The pit was quieter than usual that morning. No prisoners, no roaring crowd—only the distant echoes of water dripping through the stone and the rustle of the wind above. Honey sat on a worn bench near the arena's gate, sharpening her blade, though her thoughts were far sharper than the steel.
Rufar approached, his heavy boots crunching against the gravel. He carried no scrolls, no orders—just a small leather flask in one hand. He sat beside her with the ease of a man who had spent too many years in places like this.
"You've been thinking," he said.
Honey looked up briefly, then returned her gaze to the blade. "Always."
Rufar chuckled under his breath. "I can see it in your face. You've been questioning whether this whole business is right. Whether these men deserve the pit."
Her grip tightened on the whetstone. "I met a woman yesterday. One of the prisoners I killed… he murdered her granddaughter. She said I gave her peace."
Rufar nodded slowly. "And still, that doubt lingers."
Honey's eyes narrowed. "How do you know?"
"Because I've been in your place before. You can swing a sword a thousand times, but one question will haunt you longer than any wound: Did I cut down the guilty, or the innocent?"
She didn't answer. The whetstone scraped against her blade, the sound sharp in the empty air.
Rufar leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "You should know something, Honey. The men you face here—it isn't the king who decides their fate. It's the people."
Honey blinked. "The people?"
He nodded. "Every town, every village, every family wronged by these men—they demand justice. And when the crowd roars for blood, the pit answers. The king… he merely allows the worst of them to be sent here, to face you. He doesn't waste this place on petty thieves or starving beggars. No, he saves it for those who've carved scars across the kingdom. Rapists. Slayers. Traitors who sold their kin for silver."
Honey set down her blade, turning fully toward him. "So every prisoner… every one of them has already been judged?"
Rufar's expression was grim. "By the people. By the victims who lost daughters, sons, mothers, fathers. Their crimes are not whispered rumors—they're known, shouted in the streets, carved into the hearts of the grieving. That's why they're sent here. The king won't risk blood on his hands unless the crime deserves the blade a hundred times over."
Honey's chest rose and fell slowly. A part of her felt relief, but another part still clung to unease. "So… there's no chance? No mistake? No one sent here who doesn't deserve the death penalty?"
Rufar's eyes hardened. "Not a chance. I've seen the lists myself. Each man you face has earned his place in the dirt. Some of them, even death is too kind."
The silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of wind whistling through the pit's iron bars.
Finally, Honey let out a slow breath. "Then… maybe I can stop doubting."
Rufar studied her carefully. "Doubt isn't weakness, girl. Doubt is what separates us from them. If you ever lose it entirely, that's when you become nothing more than another beast in the pit. But don't let it shackle your sword. Not here. Not with them."
Honey gave a faint nod. His words settled into her bones like the weight of armor. She rose, sheathing her blade with a steady hand.
"When's the next fight?" she asked.
Rufar stood as well, a small smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. "Tomorrow. And this one…" He paused, eyes narrowing with something between caution and admiration. "This one is different. A dangerous criminal—the king himself signed his death. The crowd's been waiting weeks for this. They'll fill every stone bench just to watch you bring him down."
Honey's heart gave a steady thrum. "Who is he?"
Rufar shook his head. "Best you don't know until the gate opens. Knowing his name won't change the way he swings a blade. But make no mistake—this one won't fall as easily as the others."
Honey pressed her lips together. A test, then. Not just of her strength, but of her conviction.
"Good," she said at last. "Let them come."
Rufar gave her shoulder a firm squeeze, his voice low but steady. "Remember this: the people cry for justice, not blood. When you fight tomorrow, don't think of it as killing. Think of it as answering a call no one else could."
As he walked away, Honey remained standing in the quiet pit. The shadows stretched long around her, but they no longer felt suffocating. For the first time, she believed Rufar's words.
This wasn't cruelty. This wasn't sport. It was justice—brutal, merciless, but justice all the same.
Honey lifted her chin, her eyes fixed on the gate where her next battle would come. She was ready.