I stayed in the basin until my skin began to wrinkle.
The exhaustion from training faded, and I felt regenerated but tired at the same time.
The heat and relaxation made me sleepy.
I stood up and stepped out of the basin.
The stone beneath my feet felt colder now, and I began to feel the chill after leaving the warm water.
Now that I had washed myself, I could take care of my clothes.
I filled an empty bucket with warm water and began washing my shirt and pants, rubbing them against the wood with soap.
I didn't expect to remove all the bloodstains, but I at least wanted to get rid of the stench.
My hands moved, scrubbing the clothes for some time before twisting them to squeeze out as much water as possible.
The clothes were as dry as I could get them, and I started to dress.
I slipped back into my pants and pulled the shirt over my head. The fabric was still damp, but it was better than nothing.
My eyes shifted toward my boots and socks.
They were useless now.
The soles were uneven, and the leather was torn.
Wearing them in a fight would risk me tripping—a mistake that could cost my life.
And the socks...
There was no use in wearing them without boots.
I decided to stay barefoot for now and stuffed the socks into the boots before picking them up and walking toward the door.
The guard gave me a strange look as I left the bath.
I ignored him and walked down the corridor back to the cell.
Step.
The stone felt cold beneath my feet.
I needed some time to adapt to walking barefoot.
Step.
It didn't take long before I reached the cell.
The door was already open.
The other teens were lying in their beds, resting.
I walked inside and noticed another crate of food.
'Good timing. I was already starving after all that training.'
I walked toward the table and looked inside the crate.
Surprisingly, there was more food than on previous days.
I took two pieces of bread and meat before heading to the bed.
The boy beneath it was already asleep.
I placed my boots on the floor and pushed them under his bed before climbing up.
The food vanished in a matter of seconds but for the first time in months—my stomach was filled.
It was really strange.
At first, we were thrown into death battles with barely enough food.
We couldn't train.
We couldn't wash ourselves.
But now they treated us better.
They gave us more food, an opportunity to train, and even warm water to wash ourselves.
Was it because they wanted us to perform better?
The thought of being treated as nothing more than tools made my heart grow cold.
I still couldn't understand how people could find the deaths of children entertaining.
They had truly gone mad.
Sigh.
After training, a warm bath, and finally eating enough, exhaustion took over.
My eyelids grew heavy.
I lay down and turned to the side, head facing the wall.
My gaze settled on the red numbers written across it.
'I hope I don't need to fight today.'
Soon, my eyes closed, and I fell asleep.
***
Smash.
"Aghh!"
Pain exploded in my stomach, waking me.
A guard stood beside me, shouting.
"29!"
I gritted my teeth under the pain but forced myself to look at him.
"I called you twice. Next time you respond better immediately—or something worse will happen."
He grabbed my arm and yanked me forward.
I nearly fell headfirst from the bed but managed to regain some sense and landed heavily on my feet.
The guard didn't care if I fell or not.
He only wanted me to follow.
But before I could fully regain balance—
Smash.
His fist slammed into my stomach again.
The air left my lungs, and my body folded, but I refused to fall.
I stayed barely upright, clutching my stomach, forcing my mouth shut, not letting out a sound.
I wouldn't give him that satisfaction.
The guard clicked his tongue at my glare but didn't strike again. He still needed to bring me to the arena.
He turned and walked toward the door, his voice cold.
"Follow me."
Resisting wouldn't change anything. So I followed obediently.
Step.
We walked out of the cell, our footsteps echoing through the corridor.
Step.
His boots and my bare feet against cold stone.
Step.
The chill seeped into my soles.
But my thoughts were elsewhere.
Where are we going?
It was a simple question.
And I already knew the answer.
To the Arena.
It was as simple as that.
But it still bugged me.
'Do I really have to fight every single day? Won't they give us some rest?'
I kinda expected it.
But I didn't like it.
I was lucky that I had stopped my training at the right moment. If I had pushed further, my body would now be sluggish and sore.
At least the bath and sleep had restored some of my strength.
But I still felt annoyed by it all.
Being punched awake would put anyone in a bad mood. And I had always valued my sleep.
