Leo's routine settled into a rhythm—monotonous, mechanical, and utterly efficient.
Swing. Block. Reset. Rest.
Swing. Block. Reset. Rest.
The hours bled together beneath the sterile, unwavering glow of the recovery room's artificial light. There was no sun here. No window to mark the passage of time, only the quiet ticking of the glowing countdown above the door, like a heartbeat without a body.
[18:34.09]
[14:59.44]
[08:12.88]
Every time he looked, another slice of his preparation was gone.
Leo moved like a man possessed. Not graceful—yet—but growing sharper. Each repetition shaved off hesitation. His muscles remembered what his mind still questioned. The shield's leather straps had softened slightly, molding to his forearm. The rusty sword no longer fought his grip with every swing, though it still felt like wielding a metal stick held together by spite and bad decisions.
The sword clanged as it hit the tile with a misjudged angle.
Leo winced.
He quickly dropped to one knee, inspecting the blade. No visible crack—this time—but he could feel the faint reverberation up his arm. That kind of impact could've been the end of it.
It was a constant tension in the back of his mind. The fragile state of his gear wasn't just an inconvenience—it was a death sentence waiting to happen.
He switched tactics.
Thrusts. Controlled, direct stabs. Less weight behind each motion, more precision. The irony wasn't lost on him as he practiced another forward jab, stepping lightly into range and pulling back with the shield braced close to his ribs.
'If I'm just going to use it like a spear anyway… I should've picked the spear.'
He paused, letting the thought simmer as he wiped sweat—real or imagined—from his brow.
'No. The shield was the right call. A weapon's only as good as your ability to survive long enough to use it.'
He moved into a defensive crouch, shield raised, sword ready to counter.
'Regret's a luxury I don't have. I made my choice. I live with it. I win with it.'
His muscles burned, but the pain didn't linger. The room wouldn't allow it. Whatever strange technology or magic powered this place, it worked. Cuts, scrapes, bruises—all faded within minutes. The soreness in his shoulders from his first session? Gone. His back ached briefly from a bad roll into a block? Fine now. His wrist bent wrong after absorbing a strike too hard? Already stabilized.
It was unnatural. Useful, but unsettling.
Leo blinked through the haze of repetition and called out instinctively:
"Status."
A small white screen blinked into view in front of him, unobtrusive and matter-of-fact.
[Status: Healthy]
Name: Leo Rivera
Age: 20
Race: Human
Level: 0
—
[Stat points]
Strength: 1.42
Stamina: 1.81
Agility: 2.61
Intelligence: 2.1
Free stat points: 0
—
[Traits and skills:]
Traits: Adaptable
Skills: N/A
—
[Tap for more info]
He squinted at the numbers, watching them shift subtly from memory.
".02 increase in strength… .01 in stamina and agility. Well, well, well, they do go up after all."
There was something satisfying about it. Quiet, even triumphant.
'No level-ups. No flashy skill unlocks. Just… slow, honest progress.'
"Honestly the status screen info itself is a huge boon. It gives me something quantifiable."
He let out a breath and let his body slump against the wall.
Hours later—though he couldn't say exactly how many—Leo stirred from a restless doze. A thin trail of drool marked his cheek, a cooling line against the tile. His "pillow"—the battered shield—had apparently decided to leave him during the night, now resting halfway across the room like it had rolled away in search of a more comfortable owner.
He groaned softly as he pushed himself up, his neck aching from the sharp angle at which he'd collapsed.
'That'll fade soon enough, too.'
He glanced over at the timer, a habitual tic by now.
[04:03.12]
Still time. Not much—but enough.
He stood slowly, rolling his neck until it popped. His joints whispered in protest, but his body already felt lighter. The stiffness began to melt as Leo gave each sore spot some care.
He crossed the room to retrieve his shield, flipping it once before sliding it back onto his arm. He picked up the sword next, giving it a test swing. Still intact. For now.
