When Max returned after his brutal clash with Korrak, every cot seemed filled, every corner noisy. Fighters nursed wounds, bragged about victories, or drank themselves into a stupor. The air reeked of sweat, blood, and stale porridge. Max ignored it all, collapsed onto his own cot, and let exhaustion drag him under.
He dreamed of the warhammer’s crushing weight, of stone splitting under each strike.
Morning came with another cacophony of pots and pans. Max groaned, rubbing grit from his eyes, but this time the promise of food at least drew him up.
Breakfast was different today. The porridge was still the same colorless sludge, but it was steaming when ladled into his bowl. Someone had even tossed in a handful of dried berries, giving it a faint sweetness. The water was still cloudy, but at least it didn’t taste like moss.
Warm food and a few minutes of silence steadied him. He needed it.
Because today’s fights weren’t going to be simple.
The gong echoed through the arena when his name was called, summoning him to pit one. Max stepped into the cracked chamber, Solaris Edge already in hand. His opponent was waiting: a tall goblin in flowing crimson robes, staff gripped tight, eyes glowing faintly with mana.
A mage.
Max’s stomach tightened. He’d fought goblins with crude potions or alchemical tricks, but never someone who wielded true spells.
The gong rang again.
The goblin wasted no time. His staff swept upward, and a blazing fireball burst from the tip, streaking toward Max with terrifying speed. Max rolled aside — barely. The sphere exploded against the stone behind him, blasting heat across the pit and showering shards of rock.
The crowd roared in delight.
Another fireball followed, then another. Max sprinted sideways, ducking and weaving as explosions carved chunks from the walls and floor. He raised his staff hand instinctively, but no counterspell came. He was too slow, too defensive.
This isn’t like fighting with blades. He doesn’t need reach. He doesn’t need to close the gap.
A blast caught him square in the chest, hurling him backward. His robes smoldered, the acrid stink of burnt cloth filling his nose. Pain seared across his skin. He scrambled up, coughing, vision swimming.
The mage sneered, already conjuring another.
“Enough!” Max growled, forcing mana down his arm. A searing light shot out temporarily blinding the mage. The goblin twisted aside, cloak flaring, but Max was already moving. He Blinked forward in a shimmer of light, closing the distance.
The goblin slammed his staff down, flame spiraling outward in a wave. Max grit his teeth, raising a mana shield just in time. Heat crashed over him, blistering, pushing him back a step — but not enough.
He drove Solaris Edge through the goblin’s guard, slamming the blade against the staff. Sparks and fire burst at the impact, the goblin’s eyes widening as his spell faltered. Max shoved forward, boot planting hard against the goblin’s chest. The mage stumbled, and fell, his staff clattering away.
Max leveled Solaris Edge at his throat. “Yield.”
The goblin’s jaw clenched. For a moment Max thought he might refuse, but then he slammed a fist to the ground.
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“I yield!”
The gong rang, sealing the match.
[System Prompt]
Qualifying Match Complete
Result: Victory by Surrender
Credits Earned: 180
Status: Advanced to Next Round
Max staggered back, chest heaving. His arms and ribs still burned from the fireball that had landed. He’d won — barely.
First real mage fight… and I almost got roasted alive.
The rest period between matches was short. He downed a water skin, patched his robe with quick infusion of genesis energy, and forced himself to keep breathing steadily. The barracks swirled with noise, but Max’s thoughts were already on the next name the cloaked goblin would rasp from his ledger.
When it came, his blood ran cold.
“Max Elion — Pit Four.”
His opponent was already waiting when he stepped into the arena. A wiry goblin with pale skin and blackened daggers, his eyes sunk deep in shadow. The crowd fell to a hush when he entered, the atmosphere shifting. Everyone knew what kind of fighter this was.
An assassin.
The gong rang, and the goblin vanished.
One blink, he was there. The next, only shifting darkness.
Max’s grip tightened. His danger sense screamed, but the attack was already in motion — a dagger flashing from the side. He twisted, Solaris Edge catching the blade with a clang, then lashed out with a backhand slash. Nothing. The goblin was gone again, melting into the shadows.
The crowd jeered in frustration, boos echoing through the pit. To them it was nothing but a flicker of blades and nothingness.
But Max saw more.
He closed his eyes, let mana flow, and willed his body into the darkness. The world dimmed, colors bleeding away, until he stood in the shadow realm. Here the pit was distorted, angles bent and shifting, every crack and torch casting long rivers of blackness. And in that blackness, the assassin lurked.
Their eyes met — glowing points in the dark.
The goblin hissed, daggers flashing as he lunged. Max met him head-on, Solaris Edge sparking in the gloom. The fight was fast, brutal, silent to all but them. Steel hissed against steel, blades striking for throats, hearts, and spines. Every move was lethal, every dodge measured in heartbeats.
The assassin was skilled. But for the first time, Max wasn’t at a disadvantage in the dark.
He pressed harder, using Blink to flicker across shadowed ground, forcing the goblin back step by step. The assassin slashed wildly, his confidence breaking as Max hunted him through his own domain.
At last, Max’s blade found its mark. A clean thrust through the chest.
The goblin’s eyes widened, glowing light fading. His body unraveled into mist, collapsing back into the physical world.
Max stepped out a moment later, chest heaving, Solaris Edge dripping crimson. The assassin’s corpse lay sprawled across the pit floor, throat gashed and chest pierced, the crowd gasping at the sudden reveal.
Max wiped his blade clean, gaze sweeping over the jeering audience. “Not every fight’s for your amusement,” he muttered.
The gong rang, sealing his victory.
[System Prompt]
Qualifying Match Complete: 9/10
Result: Victory by Death
Credits Earned: 220
Status: Advanced to Next Round
Max staggered back through the gate, every muscle aching, his mind still half in the shadows. He wanted nothing more than to collapse, but he knew this was only the beginning.
Tomorrow, more matches will come.
And soon, the grand arena.
[System Prompt]
Confirmed: You have slain Veyric the Shadowblade — Level 18
Credits Awarded: +340
Experience Gained: Significant
Loot Obtained:
- Twin Shadowfang Daggers (Rare) — Daggers attuned to shadow. Increase damage when attacking from stealth or concealment.
[System Prompt]
You have gained enough experience to level up!
Level Up!
You are now Level 17
Stat points allocated
Max stared at the flickering prompts, the glow washing over his weary face. Loot was piling up, credits were climbing, and his power was climbing with every match. Yet each gain carried the same weight — more exhaustion, more blood on his hands.
His gaze lingered on his status screen. For all the progress he’d made, one stat lagged behind the rest. Vitality. His body felt it too — the bruises lingered, the burns ached, his endurance wearing thinner with each fight.
Time to fix that.
He funneled his free points into Vitality, one after another.
Vitality: 34
A surge of lifeforce coursed through him, hot and invigorating, before settling deep into his bones. His chest rose fuller with each breath, his heartbeat steady and strong. His health pool stretched wider, his regeneration pulling just a little faster at the aches and wounds. The feeling faded as quickly as it came, leaving only the quiet certainty that he was tougher than before.
Satisfied, Max dismissed the glowing prompts. His stomach rumbled, reminding him how long it had been since he’d eaten. A hot meal, even if it was bland porridge again, sounded like paradise after a full day of fighting.
By the time he collapsed onto his cot, belly full and sword within reach, sleep claimed him in moments. Tomorrow would bring more blood. Tonight, at least, he could rest.