Caelvir stepped into the main hall of the Iron Arena. The room was packed wall to wall, sweat and steel merging into a thick scent of tension. Gladiators stood in clusters and ranks, murmuring, shifting, casting glances toward the front of the hall.
A glance behind revealed Ergon stumbling forward, his breath ragged, cheeks flushed red. He had followed Caelvir all the way here.
Caelvir sighed quietly.
It seems this guy has no intention of leaving me.
He had made no effort to encourage Ergon's company, but also none to push him away. They had barely met, and the man was still a stranger. Judging by his soft form and rounded gut, Ergon didn't look like a fighter. More likely, he had lived a life of comfort, a noble perhaps, someone who had annoyed the wrong people. And now he was here, hiding behind someone stronger.
Caelvir put the thought aside. The hall was full. Aelric was likely among the crowd too. How long was I asleep? he wondered as he began to weave through the sea of warriors.
"Ah, sorry... Oh, apologies..." Ergon muttered behind him, squeezing his large frame between the gladiators. His flailing arms brushed against armored shoulders and bare skin alike, drawing irritated looks as he tried to stay close to Caelvir.
Reaching the center ring of the hall, Caelvir stood still, scanning the faces around him. Men whispered among themselves:
"What's all this about?"
"They said there's a declaration."
"What's the news this time?"
"A waste of our time."
They sounded restless, pressed into this furnace of bodies with no hint of what was coming.
From the crowd, a familiar figure stepped forward.
Valkira.
She wore her armor like it was made for display as much as battle: chainmail over the chest, a fitted belt skirt falling above her thighs, chausses to her ankles. A leather headband sat across her forehead; her hair had grown too, worn in a ponytail style. She looked confident, walking proud toward him.
"Oh, look who's here," she said with a smirk. "So you've come to survive, huh?"
Caelvir returned the smirk. "So it seems."
"You've changed," she said, glancing at him up and down. "Look at you."
Whether she meant it as mockery or praise, Caelvir couldn't tell. Her tone played somewhere in between.
"And so have you," Caelvir replied. "Didn't know you cared that much about style."
Valkira laughed. "Your tongue's gotten sharper too, boy. Feels like it was just yesterday you were rotting in that cell."
Caelvir didn't know how to respond. Valkira's words definitely didn't feel like that of a old friend, but she definitely was not his friend to begin with, just someone who had shared a little more memory with him than the rest of the people here.
Her gaze slid past him.
"And who's the chubby one? Your friend?"
Ergon stepped forward, face lit with awkward energy. "Hello, lady! I'm Ergon!"
Valkira raised a brow. "Hmm? Anyways."
She looked back to Caelvir, her voice lowering.
"By the way, do you know anything about Lysara? My close friend from the Dust."
His body tensed. His chest locked. Valkira's tone was casual, but her eyes searched.
"I've been trying to find out where she ended up," she continued. "You two were neck-and-neck in kill counts back then. If even you don't know... it'll make things difficult."
There's no point in hiding it.
Afterall, he hated lying.
"She fought me in our final battle," Caelvir muttered, "and I killed her."
The whispering of gladiators vanished, and the sound of steps on stone disappeared in the void.
Valkira's eyes widened, her expression turning to stone, pale skin over a clenched jaw. Then her lips curled. Her fists balled up.
She took one step.
Then another.
Caelvir saw the shift in her shoulders. The moment she moved, he braced. Her punch came fast, but his arm moved on instinct and his fist blocked it immediately.
A gust burst around them.
Gasps echoed across the room as eyes turned toward the clash.
"You son of a bitch!" she shouted.
Ergon dropped to the floor behind them, whispering incoherent words, his round face twisted in fear.
Caelvir's eyes focused ahead with no words rushing out of his mouth in response.
He felt the sheer pressure behind Valkira's punch; it was unrelenting. His muscles burned in pain while regeneration helped his bones stay intact.
"Hey! Both of you, calm do—"
Valkira moved, rushing for her blade. Her blade hissed from its sheath, and she went for a deadly strike.
Caelvir reacted immediately, reaching for his blade.
Their weapons met. A gust of cold wind erupted around them, blowing dust and sweat across the stone floor. Gladiators pulled back, shielding their faces from the sharp chill.
Beyond the speed and power of the impact, Caelvir sensed something crushing him, an invisible aura like gravity putting him on his knees. What's this... I feel like I'm being squashed by the wind!
Some gladiator whispered:
"It's cold! What's this wind?"
"Someone calm those idiots!"
Valkira glanced at the blade touching hers; she looked surprised by the freezing aura emitted by it.
"Frost?!" Valkira's voice shook. "When did you get that?!"
The blade in Caelvir's hand shimmered with an icy aura, frost gathering along its edge.
Guards yelled from the sides of the hall, rushing in. "Stop this! Now! No fighting inside!"
With that, Valkira lowered her blade, and Caelvir did the same.
Valkira's eyes burned with fury and disgust.
"They don't know you, but I know." she then started to laugh quietly, her eyes going dark, her expression lost in madness. "Funny, isn't it? First you kill her with her own sword. Next I give it to you, then she does so, and at the end, she dies also. You don't see the pattern? Who's next but me. Huh..."
She turned her back to him. "It's all my fault. I should've gotten rid of you when my friends were still alive. At that time, I thought I should give you a chance, perhaps you could earn some respect. I should not have taken pity on you."