Leo sat cross-legged in the center of the white room, shield resting beside him, sword laid carefully across his lap. With his body recovered and his muscles relaxed, there wasn't much else to do but think.
He decided to spend his remaining time formulating a plan—for whatever came next.
'Chances are… it's another duel.'
'The whole setup feels like something out of an ancient colosseum.'
He tapped a finger against the flat of the blade, the cold metal a faint comfort beneath his touch.
'Slaves forced to fight for entertainment, resting just long enough to be thrown back into the pit.'
'Win. Heal. Fight again.'
'Rinse and repeat.'
The thought sat heavy in his chest. He glanced up at the glowing timer above the door, watching the numbers shift in a quiet rhythm.
'Who knows when it'll end…'
'Am I really just a cosmic plaything? Forever locked in a game I never agreed to?'
His jaw tensed. The questions swirled like storm clouds, dark and unhelpful. Leo forced himself to rein them in.
'No. Stop. That's not helpful.'
'I'm too weak to worry about forever. Too early to ask what the point of all this is.'
'First, I have to survive the next fight. Nothing else matters yet.'
He let out a long breath through his nose, grounding himself with the sound of air moving through stillness.
'I wonder what will be next...'
'Another goblin? Something smarter? Stronger?'
His eyes shifted to the shield again—rough, dented, too light for his liking but still serviceable.
'I doubt it'll be a massive jump in difficulty. That wouldn't make sense.'
'So far, this place hasn't felt like it's trying to kill me outright.'
He paused, letting the idea settle.
'If the goal was death, there wouldn't be rewards after each fight.'
'No recovery room. No healing. No status gains.'
'They could've let me bleed out. Starve. Collapse from exhaustion.'
His gaze swept the sterile white chamber—empty, yes, but not lifeless. Not accidental.
'It's not mercy.'
'It's design.'
His fingers curled slightly around the sword's grip. The weight felt a little more natural now. A little more like his.
'Whatever this is, it's not just cruelty for the sake of it. There's structure here. Intention.'
'That means I can learn the rules. Play the game. Get stronger.'
'And eventually… maybe even beat it.'
[00:09:12]
He crouched and gave his shield one last inspection—still sturdy, though the leather straps were starting to fray where they rubbed his forearm. It would have to last.
The sword… not ideal. But it hadn't snapped yet. That was a win in its own way.
[00:07:38]
Leo's pulse began to rise, not from panic, but from instinct. Fight approaching. Breath steadying. He paced the room in a slow circle, visualizing movement.
'Open with the shield forward. Don't commit to the first swing. Let them move first. React. Control the tempo.'
[00:05:01]
The timer continued its silent march.
He dropped into a few warm-up movements—shield jabs, backpedals, quick foot pivots. Nothing fancy. Just enough to prime the muscles.
[00:02:49]
He stretched, using the wall for support he kicked his leg forward and back. He moved his arm in a pinwheel motion, doing all he could to prevent injury.
[00:01:30]
Leo stood still again. Sword in hand. Shield at the ready. His heart was steady now, like a drum matching the countdown's rhythm.
No fear.
Only focus.
[00:00:30]
The white door across the chamber lit up, a rectangle of pure energy tracing its outline.
[00:00:10]
Leo exhaled once, slow and sharp.
[00:00:05]
He stepped forward.
[00:00:04]
The light intensified.
[00:00:03]
His grip tightened.
[00:00:02]
His body shifted into stance.
[00:00:01]
[Rest limit complete. Starting trial]
[Good luck challenger]
The door vanished as a bright white light flooded the room.
And the world beyond it roared to life.
***
Leo blinked as the light enveloped him, and when it cleared, he was standing on the familiar sand once more.
The arena had returned.
Golden grains crunched beneath his boots. The arched stone walls—weathered, ancient, grand—loomed high around him like the ribs of some long-dead beast. Pillars crowned with cracked marble circled the arena's edge, half-swallowed by shadow. The air smelled of iron and dust, the same sterile rot that lingered after bloodshed.
