Sam had already accepted his fate.

Death no longer seemed terrifying. Not when there was nothing left to cling to. No family, no home, no future. What was there to fight for?

For a brief moment, a face surfaced in his mind. Sir Erynd. The smart yet kind young druid who had taught him the basics of magic. If things had been different, if life had been kinder, maybe Sir Erynd could've been someone he called "family". Maybe he could've had a normal childhood, living in a proper home, somewhere safe and warm.

Maybe, just maybe, he could have enrolled in the Wizard Academy, wearing those pristine robes, walking through grand halls filled with books and knowledge. Learning magic not to survive but to grow, to dream.

But that was just a fantasy. A cruel, fleeting illusion.

The truth was much harsher.

Reality was here, now. His battered body, the blood dripping from his wounds, the jeering crowd hungry for entertainment. And soon, his life would come to an end, swallowed by the pit like countless others before him.

He closed his eyes.

One second passed. Then two. Then three.

The pain never came.

But he could hear the knife slicing through the air. Again. And again. And again.

Something was wrong.

Sam's pain dulled slightly. His body felt... lighter. He opened his eyes, breath hitching.

The elf stood before him, blade raised, but frozen. His arms trembled. His breathing ragged.

Sir Erynd's lessons flashed through Sam's mind.

Gritting his teeth, he forced himself upright and clenched his fist. This time, he didn't waste energy on a massive Fireball. He condensed it.

A small, blistering sphere of flame formed in his palm. With his final ounce of strength, he thrust it forward, straight at the elf's chest.

BOOM!

The impact sent The Manslayer flying. His body rolled across the pit, tunic charred, chest scorched. He screamed, raw and guttural. Then silence.

And then, the elf stopped moving.

Sam swayed, vision blurring. His knees buckled.

He had won.

But for the first time, he realized what that truly meant.

He had killed someone.

***

The announcer's declaration barely cut through the storm of outrage. The crowd erupted with furious jeers, their bloodlust unsatisfied.

Then a commotion sparked near the front row.

"Guards! This druid is acting suspiciously!" a scrawny man yelled, pointing an accusing finger.

"Yes! He helped the boy. I saw it!" another man added, his voice laced with conviction. "Look at that staff. He must be doing something with it!"

The accusation spread like wildfire. Within moments, a group of guards stormed in, their heavy boots pounding against the stone floor. Before I could react, rough hands grabbed me, yanking my arms behind my back. I didn't resist as they dragged me through the corridors of the arena, deeper into its twisted heart.

The room they shoved me into was lavish. A plush crimson carpet muffled footsteps. Golden ornaments decorated the walls. At the far end sat a grotesquely fat man, bald with a thick mustache, shoveling food into his mouth.

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"Master Borvan," a guard said, bowing. "This druid disrupted the match. We suspect he helped The Flamestrider."

Borvan paused mid-bite, licking his fingers before letting out a booming laugh. "MUAHAHAHA! So that's why the elf kept missing! That fight was far more entertaining than I expected."

He leaned back, eyes glinting with amusement. "More entertainment means more stone in my pockets."

Then his grin turned sharp.

"But that doesn't mean you get away scot-free. The Manslayer was valuable. You owe me." His fingers drummed against the armrest. "And from the looks of you… you're not from the Eastern District, are you?"

I remained silent, meeting his gaze with an icy stare.

Borvan sneered. "Ten thousand stones, druid. Pay up or settle it another way."

He chuckled, and his lackeys joined in, their laughter thick with malice.

I exhaled slowly, my voice calm yet firm. "I have a counteroffer."

Borvan raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Do tell."

"I bet you. If I lose, I'll pay you fifty thousand stones."

A murmur rippled through the guards. Even Borvan raised a bushy eyebrow. "Fifty thousand, you say?"

"But if I win, you release the boy and pay me ten thousand."

Borvan leaned forward. "And what's the wager?"

"Your best fighter," I said coldly. "I'll face them in the Pit."

Silence.

Then Borvan roared with laughter, stomach shaking. "A druid wants to fight in the Pit? HAH! This is too good!"

He wiped a tear from his eye. "Alright, alright, I'll play along." His expression darkened. "But let's make it more interesting."

I narrowed my eyes.

His grin widened. "Two versus two. Take it or leave it."

I clenched my jaw. It was a dirty trick, but I expected nothing less.

"Fine," I agreed. "But we'll need rest. We fight tomorrow."

Borvan's laughter erupted again. "No, no, druid. Midnight. That's when your fight happens." He licked his lips, his voice dripping with amusement. "Don't worry, You get one meal. Consider it your last supper."

The room erupted into laughter once more, but I didn't flinch.

"Take him and the boy," Borvan commanded, waving his hand dismissively.

The guards wasted no time in hauling me away, their grip tight, their smirks mocking. The fight was set. The odds were against me.

But they had no idea what I was truly capable of.

***

"Sir Erynd! I knew you'd come!"

Sam rushed into my arms, trembling. "Mom… my mom…" His voice cracked, as he buried his face in my chest, shaking violently.

A sharp pang of sorrow stabbed through me. I held him close and gently stroked his messy hair.

"I know, Sam," I murmured. "But she'd want you to survive. Focus. One more fight."

Sam sniffled but nodded. "Okay, Sir. I'll be strong for her."

I nodded. "Good." I cast Rejuvenation, a soft green light sealing Sam's wounds.

The meal they brought us was cold, and barely edible, but we ate in silence. The calm before the chaos.

Then the door slammed open.

The muscular guard with a shaved head stomped inside, his scarred face devoid of emotion. Without a word, he unlocked our ankle chains, the metal clinking as they fell away.

"Move."

Sam and I followed, steps steady despite the weight of what lay ahead.

Then, we emerged into the arena.

The Pit stretched before us, a gaping, circular death trap surrounded by towering walls. The floor was uneven and stained with old blood, the very air thick with the stench of sweat, rust, and death. From above, the crowd erupted into wild cheers, their voices a deafening storm of bloodthirsty anticipation.

Sam stiffened.

I placed a hand on his shoulder. "Remember what we talked about. Focus."

He exhaled shakily but nodded. "Right."

The announcer's voice thundered across the arena.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE MOMENT YOU'VE ALL BEEN WAITING FOR! THE SPECIAL EVENT OF THE NIGHT, A TWO-ON-TWO DEATH MATCH!"

The crowd erupted in cheers, stomping their feet against the stands.

"ON ONE SIDE, WE HAVE THE CHALLENGERS, THE FLAMESTRIDER AND THE MIGHTY DRUID!"

Cheers mixed with boos.

"AND FACING THEM… THE DEADLIEST WARRIORS OF THE PITS, THE UNDISPUTED CHAMPIONS OF BLOODSHED, THE BUTCHER AND THE GIANT!"

The Butcher. A dwarf with a grotesquely muscular frame, his skin covered in crude tattoos, and a wicked grin plastered across his scarred face. His massive cleaver rested on his shoulder, already stained with dried blood.

Beside him stood The Giant, a towering beast of a barbarian, easily twice the height of an average warrior. His arms were as thick as tree trunks, his skin riddled with old battle wounds. He cracked his knuckles, the sound like boulders grinding together.

Sam swallowed hard. "They look… strong."

I smiled faintly. "So are we."

The announcer raised his arms dramatically.

"LET THE MATCH… BEGIN!"

A drumbeat echoed through the arena.

And then, they charged.

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