Soon, the bidding ended, and the massive trucks roared to life again, dispersing in different directions.
Sairen found himself in one of the containers alongside rugged-looking men. They were all bound in chains, but it was clear that some refused to accept their fate.
"It seems not all the prisoners were slaves. At the very least, these guys stand out from the crowd."
He sat in silence for a while until the truck came to a stop. It felt like they were being taken somewhere into a city, but Sairen didn't know the exact location.
The door creaked open, and another guard in gear led them out.
Before them loomed a massive wall with a single iron gate. There were guard posts and armed patrols around it. Beyond the concrete barriers, the outer city was impossible to see.
The chains clinked as they were dragged into the building. Dark corridors pressed down on them, and a foul stench hit their noses, smelling of waste and sweat.
Sairen's bionics involuntarily activated, dulling the reek.
"Pretty convenient," he thought, glancing around. Steel doors lined the corridors, and muffled voices mixed with the clank of chains echoed from behind them. At the bottom of each door was a small slot, just big enough to slide a plate or bowl of food through.
The building screamed that it was a cage for prisoners. It would make sense if they were holding slaves here, but something didn't add up. Sairen's sharp eyes caught faint traces of ether trails left by its users. Such traces were only possible if there were at least a few strong fighters or mages in the cells.
"But why are there so many powerful people in what's supposed to be an isolation ward?" He didn't know.
After a few minutes of walking, the guards split them up, herding a few people into each cell. The damp room was empty, with only concrete walls and a small barred window near the ceiling. Two other men were with him. One showed clear signs of infection, with sluggish movements and vacant eyes. A faint trail of black smoke emanated from him, dissipating under the city's lights. The other was healthy, with massive muscles and tanned skin. He was in his prime, with rough stubble and shoulder-length, shaggy hair. His gaze was sharp, but his demeanor was restrained.
"Looks like we're stuck here for a while," the man muttered in a deep voice. He tensed, glanced at his clinking shackles, and then sat in a corner.
Following his example, Sairen sat against the opposite wall, peering at the sunlight streaming through the bars. Only the third man remained standing, his soulless gaze fixed on a single point.
"Creepy, huh? It's like his soul's been devoured by the disease. Look at those growths on his neck," the man suddenly said. He glanced at Sairen, as if assessing his condition, checking for signs of infection. Luckily, Sairen showed no obvious signs of flesh crystallization. It seemed the disease had only eaten away at his internal organs, which had been removed. Though he knew it wouldn't stop the illness, at least the pain seemed less now.
"He probably doesn't even realize it. I doubt he's capable of understanding anything anymore," Sairen replied, looking at his cellmate. "Aren't you afraid of catching it from him? What if you end up like that?"
"Usually, people would grimace or shy away from the infected…"
"Of course I'm afraid, but I don't think he'll kick the bucket in this cell. We're in Ascalia, after all. He'll probably die at the hands of a stronger enemy soon enough, just like the rest of us." His tone grew darker, and something clicked in Sairen's mind.
The Holy State of Ascalia—a nation that upheld its name with blood. Alongside the Elvarn Federation, it was part of the Eastern Alliance. His parents had once hoped to escape the wars of discord in Elvarn to come here, but they never made it. And now, after all these years, Sairen was here, breathing the scent of freedom from beneath oppression.
Though there was no trace of freedom's scent in these stinking cells, not to mention the shackles still binding him.
"Why do you say that? Isn't Ascalia a thriving nation? Why would we die at someone else's hands?" Sairen had often dreamed of living in a land free of strife. The thought of a peaceful life, working in vast fields in some settlement and living with his family, had been his solace. But that dream had never seemed attainable. And now, someone was suddenly telling him they'd die without even glimpsing a fraction of that peace.
"What, you don't know? They picked us out of the crowd of rejects just for fun. They say the ancient ritual of inheriting warriors' names is now nothing more than entertainment for the masses. You'll see—soon they'll throw us into the arena to be brutally executed in front of thousands." His tone was flat, resigned, as if he'd already accepted it all. "I've got no complaints. I've lived a vibrant, full life with no regrets. What about you? Got any wishes?"