Just as Valkira turned her back and began to walk away, Caelvir felt something snap inside him. He couldn't let her leave like that. His grip tightened around the hilt of his blade, knuckles paling under the strain, and before he could stop himself, he shouted.
"Hey!" His voice cut through the murmurs in the hall. "Don't give me that nonsense."
Valkira froze mid-step. Slowly, she turned her head. Their eyes met, fighting a battle of their own.
"You think you know me?" Caelvir said, his voice low yet fierce. "Don't pretend we know each other. What else have you done other than smirking at me behind the cell bars? What have you done for me when my cell was a toilet for Brusk and his gangs? What food did you give me when I was starving? Don't pretend I owe you anything."
Valkira's expression hardened, but Caelvir pushed on, his voice rising.
"You gave me my sword back? It's just a blade. I could've found another. You think that makes me owe you something?"
"Don't give me that disgusted look full of rage." he stepped forward. His laugh came cracked and dry, like stone against stone. "This is the Colosseum! Did you expect me not to defend myself and let them kill me? Don't come spouting nonsense now! Do you want me to stay put and die?"
Valkira's fingers clenched tighter around her blade. Her chest rose with each breath, and the heat in her eyes flared hotter.
"YES!" she screamed, her voice shaking with fury. "I want you to just die!"
Her feet moved, fast as a gust, and her blade swept forward with deadly intent. Caelvir moved as well, his sword drawn, ready to meet hers.
Caelvir understood. Until now, she hadn't used her full strength, but he could see it clearly now; she was definitely holding back before this.
Despite knowing all of that, he had enough of being told he was in the wrong. Something in him just gave in, and he had to prove himself by sword.
Her blade blurred faster than his eyes could follow. No wonder she's called The Wind Blade.
He braced himself for death.
But the blow never came.
Their swords stopped midair, caught between fingers, two for each blade.
A man stood between them, body slightly lowered, arms extended. The strength in his fingers defied reason.
Caelvir blinked. Aelric...?
"Enough," Aelric said, voice firm and calm. "You two have to stop."
Valkira's blade trembled in his grip. Her glare shifted from Caelvir to the man between them. She pulled her weapon free with a sharp breath and turned away with a bitter tchh.
"If you want to kill each other," Aelric said, "do it in the pit."
Valkira muttered as she walked, "You always have to be this irritating, you bothersome monk."
She turned her head over her shoulder, staring at Caelvir. Fire burned in her eyes.
"The next time we meet in the pit, I'll kill you."
The tension broke with her departure. Caelvir lowered his sword, still processing what had just happened.
"Aelric…?" he muttered.
They stood face to face now, surrounded by silence, though whispers echoed in the distance.
"I'm sorry," Caelvir said. "I lost my temper."
Aelric stepped closer, resting a hand on his shoulder. "It's alright. I didn't expect that much emotion from you… but that's not bad. Memories are emotions and emotions are memories. They sometimes get buried deep down, but we all must come to terms with them and relinquish them once in a while."
The words settled like calm water over burning stone. Caelvir nodded, the rage draining from his chest.
Around them, murmurs stirred among the gathered gladiators.
"Yo who is that guy?"
"Did you see how he stopped that clash?"
"With just two fingers...?"
"Four... technically."
"Interesting. More interesting than waiting for a boring announcement."
Beyond their whispers, Caelvir caught sight of Ergon. The man had distanced himself, trembling near a pillar, eyes filled with unease. Maybe that was what Caelvir wanted—to keep an annoyance like him away—but somehow, the feeling it left behind didn't sit right.
From the corridor few were ever allowed to enter, a man stepped into the hall.
His robe shimmered faintly under the torches, fine and smooth, tailored with intricate symbols etched in silver thread. Guards flanked him on both sides, their steps in unison, boots heavy on stone. The chatter dulled as he raised a scroll, broke its seal, and cleared his throat.
"By the direct order of Her Majesty the Queen herself," the man began, voice shrill and practiced, "the Colosseum has come to put its rules in accordance to limit casualties as much as deemed likely as a constraint, while desirably lower than the expected amount currently. As such, by the direct order of the Keeper of the Colosseum, and upon deliberate elaborations of Vice-President of the Colosseum, Lord Marnes, and with help and creativity of nobles and lords in the small council, the following proposal has been put forth for the Iron Arena…"
Somewhere in the crowd, a soft groan escaped. Caelvir didn't need to turn to know it was shared by many.
"... By the direct order of the Keeper of Irene's Iron," the man went on, his voice unwavering despite the growing disinterest, "all branches of Iron must utilize the policy of group fighting to lower the expected casualties as natural a result. Furthermore, the policy of one out of three and two out of three may also be utilized, and even..."
The words went on. And on.
Most of the gladiators had either sat down, leaned back, or outright closed their eyes.
Someone yawned loudly and muttered, "Yeah… another boring nonsense."
Another snorted. "Some word salad for nerds."
A few words, like "constraint", "deliberate elaboration", and "utilize" buzzed around with no clear meaning to half the room.
Yet a few among them began to shift, sharing glances and nudging shoulders. Whispers stirred once more.
"No… this one seems important."
"Huh? How so?"
"It says we have to create groups to fight."
"Wha?"
By the time the announcer finished unraveling the endless decree, he rolled the scroll closed with an air of frustration. His polite tone vanished. Voice now sharp and condescending, he barked:
"Hey! Illiterate muscle-heads! You will fight in groups from now on! Three members max. Got it? Now go choose your comrades by tomorrow. Once you choose your group, you can't change it, well, unless your comrades die."