The sand shifted beneath my feet.
Step.
Shing.
My sword cut through the air in a clean arc, a faint crimson trail following the blade before fading.
Haah.
Again.
Step.
Shi—
I stopped mid-swing.
My grip tightened around the hilt as my senses picked something up.
It wasn't sound, nor movement.
A wave of mana spread across the arena. It didn't feel strong, but something about it made my senses tingle.
I lowered my sword and turned toward the entrance.
There was nothing—only the pair of guards at their small table, playing cards like always.
But I didn't doubt my senses and kept my gaze fixed on the gate.
Something had to be there.
Then—
Step.
As if answering my thoughts, four figures entered the arena.
A group of guards.
One walked ahead while three followed a few steps behind him.
The three at the back were human. Light armor strapped over worn, dark clothes. Swords hung loosely at their sides. They laughed quietly among themselves but abruptly stopped.
The guard at the front glanced back at them.
One look was enough.
My gaze shifted to him.
He turned away from them, and his red eyes settled on me.
I recognized him at once.
The dragonkin guard.
The same one who had escorted me to John's office.
They walked straight toward me—slow and deliberate. Every step closed the distance without hurry, without hesitation.
I didn't know why they had come.
But I knew it wasn't good for me.
With every step they took, the pressure grew.
Mana.
It pressed down on my shoulders like an invisible weight, sinking into my chest, tightening my breath. My heart beat faster, but I forced myself to stand straight.
Step.
They stopped right in front of me.
Something inside me reacted on instinct.
My fingers tightened.
For a split second, I wanted to raise my sword.
The situation just felt wrong.
Then—
"Drop it."
The dragonkin spoke, his words felt strange, as if they carried some sort of pressure. The kind that left no room for resistance.
My body reacted before I knew it.
Thud.
The sword slipped from my grip and hit the ground.
I stared at it for half a heartbeat, stunned.
'What?'
"Kneel."
He spoke again.
The guards moved instantly.
Grip.
Rough hands seized my arms from both sides. Before I could even resist—
Thud.
My knees struck the ground. A sharp jolt ran up my legs as hands pressed down on my shoulders, forcing me lower. It felt as if my strength meant nothing to them.
They shifted again.
My arms were pulled behind my back, pinned there. A hand pressed hard between my shoulder blades, keeping me bent forward.
I couldn't move.
I couldn't resist.
And in that moment, it became painfully clear—
They could kill me whenever they wished.
I already knew it.
I had felt it with my own body.
But now I was reminded once again that I was nothing in front of them.
The remaining two guards stood in front of me, watching.
They waited.
Then—
Their heads turned at the exact same moment.
Since my head was the only thing I could still move, I followed their gaze.
My eyes widened instantly.
Because of the person they were looking at.
John.
For the first time since I had arrived here, he walked into the arena himself.
A red mantle draped over his crimson suit, swaying slowly with every step he took. White gloves covered his hands, spotless and immaculate.
And covering his face—
A white mask.
A curved crimson smile painted across it.
The moment he entered, the arena changed.
Guards who had been sitting, laughing, and playing cards, stood up at once.
The two guards standing in front of me straightened immediately. The hands gripping my shoulders tightened, fingers digging in just a little deeper.
It felt like the arrival of a commander.
Even the air seemed heavier, as if the space itself tightened around him.
Step.
He walked slowly.
With measures steps.
Step.
Each footfall echoed louder than it should have.
Step.
Until he stood directly in front of me.
Somehow, the painted smile on his mask looked wider than it had the day before.
His red eyes stared down at me through the mask.
I didn't lower my gaze.
I met his eyes.
My chest tightened under his gaze, and my body tensed.
John stayed silent for a few moments, simply observing me.
It felt less like being looked at and more like being evaluated and judged.
Then he spoke.
Not cold.
His tone was familiar.
It was the same tone he used when addressing the crowd.
As if this, too, was a part of the show.
"Do you know how troublesome you have become?"
I didn't respond.
He clasped his hands behind his back and began to pace slowly in front of me.
"You were just another slave."
"Something to entertain the crowd."
He stopped.
"But you didn't die like the rest."
His head tilted slightly.
"That alone isn't a problem. Skilled slaves are always welcome."
He resumed walking.
"But then you made a mistake."
I didn't understand.
He continued anyway.