Sairen stared at the man, then snarled, "Wishes? Yeah, I've got a little wish—to live, damn it! What kind of stupid question is that? Don't think just because you've made peace with it, everyone else feels the same! And what the hell is this situation? What idiot came up with this entertainment? Am I some kind of joke to them?"
His indignation surged exponentially.
"I could've dealt with being forced to work until I die. But to be used as crowd entertainment and executed? No way, spare me! Damn it, I need to get out of here before it's too late!"
"Hey! Protocol Eclair, do something! They're about to kill me—don't let this happen!" Sairen shouted into the void, hoping for a response from the hologram in his head. But the archive guardian in his mind remained silent.
"You okay? Did the guards hit you on the head too?" the man asked, a hint of concern in his voice, but Sairen kept shouting into the void to no avail.
Finally, after a hard blow from a guard, Sairen slumped back into place, rubbing the back of his head.
"Listen, you wouldn't happen to know a way out of here, would you? There's gotta be some loophole. Maybe bribe the guards or play dead?"
The man thought for a moment, then shook his head impassively.
"There's one way, tried and true," a raspy voice suddenly called from behind the wall. "You can say goodbye to the shackles forever and even start a new life, free of burdens. Live as you please, smoking and savoring freedom."
Sairen turned to the wall, listening intently. A lifeline had appeared out of nowhere, and it would be foolish to ignore it.
"Really? What's the way?" he asked excitedly, already imagining himself free.
"It's simple—just take the name of one of the warriors when the chance comes." The voice from the wall was sly, speaking in riddles.
Sairen tried to ask more, but the voice fell silent, leaving his questions unanswered.
"So, what's your plan?" the man in front of him asked, watching as Sairen spoke to the wall. "I don't think the guards will be kind this time."
With a weary sigh, Sairen realized no more answers were coming. The cold walls dampened his fervor, though the anxiety in his heart didn't fade.
Leaning back against the wall, he closed his eyes and slipped into sleep. Unfortunately, in his subconscious, a battle-ready girl wrapped in bandages awaited, ready to beat the crap out of him.
---
At the same time, in another room, fighters from various squads of the Light-Bearing Guard gathered. There were about thirty men and a dozen women.
Muscles like taut steel cables bulged beneath skin marked with posthumous tattoos. The men, shirtless, sharpened their blades for battle, while the women, clad in ritual peplos, sparred with their swords.
Many were older, with only a few relatively young for the ritual. One of them was Jade, a mature man with dark eyes and olive skin. Scars covered his body, testifying to years of experience. Just hours ago, a skilled priest had etched tattoos onto him, and under the blessing of the God of War, he was escorted to the coliseum with ritual chants.
The glaive in his hands glowed with enchanted runes crafted by a master. Once, this weapon had belonged to his father, but now he was ready to pass it on, along with his name.
The silver ring on his hand hummed, suppressing his corruption. Narrowing his eyes, he let a wave of pain ripple through his sync-chain, enveloping his body in an aura.
Everyone in the room was a seasoned warrior, having dedicated years to serving the Sovereign and Ascalia. Now, having chosen their path, they sought eternal rest under the gaze of the God of War on the blessed arena.
---
The massive coliseum, adorned with ornaments and statues of great warriors, thrummed with the cheers of thousands of spectators. The orchestra played at full force, amplifying battle songs through massive speakers, trying to outdo the roaring crowd. Giant screens in the air broadcasted valiant tamers skillfully dodging attacks from deadly beasts. A massive lion with a scorpion's tail and severed wings fought for its life, desperately trying to tear the humans apart, until an enchanted spear pierced its throat. The proud king of the wild lands fell under the relentless assault of the gladiators, soaking the ground in crimson blood.
The crowd cheered for the warriors as the announcers showed the lion's head being severed and raised high.
"What an incredible fight! The courage and skill of the gladiators are truly awe-inspiring! I'm sure each of them poured immense effort and will into this feat, so let's give them our support!" one commentator riled up the crowd, ignoring the scattered corpses on the arena. Despite the losses and injuries, the gladiators considered it the highest honor to perform on the sacred arena, spilling blood for the Sovereign and the God of War.
"Yes, their valiant struggle is truly worthy of today's cheers! I'm sure the God of War himself would welcome them with honors. But let's not forget today's main battle!"
