"29!"
My eyes snapped open at the guard's call.
He stood beside the open door, waiting.
I hadn't been sleeping and only closed my eyes to rest for a bit since I didn't want to be drowsy during the duel.
Climbing down from my bed, I made eye contact with Rash.
He was lying lazily on his bed, staring straight at me.
Then, with a smile, he spoke.
"Come back alive, or I'll have to write your number on that wall."
That almost made me chuckle if I hadn't been so focused on the duel. But it helped me cast away my nervousness. With a small nod, I broke eye contact and walked toward the guard.
"Hurry, slave."
I ignored his order and stepped out of the cell at my usual pace.
Click.
He closed the door and led the way down the corridor, steps slightly hurried.
The corridor felt longer than usual.
It took some time before we finally reached the metal gate.
Step.
I halted in front of it without needing the guard to order me and waited.
My mind drifted back to what Rash had told me about the dragonkins' racial ability one last time. Then I let out a breath and stopped thinking.
There was no use now.
I would go out there and come back alive.
Just like I had done before.
Just like I had done since the day I arrived here.
It took a bit longer before the gate finally opened.
Thud.
A heavy sound echoed as the gate moved.
Metal scraped against stone, and light spilled into the hall, flooding my vision.
Thud.
The doors opened completely and snapped into place against the wall.
Haah.
I took one last deep breath before stepping forward.
Step.
Sand shifted between my toes with every step.
My gaze drifted across the arena as I entered.
Colorful banners hung from the stands, decorated with sigils. Every seat seemed filled as a sea of spectators spread before me. Shouts and chants echoed through the arena.
Step.
Ignoring them, I turned to the weapon rack.
My hand brushed across cold metal before settling on the familiar, worn leather grip of my sword. I pulled it free from the rack, blade humming softly. Testing the grip for a moment, I turned and headed toward the center.
Step.
But my steps instinctively slowed.
Someone was already standing there.
At first, I thought it was a man.
But the closer I got, the clearer it became that he was only a teenager.
Step.
I stopped about a dozen meters away from him.
We both examined each other.
My head tilted slightly upward.
He was tall.
At least one meter eighty.
He had broad shoulders, firm muscles pressing against the tight fabric of his clothing.
The first thing I noticed was the pair of obsidian-colored horns protruding from his forehead. They curved slightly before nestling into his short, slicked-back black hair. A pair of crimson eyes stared down at me as he stood straight, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
He wore a black short-sleeved shirt with intricate inner linings that clearly showed its high quality. Black trousers ran down his legs and fell over polished boots. A dark crimson coat hung around his shoulders and fell down his back.
He gave off an intimidating aura as he looked down at me. But it still couldn't compare to the presence I had felt when I first saw a dragonkin.
What I felt from him instead was arrogance.
Then I sensed it.
A ripple of mana spread from his body like a wave. A faint sapphire glow settled around his arm as he flexed it.
Colored mana.
Third stage.
At first, it felt powerful. But after a moment, I realized the intensity was roughly the same as Rash's.
From his appearance, I guessed he was somewhere between sixteen and eighteen. It was hard to tell. I didn't know how dragonkins aged compared to humans.
But seeing that he had reached the third stage already told me that he was older than me. Rash had said that those in stage three were normally around the age of seventeen and eighteen.
I cast the useless thoughts away and focused on him again, gaze dropping to the sword his hand rested on.
A longsword.
Likely one-handed, just like mine.
But my focus shifted again as the crowd stirred, cheers dying down.
Silence settled across the arena.
He had arrived.
My head turned toward the podium.
John stood there with his hand raised, the reason the crowd had fallen silent.
He waited a moment for the silence to settle before speaking.
"Some slaves die quickly."
His voice carried clearly through the arena.
He paused, letting his gaze travel across the crowd before settling on me.
"Others last longer."
His hand lowered and gestured toward me.
"Rarely, one survives long enough to be noticed."
Murmurs spread through the stands as John continued.
"The boy standing before you has endured many battles. From every single one, he returned alive. The Blooding that was meant to break him… could not."
John turned his gaze toward the crowd.
"You are the witnesses of his struggles and the judges of his worth. Even a name was given to him in honor of his skills."
His hand gestured toward me.
"Survivor."
Another pause.
"Today, we give him a chance. A chance rarely granted in a place like this."
His body turned toward the dragonkin. Bowing his head slightly, he spoke.
"I welcome our honored guest."
Then he straightened again and addressed the crowd.
"Young Lord Zarik of the esteemed Vakaris family."
Whispers spread through the stands.
After waiting for them to calm down, John continued.
"Young Lord Zarik, an upcoming warrior, has chosen to test this nameless boy. To see whether he truly has what it takes to become a warrior…or whether he is merely a boy favored by Althessa."
He gestured toward the arena.
"A duel was requested, and we obliged."
He placed one hand over his chest.
"I am honored to act as the judge for this duel."
Then he lifted his hand into the air.
"That is enough talking. Let us see if this slave is worthy of surviving another day."
His hand dropped.
"Begin."
Boom.
Drums echoed, starting the duel.
Boom.
My gaze shifted from John back to the dragonkin before me.
Despite the duel beginning, he hadn't moved. His hand still rested casually on his scabbard while his eyes wandered across the crowd. A small smile appeared on his lips as if he enjoyed the attention.
I tightened my grip on my sword and raised it into position.
While waiting for him to make the first move, I thought back to John's words.
He had called it a duel.
But what exactly did that mean?
Were there rules?
Or would this simply be another fight like all the others?
I didn't know.
But it didn't matter.
Duel or not.
I would fight and survive.
Those were the only rules I needed to obey.
Then I felt it.
A pair of crimson eyes fixed on me, snapping me out of my thoughts.
The dragonkin had finished admiring the crowd and looked at me again.
His lips parted.
"My name is Zarik Vakaris."
His voice was calm, indifferent even as he introduced himself.
"Do you have a name, slave?"
I hadn't expected him to ask.
He seemed too arrogant to ask a slave for his name.
My eyes closed for a moment in thought before opening again.
"My name is 29."
The smile on his face widened slightly.
"A fitting name for a slave."
Then, while still looking at me, his hands moved. His left hand pressed lightly against the scabbard while his right gripped the hilt.
"You should be honored, slave."
His voice was laced with arrogance.
Shing.
He slowly drew his sword and cut a wide arc through the air before lifting it into position.
"For something like you to cross blades with someone like me. Remember this day for the rest of your miserable life."