull either. His first swing smashed the ground where I had stood, sending shockwaves through the arena. I dodged and countered with Brutal Strike, landing a deep gash across his arm. Harlan had given me a dagger he’d scavenged to help with defeating Varak.
It was definitely a good weapon to have, and it had dealt damage. But Varak barely flinched. He grabbed me by the leg and slammed me into the sand. Pain exploded across my body.
[Warning! Host has taken damage. HP: 71%]
The crowd screamed for my death.
I rolled away desperately, using speed to stay alive. For several minutes I danced around him, landing cuts and strikes, but he was wearing me down. One heavy blow caught my side, cracking newly healed ribs again.
I knew I had no choice.
As Varak raised his club for a finishing strike, I activated Phantom Edge. My body flickered. The club passed through me harmlessly. In that split second, I drove my sword upward with everything I had at full power, straight into his throat.
The ogre gurgled, eyes wide with shock. Blood sprayed across the sand as he toppled like a felled tree.
The arena fell silent for a heartbeat, then exploded in chaos.
[You have slain Level 7 Varak the Unbroken. +85 XP]
[Level Up! You have reached Level 6.]
[HP and Stamina significantly increased. +5 Attribute Points available.]
Power surged through me. I allocated three points to Strength and two to Agility. The world sharpened. My wounds healed faster. The crowd chanted "Slayer! Slayer!" louder than ever.
Grimgor stood from his throne, face twisted in fury. Thragor gripped my enchanted axe tightly, looking ready to jump into the pit himself.
I stood over Varak’s corpse, breathing hard but alive. Another fight like this could definitely be the end of me, especially after I had revealed my trump card to everyone present. There was one thing left to do, and that was escape before Grimgor found another opponent for me.