The crowd erupted at the announcer's words. For today, under the scorching sun, the ritual of purification was to take place, allowing warriors to pass their oaths and names to their successors.
"This battle will live on in everyone's memory! So let's give a grand send-off to our brave Guards who shed sweat and blood for Ascalia!"
By now, the arena was ready for the next fight.
"And let this moment remind us: only with courage and faith can our souls find peace in the embrace of the Nymphs in the afterlife. May the God of War protect the souls of our brave Guards, servants of the Sovereign and all the people!"
Amid the frenzied cheers, the arena's sands parted, raising dozens of massive platforms to the surface. The hum of machinery echoed from the speakers, as if greeting the fighters.
---
Sairen woke as he was yanked by his chains, nearly dragged across the ground. The guards roughly pulled them out of the cell, hauling them in one direction.
It wasn't just them. Several cells opened, and prisoners were brusquely dragged in different directions. They were people of various ages and genders, united only by their physique. They were all well-built to some degree, but a few stood out.
Sairen noticed that some prisoners emitted ether trails. Not everyone could do that, and these individuals had a menacing air, their unique interactions marking them as ether users.
"Hear that sound? Sounds like the battle's starting," the man in front of him said suddenly. His words carried resignation, with no hint of anger or rage—just a touch of melancholy.
"You're not helping at all. Don't you care what happens to us?" Sairen wasn't ready to accept that he was about to be executed. Suddenly remembering something, he glanced at the neighboring cell, hoping to speak with the person who had offered cryptic advice. To his surprise, the cell was empty.
"Move!" a guard barked, shoving him forward.
Dejected, Sairen followed the others until they reached a room filled with various weapons. About a dozen other people were already there, inspecting their surroundings.
Swords of different shapes and sizes, tower and small shields, long and short bows lay on the floor.
The guards removed the prisoners' chains and left the room, leaving them alone.
"Don't tell me we have to kill each other," Sairen thought. In the next moment, he grabbed the nearest blade and pointed it at the infected man, who still stood motionless, staring at nothing.
The floor beneath them jolted with a mechanical clang. Pistons were pushing them upward. The crowd's noise grew louder as the arena floor parted, flooding them with bright sunlight.
"What the hell?!"
The massive crowd greeted them with thunderous cheers, and hot air swept over their faces, making them tremble.
"Look at them! Their eyes burn with determination. Their hearts beat in unison with the roaring crowd. They didn't come for a glorious death but for a chance to become honored warriors!"
The commentators kept shouting into their microphones as the stunned prisoners began grabbing weapons.
"Get ready! Because what comes next… will surpass everything we've seen before! Welcome our steadfast, proud, and brave Guards!"
Following the crowd's gaze, Sairen saw gates slowly rising, revealing figures cloaked in enhancement auras. Their bodies were covered in intricate tattoos, and their enchanted weapons gleamed under the bright sun.
Before he could blink, the first Guard hurled a spear into the air. The enchanted tip whistled past, covering a vast distance in seconds. The head of a man standing nearby burst like a watermelon, spraying brain and bone fragments onto those around him.
The poor soul was gone instantly, without even a chance to think. His body collapsed, twitching in its final spasms.
"Fuck!" The prisoners who reacted quickly scattered like headless chickens.
The crowd howled in delight as Sairen dove to the side, dodging another spear that arced through the air and buried itself in the sand where he'd stood moments ago.
"First blood! What speed, what precision!" the commentator roared. "But this is just the beginning—let's see how these rejects writhe in agony for the glory of the God!"
By now, the ether-using prisoners launched their counterattack. Spears soared toward the Guards. One hit an unlucky woman charging at them, piercing her chest and pinning her to the ground. Her final convulsions faded as a second spear impaled her stomach.
"What brutality! Look at that courageous woman who gave her life in her final battle! Her name and oath were claimed by a bold contender. Oh no, she just fell to a warrior's blade—what a loss!"
The Guards closed in, engaging in close combat. The man with stubble from Sairen's cell clashed with a woman in a peplos. His heavy hammer crushed her ribcage, tearing her insides apart. Blood mixed with dust, and the crowd roared louder. But in his final moment, the man drove a dagger into her throat, and she collapsed, choking on her blood.