"You should have lost. But you won."
"No, not just won. You tarnished a noble's honor."
His head lifted toward the empty stands, as if he could see something nobody else could.
"Then came the problems."
"That very same family demanded your head."
My chest tightened for a moment.
I hadn't known.
That I was so close to dying.
"I ignored them, of course. Who are they to demand something from me?"
I almost let out a sigh at his words, but stopped after he spoke again.
"But their pressure increased over time, forcing me to make a decision."
His head turned back toward me.
"And now…"
"The Empire had made an offer."
My mind raced.
The Empire wants me?
Why?
"They need skilled slaves."
He leaned forward slightly, just enough that the red eyes behind the mask felt closer.
"They pay very well for them."
My jaw clenched instinctively.
John straightened and took a single step back.
"So you see."
He raised both hands in front of him, palms up, as if weighing invisible objects.
His right hand lifted a little higher.
"A reputable noble family wants your death."
Then his left hand rose to match it.
"The Imperial Army wants skilled fighters."
He held the pose while his red eyes remained fixed on me.
Silence stretched.
Then, almost casually, John asked—
"So tell me."
"What do you think I will choose?"
Silence.
John waited.
I could see it in his gaze.
The expectation.
His red eyes didn't move from my face.
They watched.
Waiting for me to speak.
A word.
Anything.
My throat tightened.
I swallowed once and closed my eyes for a moment.
Then I looked straight at him again.
The mask.
That painted smile.
The way he still held that pose.
I understood then.
This wasn't a question.
No.
He just wanted me to-
Plead.
Beg.
Rage.
Cry.
He wanted me to entertain him one last time.
I made my decision at that moment.
I didn't look away.
I didn't bow my head.
I didn't answer.
Seconds passed.
One.
Two.
Three.
Then—
Something shifted.
I felt it before I saw it.
The air grew colder.
His lifted hands dropped to his sides, and the pressure around me increased.
Then—
It all vanished.
And was replaced by—
A chuckle.
Soft.
Low.
It slipped out from behind the mask, quiet enough that only those close could hear it.
My heart stuttered the moment I heard it.
I had never heard him laugh before.
And as if it were only my imagination.
He stopped and inhaled once.
"So," he said at last.
"That is your answer."
His tone changed.
The warmth drained from it completely.
"If you do not wish to speak—"
What remained was utter coldness.
"Then you will not speak."
My heart skipped, and my body tensed.
Then in that same cold tone—
"Cut it."
The guards moved instantly.
I was forced lower, my shoulders pressed down until my posture broke.
One of the guards stepped in front of me.
His hands grabbed my jaw.
"No—!"
My shout died down as calloused fingers forced my mouth open.
The smell hit me first.
Sweat.
Something sour.
I gagged.
My mouth was pried wider, fingers scraping against my teeth.
I thrashed instinctively, panic flooding my veins, my breathing turning ragged.
My tongue was grabbed.
"Aghh—!"
And pulled.
I tried to resist.
The grip tightened until it felt like my jaw would snap.
I gasped, choking, eyes squeezing shut as my vision swam.
Then—
I felt it.
Heat.
It pressed against my skin.
Then, through my blurred vision, I saw it.
A knife.
Its edge glowed orange, heat rippling faintly around it.
My body began to shake violently.
I tried to scream.
To pull back.
But one pull of the guard stopped me.
Pain tore through my jaw like my tongue was being ripped out.
The blade moved closer.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
Then—
Hiss.
A searing pain flooded my mouth.
"Ghh—!"
A broken sound tore from my throat.
It felt like fire.
Like molten lava poured straight down my throat.
My body arched violently.
"Ghhkk—!"
The blade cut deeper.
Pain drowned thought.
Hiss.
It drowned everything.
Then came the smell.
Burned flesh.
My head felt like it was splitting apart.
Tears streamed down my face without me noticing.
Then—
The knife stopped.
Thud.
Something fell to the ground.
But the pain didn't stop.
My vision darkened at the edges as my body shook uncontrollably.
I tasted blood.
Burned flesh.
Every breath brought agony.
I tried to scream again.
"Ghh—!"
Only a wet, broken sound came out.
My vision darkened.
Returned.
Darkened and returned.
Again and again.
Through the ringing in my ears, I heard his voice one last time.
"Silence has its price."