It was the same as before. The same arena. The same rules. The same stage.
Leo's eyes scanned the perimeter automatically. No surprises. Just the open space and the soft hum of the holographic timer blooming into view.
[00:00.10]
The blue digits hovered in the air before him, crisp against the sandy backdrop.
He exhaled slowly, then turned his gaze toward the far end of the arena.
There they were.
Three figures. Humanoid, hunched, and ugly. One took a step forward into the light—green skin stretched tight over bones, a loincloth that looked like it had been dragged through sewage, and in its hand, a jagged shiv. A second goblin skulked behind it, wielding a chipped human hatchet. The third gripped a peculiar three-pronged dagger, its tip stained dark with something Leo didn't want to guess.
'Great,' Leo thought, squinting. 'Three goblins. What a treat.'
Donggggggg
The sound rang out harsh and metallic—one of the goblins had already sprinted straight into the invisible arena barrier at full speed, bouncing off like a dumb, green rubber ball. It staggered backward, clutching its head and shaking it off like a dog after a bath.
'The intelligence—if you could call it that—hasn't improved.'
Still, Leo didn't let himself relax. He noticed the same pattern: one of the goblins had a fresh head wound—a bruised, swollen welt above its temple. Clearly the same variety as the last one. A recycled grunt.
[00:00.03]
[00:00.02]
[00:00.01]
Leo tensed every muscle, shield angled, sword poised.
[00:00.00]
The barrier dropped, and the goblins shrieked as they charged.
But this time, Leo didn't meet them head-on.
He bolted sideways, kicking up a cloud of dust as he sprinted in a wide arc. He moved fast, trying to angle them into a line. Funnel them. Kiting was the only way to win this without being overwhelmed.
The goblins—true to form—followed in the least efficient way possible, charging after him in a clumsy clump.
'Perfect.'
The first goblin, the one with the dagger, outpaced the others and lunged forward with a wild swing.
Leo didn't hesitate. He sidestepped lightly, rotating his body just enough to keep momentum, and thrust his sword forward in a practiced, linear motion. His point found the goblin's eye socket—no armor, no thought. The blade sank in with a sickening crunch, puncturing brain before the thing could even scream.
The goblin collapsed like a sack of potatoes.
Leo didn't celebrate.
He yanked the blade free just in time to raise his shield against the second goblin barreling toward him. It leapt with a primal yell and hurled its hatchet downward.
THWACK
The blade buried itself into the front face of Leo's wooden shield with a brutal, cracking force—like a throwing axe splitting into a tree trunk. The impact jolted his entire arm, splinters spraying out.
'Still holding… barely.'
He planted his foot and kicked the corpse of the first goblin backward, creating space while simultaneously freeing his sword. The sand shifted beneath him, but he stayed balanced.
Then, with a snarl, Leo lifted the shield—still carrying the embedded hatchet—and used the motion to throw the goblin off its rhythm. The goblin blinked in confusion, its weapon gone.
It hesitated for just a moment. Then, realizing the opening, it lunged again—mouth open, teeth flashing.
Leo twisted and brought his sword around in a clean horizontal arc. The blade met the goblin's throat with a wet snap, slicing clean through sinew and bone.
Its head dropped to the sand, its body followed half a second later.
Leo exhaled hard, breath fogging in the cooler underground air. Blood dripped from his shield and cheek.
He turned to face the last one—the concussed goblin.
It was slower, stumbling. A dim light of fury in its unfocused eyes.
Leo took a step back, checking the ground for hazards. His boot nudged the body of the first goblin, but he adjusted. Clear footing.
Then, with one measured motion, he advanced.
His sword jabbed forward, smooth and controlled, piercing through the goblin's chest. The creature's eyes widened, then dimmed.
Leo twisted the blade, then pulled it free as the body slumped.