Sairen, dodging another spear, saw the infected man, who'd been standing still, cleaved in half by a Guard's glaive. Black smoke granules erupted from his body, as if his soul had fled its shell. Crystal-covered entrails spilled onto the arena, and the crowd screamed in ecstasy.
"What a strike! What power! Ladies and gentlemen, this is our protector, our pillar and support!" the commentator gasped in excitement.
Gritting his teeth, Sairen charged at the nearest Guard. The gray-haired man, covered in fresh wounds, was catching his breath when Sairen's axe met his blade. The Guard gave a weak smirk, but Sairen, fueled by adrenaline, kicked his knee. The bionics unleashed unnatural strength, bending the joint at an unnatural angle. The bone snapped, the Guard collapsed, and without hesitation, Sairen drove his blade into his neck. Blood sprayed onto his face, hot and sticky, as the crowd erupted in applause.
"What was that? Where did that strength come from? Are the implants that powerful?" His shock was boundless.
But there was no time to think. Another Guard, spotting him, advanced. The enchanted glaive sliced through the air with terrifying speed. Barely dodging, Sairen watched as the next strike came.
The slaughter continued around him: prisoners fell one by one, their blood pooling, severed limbs littering the arena. A Guard, struck by a spear in the stomach, collapsed, trying to hold his guts in, while the crowd cheered his resilience.
Sairen, gripping his bloodied blade, dodged the glaive's sharp strikes. His bionic-enhanced body kept up, but he had no chance to counterattack yet.
Nearby, bones crunched. A prisoner clutching a spear tried to strike a Guard, but the Guard easily caught the weapon and, with one swing, cleaved the man from shoulder to groin. Slick organs spilled onto the sand under the crowd's frenzied cheers. The Guard, stepping on the still-twitching body, moved to his next target.
It seemed the Guards had an unspoken rule not to interfere in each other's duels. Fortunately, the prisoners had no such principles. Off to the side, two ether-enhanced men attacked a single woman. She defended against their barrage until she was disarmed. Two blades pierced her from both sides, slashing through her chest and stomach.
"What a combo! It's like these two rejects have been working together forever! That's synergy!" the commentators' voices boomed as the screens showed the woman's brutal death. "But there can only be one name! Will they claim another, or will they fight over it?"
At that moment, a prisoner cloaked in ether interrupted the duel between Jade and Sairen. Before he could catch his breath, another Guard—a woman with short blades—lunged at him.
Her ether-enhanced blades left trails as she stabbed the unlucky prisoner. A flurry of strikes hit her in seconds, and her daggers severed her head, cutting off her scream. The body collapsed, and the woman, without flinching, charged at Sairen.
"Look at that grace! Who said women belong in the kitchen? Go on, tell that to our lady!"
Sairen, clenching his teeth, hurled his blade at the woman. She dodged, but he grabbed a spear from the ground and drove it into her thigh. She growled, but the spear pierced muscle, and blood gushed onto the sand. He yanked the weapon free, and as she limped to counterattack, he struck again, this time into her stomach.
The spear tore out with a wet squelch, dragging slimy loops of intestines. Blood poured, soaking the sand, and the woman, her face twisted in pain, fell to her knees, clutching her spilling guts. Her aura flickered and faded like a dying candle. Sairen, breathing heavily, stepped back, but the crowd's ecstatic roar drowned his thoughts. The screens above the arena zoomed in: his bloodied hands and the woman's agony, her blood mixing with the sand into a crimson slurry.
"Incredible! This kid sent the lady to her rest! Who'd have thought a reject could do that?!" the commentator squealed, his voice trembling with excitement.
Sairen turned, feeling his bionics hum, dulling the pain in his muscles.
Jade, with his rune-glowing glaive, strode through the arena, cutting down everything in his path. A tall prisoner with an axe tried to strike him, but Jade dodged effortlessly, and his glaive sliced the man in half. The upper body fell, spraying blood, while the lower, with spilling entrails, stood for a few seconds before collapsing.
"He's relentless! His glaive is death itself, reaping souls! Can anyone stop this titan?" The screens zoomed in on Jade's face, his scars and tattoos gleaming under the sun.