After the fight, they moved me to a different cage. Not even a cage—a room. Stone walls, but this time with a real bed instead of rotting straw. A mattress that didn't reek of piss and death. Even the food was slightly better than before.
This was their reward system. Win, and you get comfort. Lose, and you get nothing—then they throw you back into those same cages. Win enough times, and maybe you survive another day.
This room was in a different section of the compound—quieter, cleaner. Through the small barred window, I could see other similar rooms. Other "champions" who had earned their place through spilled blood.
Back in my room, the silence was different. Heavier. Like a physical weight filling the spaces where Elena's voice used to live.
Three more days passed. Three days of training, eating, and waiting. Three days of trying not to think about Marcus.
On the second day, I learned the news—Marcus, the one-eyed old man who had taught me about this place, was dead. Killed in a match against the Viper. They said it was quick. One blade straight to the heart.
I wanted to feel something. Sadness. Anger. But there was nothing. Just that same cold emptiness that had lived in my chest since Elena died.
Maybe that's what this place did to you. Slowly burned away your humanity, piece by piece, until only a killing machine remained.
Maybe that's what I was becoming.
And maybe that's what I needed to become.
The food arrived—bread, real bread, not moldy scraps. Meat that looked like it had once been alive. Vegetables that weren't rotting. And a small cup of what might have been wine. By this place's standards, it was luxury.
I ate in silence, tasting nothing. Food was just fuel. I needed strength for what lay ahead.
And I had a feeling something was coming soon.
After eating, I began training. Push-ups until my arms burned. Squats until my legs shook. Shadow-boxing against imaginary enemies. I repeated every combination I'd ever seen from the blacksmith's son back in my village.
I wasn't a trained fighter. But I was learning. I had no skill inside me—just raw strength.
Pain was my teacher. Death was my professor.
And this place was my university.
---
**The Day of Inspection**
On the third day, they called us for inspection. Guards came for all the "premium fighters"—those who had won their private rooms. They led us through corridors I'd never seen before, past cells filled with broken and desperate people.
We arrived at a large courtyard. Other fighters stood in groups, sizing each other up. Some looked confident—scarred and proud. Others looked desperate, clinging to whatever edge kept them alive.
And then I saw them.
The Viper—lean, but with tight muscles that spoke of speed over strength. Scars covered her arms like a roadmap of pain. Her eyes never stopped moving. Always watching. Always calculating. Seeing her, I understood how she must have killed Marcus.
The Iron Maiden was impossible to ignore. A full head taller than most men, with shoulders that could support a roof. Her body was a canvas of wounds—blade cuts, burns, claw marks. She had survived things that would have killed most people twice over.
But even so, I'd heard the whispers—Iron Maiden had lost twice. Viper once.
If these experienced fighters had been defeated...
My chest tightened.
Who was I?
What chance did I have against someone who had never lost?
Against the Queen of Blades?
I was lost in these thoughts when I sensed someone approaching from behind. Two men, older than me—maybe thirty-five and forty. They carried themselves like veterans, but there was something else in their eyes. The same thing I'd seen in the soldiers who burned my village.
"Look here, brother," the first one said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "The boy who beat Korran."
"Yeah," the second added with a laugh. "I heard he didn't even finish the job properly. Got scared, did you?"
I kept my eyes straight ahead. "I don't want to talk."
They moved closer. The stench hit me—sweat, blood, and rotten intentions.
"Not in the mood?" the first one laughed. "Hear that, Brix? The hero's not in the mood."
"Maybe he's scared," Brix replied. "Everyone's calling him some kind of prodigy? Sounds like bullshit to me."
I took a deep breath. Stay calm. Don't give them what they want.
I had bigger fights ahead. I didn't need to waste time on these two scumbags.
Then Darius said something that froze my blood.
"You know what I heard? This boy couldn't even protect his own woman.