Silence.
Three bodies. No countdown. No reward yet. Just the empty arena breathing dust around him.
'That was… anticlimactic.'
Leo stood still, the iron tang of blood clinging to the back of his throat. Three goblins lay strewn across the sand at odd angles, their twisted limbs and crumpled torsos stark against the arena's pale, sun-bleached ground. His chest rose and fell with measured breaths—not from exhaustion, but from the creeping unease that settled in his gut like a cold stone.
He lowered his sword, its edge dripping with dark green blood, and slowly turned his gaze toward the nearest corpse.
The third goblin—the one with the shiv—had landed facedown in the dirt. The one with the dagger sprawled awkwardly, its head twisted at an unnatural angle.
And then there was the third.
Its body had crumpled near the center of the arena, headless. The hatchet was still embedded in Leo's shield. But the head… the head had landed a short distance away. It faced him directly, its mouth frozen in a half-snarl, eyes rolled slightly upward. The clean slice of Leo's sword was still visible along the neck. It had come to rest just beside the center ring, one dull eye facing the sky, the other squashed slightly against the sand.
Leo's gaze lingered on it.
And then—it blinked.
A single, slow blink.
Leo's spine went rigid, every nerve in his body lighting up like a struck match. Leo stumbled back a half-step, sword instinctively rising. His pulse spiked, and his breath caught in his throat.
"...What?"
The eye stared up at him. Blank, unfocused. The kind of stare you'd expect from something long past caring, long past thought. And yet, he could've sworn—no, he had seen it. It blinked.
The head had blinked.
It wasn't subtle or accidental. The goblin's one intact eye shut, then reopened slowly. Deliberately. As if it were looking straight at him.
He waited.
Nothing.
No twitch, no twitch of a muscle, no subtle breath in the chest of the corpse a few feet away. No illusion of life. Just silence. Just the sound of his own pulse pounding in his ears.
His hands tightened around the sword hilt. His feet shifted slightly on the sand, drawing him into a cautious stance. He didn't know what he expected—a twitch, a resurrection, maybe even a final lunge. But nothing came.
Leo's mouth was dry.
He kept his stance defensive, eyes locked with the goblin's as if expecting it to suddenly sprout legs and charge him. Every part of his mind screamed that it wasn't possible. It shouldn't be possible. Heads didn't blink. Dead things didn't look back.
Seconds ticked by like droplets of water in a cavern.
BOOM!
A trail of digital light shot into the dark sky, followed by an eruption of shimmering, synthetic fireworks. Blue and gold pixels burst overhead in perfect symmetry, crackling with cheerful digital sound. A dozen more followed—each burst illuminating the dead goblins head with their light.
It was like a video game had just declared him victorious.
Leo stared, still rattled, the surreal celebration clashing violently with the lifeless bodies around him.
Then, midair, a familiar message flickered into view:
[Congratulations Challenger]
The words gleamed in blue crystal, casting faint glows over the blood-streaked sand and motionless corpses.
[You will now be transported back to your recovery room]
Leo didn't move at first. His eyes were still fixed on the blinking head.
But the fireworks kept going—each burst echoing faintly in the distance like a celebration at a party he wasn't invited to.
Leo didn't move at first. His eyes were still locked on the goblin's head, now just a lump of flesh and disbelief.
'Did I really see that?'
Was it a nerve reaction? A death spasm? A hallucination from stress or adrenaline? He didn't know. He wasn't even sure he wanted to know.
All he knew was that he hadn't imagined the way his gut dropped, the way the hair on his arms had stood on end like a lightning bolt had brushed past him.
Whatever this place was—whatever the rules were—it clearly wasn't content to just let him fight and survive.
It wanted him off balance.
It wanted him watching.
Just before the light consumed his vision and transported him away, Leo muttered to himself, barely audible above the distant hum of shifting magic.
"…Yeah. Real cute."
And then he was gone.