But it is what it is.
I can't change it.
If they throw you into shit, you crawl through it.
It was an important lesson I learned during my military service.
I shuddered as I remembered the dark times of my life.
Two years.
Mandatory service—and then I stayed longer.
They baited me with money...
They got me good.
It was funny how I had sold myself to these despicable bastards back then.
They paid us well.
But it was never enough.
There's no amount of money worth working twenty-four hours a day in some foreign land for over a year.
The working times weren't even the worst part.
We had enough free time so that it was more of a state of being ready every day, in case something happened.
But what had made it really horrible were the people.
Demons in human skin.
Being shouted at every single day for clearly dumb reasons.
And I don't even want to remember the times we were "educated" as they called it, just because some random guy wore the wrong boots or forgot his jacket.
A hellish time.
But I learned a lot during it.
The most important lesson?
To be able to ignore the people around you.
Even when they scream right in your face.
At some point, I had started to hear their shouts as background music.
Thinking about what I would eat later, while some officer holds a speech about listening and fulfilling orders.
The funny thing was that they gave us the wrong orders.
Another lesson was to not resist and to not ask questions.
They would make us do the shittiest things with no logical reason.
All we could do was to just do it.
Resistance or questions would only lead to more unreasonable orders.
Step.
My thoughts halted as the guard stopped.
I lifted my head, looking forward.
We stood before the metal gate again.
A few steps ahead of us stood another teen.
Only one.
So it's true.
They spoke the truth about changing our fights to duels.
The guard positioned himself behind us.
We didn't need to wait long before the gate opened.
Thud.
Screech.
The gate opened slowly, its metal frame scratching across the stone floor as light flooded our vision.
A hand shoved me forward, accompanied by a shout.
"Move!"
We moved, stepping into the arena.
Step.
My steps were slow because my vision was still obscured by the bright light.
Step.
The sand felt cold beneath my bare feet.
Step.
Grains shifted between my toes with each step.
It felt strange to be barefoot.
Step.
First came the noise.
The crowd roared and cheered.
Next came my vision as my eyes adapted to the bright light.
My head turned upward, gaze drifting across the arena.
Rows of seats filled to the brim with people.
They all wore a diverse set of clothes, turning it into a sea of colors.
Banners hang down from the rows in majestic grandeur.
The sight made me think of the Colosseum in Rome.
It would have been astonishing—
If I didn't have to fight.
"Stop."
A guard's deep voice came from behind us.
He gestured to the side.
"Choose a weapon."
My eyes shifted as I followed his hand gesture.
There, on both sides of the gate, stood weapon racks.
The same ones as before. Filled with all kinds of weapons.
I stepped closer, my gaze shifting from weapon to weapon.
It lingered briefly on the longsword I had trained with.
But just for a moment.
I soon found a short sword.
Step.
I stepped forward and wrapped my fingers around its handle before pulling it out.
Shing.
I tested the weight as I balanced the sword in my hand.
It felt much lighter than the longsword. And the length matched my body well.
A short sword was far easier to handle than a longsword at my age.
Satisfied with the weapon, I walked toward the center.
By now, I had gotten a bit more used to being barefoot.
It felt more stable than with boots, especially with sand as the ground.
Step.
I halted after reaching the center.
My feet were placed at shoulder width, with one foot half a step forward, while my knees were slightly bent as I lifted the sword into guard position.
The tip of my sword was raised toward the height of my opponent's throat.
I was ready.
That's when my gaze shifted from my sword to the teen in front of me.
His stance was clumsy, as if he held the sword for the first time.
But that didn't mean this fight would be easy.
I felt a wave of mana from him.
It wasn't strong but enough to be felt.
The Flowing stage.
Just like me.
This will be hard.
Having the advantage of sword training should make me the clear victor.
But I knew this wasn't true.
Such a light sword was nothing more than a stick for someone who could use mana. And the basic sword techniques I knew won't give me the advantage I wished I had.
Because—
My eyes drifted toward the number on his shirt.
Just like number 35—
This would be the first time I fought another human with a sword.