Chapter 6

Second Section Opponent

"What do you mean?"

Scar's gaze followed the direction of Ray's finger, looking towards the distant balcony. He couldn't see anything unusual; any entertainment venue had such exclusive seats for the elite. The balcony wasn't very high and was too far forward. A person with good jumping ability could even climb up from the arena alone. Undoubtedly, to prevent such accidents, a faint magical aura enveloped the area.

Ray didn't answer. His finger slightly shifted, pointing to the center of the arena where the two teams of gladiators had already begun fighting.

Scar turned his head sharply and noticed a guard outside the rest room looking in his direction. Scar realized the guard was paying attention to him.

All the guards were humans, locals of Kalean. At least, Scar had never seen a vampire take on such a role in the arena. The legends were true; in Kalean, vampires were nobles and would not lower themselves to such a job.

"You're being watched," Ray gently patted Scar's shoulder and then moved aside, closing his eyes to rest.

Scar turned back, his gaze returning to the arena. The fighting and slaughter continued, blood already covering the ground, and the surviving gladiators were still fighting for their lives.

They had no control over their fate, just a group of pawns. For some reason, Scar suddenly remembered what the old man had said. A group of people with similar fates, who had no conflict with each other, were forced onto the arena by others' will. This was the best explanation for the old man's words.

This time, the team of gladiators that left from Scar's rest room suffered a defeat. All eight who went out fell on the arena. When the battle ended, the same bell announced the end of the fight, the entrance gates opened, and the victorious gladiators, cheered by the audience, supported each other as they left. The laborers began to clear the bodies left on the arena. A wounded gladiator from the winning side was carefully carried away to receive treatment. All the gladiators from the losing side were given a final blow and dragged away.

The arena in Kalean, with its cold rules and countless examples, had taught the gladiators a cruel reality: the winners might not survive, but the losers definitely would not.

The remaining gladiators left the arena and returned to the gladiator academy through a fixed passage.

Because only three people were left, the journey back seemed empty.

It wasn't yet noon, and on the training grounds outside the academy, the gladiators were practicing hard on various training equipment. Not everyone among the captives was a well-trained warrior. Regardless of whether they had been lazy or lacked the opportunity in the past, they now had to make up for it as quickly as possible. The coaches almost didn't need to do any extra urging; reality had already forced the gladiators to work almost to the point of madness.

As Scar passed by, people made way for him, looking at him with a mix of envy and admiration. Not everyone had the ability to survive on the arena for one or two years without a scratch.

A figure suddenly blocked his path.

Scar stopped, lifting his chin slightly. In front of him was Shag, one of the academy's coaches, a tall, ogre-like man. Of course, he was also a local of Kalean.

"Scar, you've ended in a draw three times in a row. Maybe I should teach you some rules."

Shag extended a strong finger. He was a highly skilled warrior, or he wouldn't be a coach, but Scar knew that the other man was just a minor figure. This was further proven when Scar defeated him on the training ground six months ago.

"Do you think you can keep holding back every time? Let me tell you, the higher-ups have decided that this situation must change! They've given you a good assignment. Tomorrow!"

"Tomorrow?" This surprised Scar. According to tradition, gladiators got at least three days of rest after a fight.

"A nobleman caught a desert leopard and sent it to the arena. You'll get to see that beast tomorrow. Ha, I've already bought a ticket. I'll enjoy your performance tomorrow."

Scar walked past Shag in silence, and this obvious disdain made the latter laugh even harder.

"I promise you, it will be a good opponent. Remember to rest well today. Don't lose sleep. I don't want to miss out on the fun tomorrow, hahaha..."

Scar continued forward, heading to his room. In any profession, treatment is divided into levels, and gladiators are no exception. He lived in one of the best rooms in the academy and had some privileges. For example, he could almost ask the old guard outside for anything. Wine, meat, desert fruits, even women—anything except freedom and tools for escape.

The arena, besides daily killings, also needed to hold grand tournaments during festivals. These required high-level gladiators.

"Congratulations, you've returned unscathed again." The guard smiled when he saw Scar. "Do you want me to prepare anything? A hearty celebration dinner would be nice. Want a woman?"

"No, thank you."

"Why be so stiff? Life is uncertain. Why not live for today? Do you know what happened to the guy next door? He's never coming back. He lasted a month but eventually died from his injuries."

"I'm not planning to die so soon."

"Ah, whether you die or not isn't up to you." The old guard might have heard some rumors. "You've been holding back too obviously, and it's starting to annoy people."

"I haven't been holding back."

"It doesn't matter whether you did or didn't. If others think you're holding back, your fate is sealed."

"What fate? The desert leopard?"

"Looks like you've already heard. Honestly, you surprise me. When I first saw you, I thought a rebellious young man like you would disappear quickly. But you're still alive today."

"I learn quickly, and reality is the best teacher."

"Then you'd better surprise me again tomorrow." The old guard sighed slightly. "What do you want for dinner? Roast meat, apple cider, and raisin bread? We have convenient roasted lamb here. And, really, don't you want a woman? There are many beautiful women in the city now, and they're cheap."

Scar shook his head. If the desert leopard was as dangerous as they said, he would need every bit of strength tomorrow. It was better to save his last bit of energy to increase his chances of survival rather than indulge in revelry.

"Is the desert leopard really that dangerous?"

"Besides the nobles, I can't imagine anyone catching one alive."

"Fortunately, my task isn't to catch it alive."

Scar turned and walked to his room.

"You can be so rational and self-disciplined, you must be full of hope. That's really rare." The old guard's voice came from behind. "Fate is fair. If you can survive this, you might have a chance."

When Scar heard the word "chance," he turned around, but the old guard had already left his post to prepare the promised meal.

The next day, at dawn, Scar was woken up and taken to the armory. Before each match, each gladiator could choose their preferred weapon from the armory. Of course, this process was strictly monitored to prevent them from hiding anything for inappropriate use.

This time, three coaches accompanied Scar, one of whom was Shag, who had a smug smile on his face.

"The boss has allowed you to choose a good weapon. Otherwise, the match would be boring."

Scar walked through a small door on the side of the armory, his first time entering. This was also part of the armory, with weapons neatly arranged. However, there were far fewer weapons here, and each one had a faint aura, an indescribable but perceptible energy.

"Magic weapons!" Scar gasped. He had to use a magic weapon, which meant this fight was not simple. This also explained why Shag's smile was so bright.

"There's a high-ranking spectator today, so the arena must organize a match of sufficient quality, not just a bunch of idiots."

Scar looked around the armory, which had all kinds of equipment. He walked towards a set of magic armor but was immediately stopped.

"Only weapons?" He looked at the coach blocking his way and got a confirming nod.

Scar turned his head, his gaze lingering on the weapon racks. Spears, long swords, two-handed swords, battle axes, war hammers, flails, daggers—everything was there.

"I'll take this one." Scar finally stopped at a sword. It was a rather unremarkable-looking sword with a black-red hilt and a simple wooden scabbard. He picked it up, and as expected, the weight felt just right.

For some reason, the three coaches looked at him with strange expressions.

"What's wrong? Can't I?"

Scar drew the sword. Suddenly, he felt a bone-chilling pain. The sensation came from the hilt, invading his palm and seeping up to his wrist.

But Scar already knew it was a magic weapon. He gripped the hilt tightly, and for a moment, he had the illusion that the flesh on his palm had fused with the metal. When the sensation finally faded, Scar felt an ancient and cold power surging through the sword, like death itself.

"You can choose it, of course. Although this sword... is usually used by nobles."

"Vampire's sword... interesting." Scar felt his right hand spasming, gripping the hilt even tighter.