The light of the arena hit me like a wave.
The roar of the crowd thundered down from the stands, thousands of voices blending into one overwhelming sound.
Cheers. Jeers. Gasps. Bets being shouted. I felt all of it vibrating in my chest.
The arena floor was massive—circular, worn down by countless battles. Stone tiles cracked and dented by years of weapon clashes and magic impacts.
The sun shone harsh and unforgiving from above, spotlighting everything.
Across from me stood my opponent—Jack Byron.
Broad-shouldered. Smirking.
The type of guy who probably bragged in taverns about the time he killed a wyvern or survived a storm at sea with only a toothpick.
He raised his axe lazily onto his shoulder. "You look a little young for this, boy. Sure you're in the right arena?"
"Absolutely," I said, flashing a grin. "I wanted to see how easy it'd be to wipe the floor with someone overcompensating."
—Hahah did he really say that?!
—He sure is bold.