They say she was real pretty." He made a crude gesture. "If she'd been mine... I would have at least had some fun before letting anyone hurt her."
The world went silent for a second. A stillness. Only the sound of my heartbeat.
Elena. Her smile. Her laugh. The way she looked at me like I was her whole world.
Then the other face. The nightmare one. Those eyes, when they broke her.
My fist drove into Darius's stomach before I even realized I was moving. The impact lifted him into the air. Blood sprayed from his mouth. He dropped to his knees, gasping like a fish out of water.
Brix threw a punch. But I didn't block it—I took it. Then my second punch went straight to his ribs. Something cracked.
He fell backward, clutching his side.
I was about to move forward when three guards rushed in and grabbed me.
"Enough! That's enough!" one shouted.
I could have shaken them off if I wanted. Three guards were nothing when rage was coursing through my veins.
But as the red faded, I saw the entire courtyard staring at me.
The other fighters looked shocked. Some impressed. Some wary. But those two women—Viper and Iron Maiden—were watching me with new eyes. Not fear exactly—recognition.
They had seen the beast that lived inside me.
And now they knew I was dangerous.
The guards dragged me back. Along the way, I caught fragments of conversation:
"...dropped him with one punch..."
"...didn't even look tired..."
"...something's off about that boy..."
Good. Let them wonder. Let them fear.
Fear was just another weapon. And I was collecting them all.
Back in my room, the silence was heavy again. Like Elena's voice had been replaced by my anger.
I wasn't a trained fighter.
But I was becoming one.
Pain was my teacher. Death was my professor. And this place—my university.
---
**The Seventh Day**
On the seventh day, there was tension in the air—the kind that comes when something special is about to happen.
We reached the waiting area beneath the arena. The sound of the crowd above was louder than before. More intense.
This wasn't just another fight. This was an event.
The gate began to rise. The crowd's roar and the arena's harsh light flooded in. I stepped forward. My heart was steady, my mind clear.
And then I saw her.
The opposite gate was opening. And she walked in—like death given form.
Shira.
The Queen of Blades.
She was exactly as Marcus had described—tall, fit but lethal. Her brown hair was braided back in a warrior's knot. Twin curved daggers gleamed in her hands. Scars decorated her arms like trophies. Each one told a story.
But it was her eyes that captured me.
Dark. Furious. Without mercy.
Eyes that had seen too much. Lost too much. Survived too much.
The same eyes that I had.
The crowd was screaming. The noise was so loud it seemed like the stone walls were shaking.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!"
the announcer's voice rose above it all.
"Tonight, something special! Our new champion faces our deadliest flower!
THE UNSTOPPABLE FORCE MEETS THE IMMOVABLE OBJECT! GARRETT THE SILENT VS SHIRA THE QUEEN OF BLADES!"
The crowd roared. But Shira didn't move at all. As if the cheers couldn't even reach her.
I walked to the center. My sword felt heavy in my hand.
Shira approached. Spinning her daggers like a trained fighter.
We stopped ten feet apart.
She looked me up and down. Expression blank.
"So," she said, her voice clear even over the crowd. "You're the one who beat Korran without breaking a sweat?"
"That's me."
"And you put Darius in the hospital with one punch?"
"He said something he shouldn't have."
She tilted her head slightly. "About your woman?"
The words hit like a physical blow. But I kept my expression unchanged.
"About someone who's gone."
"Hmm." She nodded slowly. "I understand. Those who leave us make us dangerous."
She spun her daggers again. Took a fighting stance.
"Tell me, Silent One," she said. "Are you ready to join them?"
I raised my sword.
"The question isn't whether I'm ready to die," I said quietly. "The question is—are you ready to be the one to kill me?"
She smiled. Cold. Sharp. Without warmth.
"We'll see."
The horn sounded.
And the dance began.
Sword and daggers clashed. A spark. A slash. An almost-hit. Every move carried the weight of life and death.
---
**To Be Continued...**