The chamber above the arena was quiet.
Quiet enough that the sounds of workers preparing the arena for the coming battles could still be heard from below.
The room was modest, yet decorated enough to appear presentable.
A pale white stone floor connected to walls painted in crimson. Rows of shelves stood at the back of the room, and in front of them rested a large polished wooden desk. Papers lay scattered across its surface.
At the center of the chamber stood two velvet couches facing each other, with a small table for drinks and appetizers placed between them.
The left wall held a large metal door that clearly stood out among the refined furniture.
On the right side were two closets. One of them stood open, revealing several crimson suits. Between the closets was a tall mirror framed in black iron and embedded into the wall.
In front of the mirror stood a man.
With gloved hands, he adjusted the straps of his crimson suit. Once he was satisfied, he raised his hands toward his face.
The white mask covering it stood out amidst the rest of his attire.
No skin was visible.
Everything was covered in crimson cloth.
The suit.
The pants.
The shoes.
The shirt.
The gloves.
Everything except his eyes.
Red eyes gazed through the mask's eyeholes into the mirror.
The mask itself was colored in a clear white.
But it was empty.
Almost boring.
After adjusting it and confirming that it sat properly, the man reached into the open closet and retrieved a red paint stick.
Looking straight into the mirror at his own reflection, he raised his hand and began to draw on the blank surface of the mask.
A curved line.
A crimson smile.
Finishing the final touch of his attire, he placed the red stick back inside the closet and closed it before gazing once more at his reflection.
Crimson red eyes stared back at him.
Just as he nodded at himself—
Knock.
The sudden sound broke the silence of the chamber and made the man turn his head toward the door.
"Enter."
His voice was calm.
Then he turned his gaze back toward the mirror.
Click.
The door opened.
The headguard stepped inside and stopped at the threshold before bowing.
"Master John."
After greeting him, the guard straightened and continued.
"I need to report on one of the slaves."
John did not turn toward him.
He continued staring at his reflection as he spoke.
"Speak."
"It's about one of the teens. The boy with the number 29 from our watchlist."
That drew a reaction from John, and he turned his head toward him, their red eyes locked.
"What of him?"
"He advanced, Master. To the Third Stage. It happened during his training. I confirmed it myself."
Silence followed.
A long one.
Then John spoke again.
"Good work. You may leave."
The guard bowed once more.
"Yes, Master."
Then he exited the chamber, closing the door behind him.
Click.
Still thinking about the report, John walked toward one of the shelves behind his desk. Opening a drawer labeled Blooding, he skimmed past several papers before pulling out the top one.
He placed the paper on the desk and sat down in the cushioned chair before reading it.
[First Blooding]
[Number: 29]
[Gender: Male]
[Age: 13]
[Core: 2nd Stage]
[Date: 24th Lunar, 716]
It was a report card.
They kept one for every slave they bought, so long as the slave remained alive. There was no real need to document each slave separately. It would have been enough to simply calculate cost and loss per batch.
But John liked his affairs organized.
A clear structure was needed to lead a successful business.
And the boy the report spoke of was known to John as well.
A teen who should have died a long time ago.
His report card was the only one left from that first group. All the others had been replaced by those of the current Blooding season.
Looking again at the date, John whispered.
"Over a year…"
That was how long the boy had survived here.
There was nothing particularly strange about a slave staying in the arena for a long time. They had several who had remained for years.
But they were adults.
The teens participating in the Blooding event all died.
All except number 29.
The sole survivor.
Tap.
One of John's fingers drummed against the wooden table as he stared at the paper in thought.
What fascinated him the most was the age.
Thirteen.
That was how old the boy had been when he arrived here. By now, he must be fourteen or fifteen. And he had already reached the Third Stage?
Condensed at that age?
That was not something one heard often.
Most teens awakened their cores at fourteen or fifteen—the truly talented ones at thirteen.
And this boy…
Number 29 was at least fourteen and had already reached the Third Stage.
A True Awakened at fourteen.
That alone was enough to make John slightly curious.
'Where had the boy come from?'
That was what he wanted to know.
A boy who reached the Third Stage at fourteen had to be a genius.
Did the blood of some prestigious master flow through his veins?
Had he been raised by a known family?
Or—
Was he simply born like that?
Number 29 was a talented child, and he had what it took to survive battle after battle.
If he had not become a slave, he could have become the disciple of a renowned warrior or attended a prestigious school.
He would have become a strong warrior in the future.
But—
The boy couldn't do that.
Not anymore.
He was a slave.
The arena did not care if he was a genius.
It only cared whether he could survive.
Still—
A genius.
Someone who had reached the Third Stage at fourteen.
John's lips parted as he murmured,
"That is something I can use."
The crowd loved stories like this.
But—
Thinking back to the boy with black hair and blue eyes, John's jaw tightened.
"It won't be easy."
That boy.
Number 29.
He was disobedient.
There had even been that time he had hidden a weapon in his cell. He wouldn't have gotten far with it, of course. The guards could easily subdue him. But he had still hidden it.
And that was not all.
The boy seemed to take pleasure in doing the exact opposite of what John wanted.
If the crowd decided a teen should die, 29 would show mercy.
When the crowd wanted mercy, he killed.
When John gave orders to entertain the crowd and end the duel slowly, he finished it in seconds.
Number 29 was too difficult to control.
John had wanted to punish him more until the boy grew obedient.
But at the same time—
Even though 29 did not entertain the crowd in the way John desired, and even though he ignored his instructions—the crowd loved him.
They loved how long he had survived.
They loved how little he cared for them.
The crowd craved attention, but he never gave it to them.
And that made them want it even more.
Number 29 had become the star of all the Blooding events they had held so far, and John could not simply punish him freely.
Because the revenue the boy brought in was that good.
And now, with him having advanced to the Third Stage, John had to act.
Tap.
Letting one finger tap against the report card, John whispered.
"Duels…"
That was the plan for now.
Teens would fight each other in duels until only a small group remained. That was how all Blooding seasons had gone.
But now—
"We need to change it."
A change was needed.
The crowd liked the new event. They had enjoyed watching teens slaughter each other. But they were slowly growing bored of it.
The fights needed to change.
The stakes had to rise in order to make the crowd more interested in the event.
It was not only number 29 who had grown strong. This batch of teens was older than the ones before. Many of them already possessed decent fighting skills and good mana control.
There were even some who had reached the Third Stage. With stronger teens came the need to raise the challenge.
"But how?"
John asked himself.
Tap.
Tap.
His fingers drummed softly across the wooden table as he searched for an answer.
Then—
"Ah."
A small sound left his lips as an idea formed.
Sliding open one of the drawers in his desk, he took out a holo. Activating it with mana, a silver light appeared above the metal sphere. He scrolled through the windows of the hologram before tapping the name of the headguard and calling him.
It took a few moments before the connection formed.
"Master John?"
The headguard's voice came through, slightly surprised by the call after he had just given his report.
John's command was simple.
"We will make some changes to the schedule."
A pause.
"Prepare the beasts."