The roar of the crowd was the first thing that reached me when the guards dragged us out of the holding cells the next morning. It was a primal, bloodthirsty sound that vibrated through the stone corridors beneath Blackfang Hold’s arena. My body still ached with every step. Ribs cracked, shoulder bruised, the taste of blood lingering in my mouth. Pain Resistance helped dull the edges, but I was far from full strength.
No new levels. No fresh attribute points. Just me, my wits, and whatever scraps of power the system had already given me.
They herded a dozen of us into a preparation pen that smelled of sweat, piss, and old blood. Harlan stayed close, his rebel brands stark under the torchlight.
"First fight is usually against other prisoners," he muttered. "Grimgor likes to warm up the crowd. Survive this, and you get better food. Die, and... well, you know."
I nodded silently, eyes scanning everything. Weak points in the arena gate. Guard positions. The sand floor that could be used for footing or traps. My assassin instincts were fully awake now. Empire or not, survival came first.
The gate opened with a grinding screech. I was pushed forward with three others. The sunlight hit like a hammer as we stepped into the fighting pits. The arena was massive, a circular depression of blood-soaked sand surrounded by roaring spectators. Orcs, goblins, dwarves, and even a few beastkin cheered from the stands. Grimgor himself lounged in a raised throne box, Thragor standing like a statue beside him.
The announcer’s voice boomed across the pit.
"First bout! The so-called Orc Slayer versus Rukar the Butcher, a traitor from the southern front!"
My opponent was a hulking human man, scarred and muscular, wielding a crude iron mace. He grinned at me with broken teeth. "Heard you killed some orcs. Let’s see if you’re worth the talk."
The fight started without ceremony.
Rukar charged like a bull. I sidestepped, using my superior speed. My body protested, but Brutal Strike activated as I countered. My fist, wrapped in chain scraps I’d torn from my restraints, slammed into his side. The impact was solid, but not enough to drop him. He swung the mace in a wide arc. I ducked, rolling across the sand, and came up behind him.
I drove a knee into his spine, then wrapped my arm around his throat in a choke. He bucked wildly, smashing me against the arena wall. Pain exploded in my already damaged ribs.
[Warning: HP 68%]
The crowd roared. I held on, tightening the choke. Rukar slammed me into the ground twice before his movements slowed. With a final twist, I felt his neck snap.
The arena erupted. I stood over the body, breathing hard, blood trickling down my face. No system notification for a level-up, but the small victory felt like fuel.
[First Pit Victory Recorded]
[Minor Reputation Gain Among Slaves]
[Healing Potion (Low Quality) Awarded]
I used the potion immediately, it wasn’t much, but it stopped the worst of the bleeding and restored some stamina.
Back in the preparation pen, Harlan clapped my shoulder. "Not bad. Most don’t survive their first."
Other prisoners watched me with new respect. A quiet dwarf with a missing eye approached. "Name’s Thorne, I’ve heard a bit about you."
I nodded, gave a brief smile and returned the courtesy. Alliances were useful, even temporary ones.
The second fight came faster than expected. They barely gave me time to catch my breath.
This opponent was an orc, smaller than Thragor but vicious, armed with dual axes. The crowd chanted "Slayer! Slayer!" as we circled each other. He was faster than I anticipated, landing a shallow cut across my chest before I could close the distance.
I used the sand to my advantage, kicking a cloud into his face and striking. The blow landed clean on his knee, dropping him. I finished it quickly with a stomp to the throat.
[Second Pit Victory Recorded]
[Stamina Recovery Partial]
The crowd was louder now. Some slaves in the outer pens were chanting my nickname. Grimgor watched from his box with a calculating expression. Thragor looked bored but annoyed.
Between fights, a guard shoved a small piece of bread and water into my hands. I ate like an animal. The bread was stale, but I barely had any choice. This was what I got, and I was grateful I got any at all.
The third fight was announced as the sun began to set. The final one for today’s spectacle.
My opponent was a beastkin, a bear-like man with massive claws and raw power. He was clearly enhanced, perhaps through some ritual or drug Grimgor used. The fight was brutal. He landed heavy blows that cracked more of my ribs. I danced around him, using speed and precision, but exhaustion was catching up.
In a desperate moment, I feinted low and struck upward with everything I had. My fist connected with his jaw, bone shattered, and he dropped, unconscious.
The crowd went wild.
[Third Pit Victory Recorded]
[Quest Complete: Survive the Pits (First Set)]
[Rewards: Major Healing Potion, New Passive Skill — Arena Survivor (Lv.1): +10% Damage Resistance in Combat Arenas, Minor Reputation Boost]
I downed the major healing potion the moment I was dragged back to the pen. Warmth flooded my body, mending bones and closing wounds faster than before. It wasn’t full recovery, but I could stand without swaying now.
Harlan grinned. "You did it. Three wins. Grimgor’s going to hate that."
I leaned against the wall, breathing easier.. But this was only the beginning. Grimgor would throw harder opponents next. Thragor might even step in eventually. Yet for the first time since my capture, I felt something close to hope.