People often said that the only way to overcome fear was to face it.
Afraid of insects? Hold one in your hand. Afraid of the sword? Train until it feels like an extension of your body.
But not every fear was so simple. Not every fear could be faced head-on.
What about fire?
You couldn't hug fire. You couldn't practice with it the way you would with a blade. It didn't offer second chances. It didn't care if you were ready.
So most people left it alone. And that was fine. Some fears existed for a reason. Fear of fire. Fear of falling. Fear of pain. They were instincts, not weaknesses.
They didn't need to be conquered. On the contrary, they helped you survive.
That was unless your life depended on it.
Because sometimes, fear wasn't an enemy to defeat, but a boundary to cross—when there was no other way forward.
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There was a ring in the arena. It wasn't large, but it wasn't small either.
Simple in design—a stone-floored circle with nothing elaborate about it.
There weren't even guardrails. Anyone could step in or out of the ring without trouble.
There was also an audience, though it wasn't much. This wasn't some grand match. The seating reflected that—just rows of stone slabs for people to sit on.
This was the arena of Elarith-17. In fact, all the Elariths had the same kind of arena, except for the original.
"I thought magi didn't like fighting. Even barbarians don't have arenas. Well, they do, but only for special occasions," Caelen said, settling on one of the stone slabs.
"These arenas aren't for fighting. They're for overcoming your instincts," Favia replied.
"Then why an arena? Why not just build chambers?"
"No way! We're not thugs. You need a real chance to face your fear. Chambers wouldn't work."
"Caelen, come on the stage!" came a voice from near the ring.
Yes, he was going to fight. And his opponent would be a barbarian.
According to Favia, this one was among the few non-magi allowed into Elarith-17—someone they trusted completely.
An outcast, apparently. If he ever went back to the barbarian side, he would be the one in danger.
He had agreed to help the magi with their so-called "training."
Of course, Caelen had seen what that training was. He was here to beat the crap out of magi.
That was the whole purpose of the arena. The instinctual fear of pain and injury limited a magus's power. To grow stronger, they had to overcome it.
But just fighting again and again didn't help. If it did, Caelen would've been over it by now.
Instead, they had to be injured.
Not seriously. Minor wounds were enough at first.
But magi sparring with magi didn't result in minor wounds. Spells were too unpredictable at low levels.
They couldn't wait until they were strong enough to control them. The fear needed to be dealt with now.
So the solution was simple: they fought under the condition that someone would get hurt.
Of course, Caelen had been injured in training before—sparring with his master, or with the other kids. But back then, a Lucen was always there to heal him immediately.
That alone proved just how sheltered he'd been.
"Don't forget," Favia whispered as he stepped down into the ring. "Do not use your Crest of War. If you do, I'll interfere, and you'll have gotten beaten for nothing."
"I know... but I don't stand a chance without it."
"Do you think you do with it? Good luck."
Caelen felt his legs shaking. No matter how many times he fought, he always felt his legs shake before a match.
Was it because of the fear from his magus side or the expectancy and thrill of an upcoming fight from his barbarian side?
He couldn't say.
"He's new," the referee warned the barbarian already waiting in the ring.
This wasn't a fight for the barbarian. It was a job. Nine to five, throw some kids around, don't kill anyone.
When someone new showed up, he was expected to hold back—ease them in. The injuries were meant to come gradually.
The more they got used to it, the more injured they would get.
And in time, they wouldn't be scared of it at all.
Well... not really. Instinct never fully went away. But you could learn to act against it—and that's what this place taught.
"A new one, huh?" the barbarian called out. "You look older than the others. Took you this long to work up the nerve?"
"Uh... no. I just wasn't here before."
"Sure, you weren't. Magi get trained everywhere, kid."
Caelen stayed quiet. He wasn't about to broadcast that he'd been raised among barbarians.
No need to add that to the list of secrets.
The barbarian didn't press further. He just adjusted his grip on a real two-handed sword and took his stance.
A barbarian was a barbarian, no matter where you put him.
The referee stepped between them, raised a hand, and called out, "Start!"