The dim light inside Njmol City's prison barely gave Averroes enough vision to see. He wasn't even sure whether it was day or night anymore; the conditions throughout his stay remained the same—gloomy, cold, and constantly illuminated by only the faintest rays of light seeping through the tiny holes in the stone walls.
The wounds and bruises covering his body, face, and legs had improved slightly, but they still burned with pain as though they had only just been inflicted.
He lay there, staring at the dark stone ceiling, surrounded by walls covered in ancient carvings. Who knew how many people had passed through this cursed place? Who knew how many had walked out alive—or never walked out at all? His mind wandered, trying to imagine the fate of those who had come before him.
Six days had passed since he had been thrown into this place. At least, that was his guess. In truth, he had no idea how many days he had actually spent inside this prison.
Since then, he had spent countless hours thinking of ways to escape, but his knowledge of the prison's structure was far too limited. He didn't know its corridors, its security system, or what awaited him outside. All of it caused every plan he came up with to fall apart before he could even put it into action.
His eyes then fell upon the food sitting near the corner of the iron door. As usual, whenever mealtime came, he was given two pieces of hard bread and a bottle of water.
But now, only one piece remained.
The other had been left completely untouched.
He couldn't bring himself to eat it.
He ate only enough to stay alive—just enough to maintain his strength, nothing more. And the fact that the food came from his enemies… was enough to make him sick at the thought of finishing it.
"Hukhuk…"
Suddenly, the sound of someone coughing echoed through the narrow stone chamber.
Averroes flinched.
As far as he knew, he was the only prisoner in this section of the prison. For six days, he had heard nothing but the footsteps of guards, the dripping of water, and the sound of his own heartbeat.
He was certain there was no one else here.
Slowly, he got up, his bare feet touching the cold stone floor, and walked toward the source of the sound, which seemed to be coming from somewhere beyond the iron bars of his cell.
When he reached the door, he peered into the dark corridor, narrowing his eyes.
But all that greeted him was darkness, the stench of dampness, and the faint sound of water dripping from the stone ceiling.
Just as he was about to turn away—
"Hey, kid. What are you looking for? A way out? Trying to escape, huh?"
Averroes immediately turned around.
The voice had come from the cell opposite his.
A small spark of hope appeared in his eyes.
From within the shadows, the figure of an adult man could be seen lying on his side, resting his head on one hand as though he were relaxing in his own home. His face was difficult to make out, but his lazy and carefree manner was unmistakable.
Far too relaxed for someone sitting in prison…
Or perhaps he had simply lost his fear a long time ago.
"If you've already ended up in here," the man said with a small yawn, "don't dream of getting out."
Averroes glanced at him, his expression returning to its usual blankness.
He turned around and began walking back toward his sleeping spot.
Ever since arriving here, he had held onto one small hope—if there was another prisoner, perhaps there might be a way out.
But those words extinguished that hope just as quickly.
"Hey, wait, kid."
The man's shadow suddenly moved as he leaned closer to the iron bars.
"At least listen to what I have to say."
Averroes let out a quiet sigh.
He turned back reluctantly, but decided to give the man a chance.
"What do you want?"
"Bread…"
Averroes lowered his gaze and noticed the piece of bread near his feet.
"...You're not going to finish that?" the man asked with a grin.
Without saying much, Averroes picked up the bread and tossed it through the iron bars.
"Heheh… thanks. You're quite considerate."
Averroes turned away, intending to return to his sleeping spot.
"Kid, what's your name?" the man asked again.
"You don't need to know."
Averroes's tone was firm, making it obvious that he had no interest in talking.
"Fine, if you don't want to tell me…"
The man leaned back against the wall, his strange smile returning.
"But I think your day has finally come…"
Averroes stopped walking.
He turned back toward the man.
"What the hell are you talking about?"
His voice rose slightly, his brows furrowing in irritation.
At that moment, the faint sound of footsteps could be heard from the end of the corridor.
The footsteps grew louder.
"Njmol Prison's 'Newcomer's Welcome Day'…"
The man chuckled.
"Hahaha… every newcomer who enters this place gets a little 'party' after they've been here for a week."
"And today…"
He slowly sat upright, a sinister smile appearing on his lips.
"…I think your party has arrived."
Those words made Averroes's chest tighten.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
The sound of footsteps approaching his cell made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
CLANK!
The sound of chains being pulled was followed by the iron door being violently thrown open.
Five Justice soldiers stood before him, carrying thick chains and wearing emotionless expressions.
Two of them stepped inside.
The moment they came within range,
Averroes—who had been conserving what little strength he had left—immediately launched a swift kick toward one of the soldiers' chests.
The nearest Justice soldier was knocked several steps backward by the powerful kick that struck him squarely in the chest.
Another soldier who tried to grab Averroes by the shoulder received a brutal elbow to the face, sending him crashing to the floor with blood running from his lips.
The remaining three soldiers moved in and surrounded him.
Although Averroes's body was covered in bruises and much of his strength had been drained since the tragedy, he still fought with everything he had.
His breathing was heavy, but his eyes remained sharp.
Every movement was driven by instinct, like a cornered animal fighting for its life.
One soldier charged from behind.
Averroes spun around, seized his wrist, and drove his knee straight into the man's ribs.
"ARGH—!"
The soldier collapsed, clutching his chest as though his ribs had been shattered.
But they were no ordinary soldiers.
They were Justice soldiers—trained, disciplined, and ruthless.
Two more charged at him simultaneously.
Averroes managed to deflect one punch, but the second came too quickly.
A fist slammed into his stomach, followed by a powerful kick from another soldier.
The air was knocked out of his lungs.
"Kh—!"
He tried to get back up, but an iron chain had already wrapped around his left arm.
Before he could struggle free, another chain coiled around his leg—heavy, cold, and restricting his movements.
"Hold him!"
The command echoed through the corridor.
Four men pulled on the chains simultaneously.
Averroes was dragged across the stone floor, his hands desperately reaching for anything that could help him stand and fight back.
But it was useless.
The man in the cell opposite simply watched from the shadows, the corner of his lips curling as though he were amused.
Who knew what was going through his mind?
But to Averroes, there was something wrong with him.
He was just like the madmen who had once attacked his village and slaughtered everyone there.
The last soldier approached Averroes.
He grabbed Averroes by the hair and lifted his face until their eyes met.
"Where the hell are you taking me, bastard…?" Averroes growled through clenched teeth, his voice hoarse.
The soldier grinned, his breath foul.
"To the place every newcomer is required to visit."
The chain was yanked hard, forcing Averroes to his feet in a cruel manner.
Behind them, the mysterious man raised the hand that still held the piece of bread, as though waving goodbye to Averroes as he was dragged away.
"Good luck, kid… and…"
His smile widened, his eyes glinting faintly in the darkness.
"…enjoy."
Averroes could only keep himself from collapsing as the Justice soldiers dragged him out—toward a place he knew nothing about…
But he was certain it would not be anything good.
---
Njmol City's Bronze Arena
"Please… don't…"
A man lay sprawled on the ground, covered in blood.
His knee was shattered, while his left hand had been crushed so badly that it no longer resembled a human hand.
With what little strength remained, he dragged himself backward, using the only hand he could still move.
Tears streamed down his face without him even realizing it, mixing with the blood and dust on the arena floor.
"Kill him! Kill him!"
The crowd roared from every direction, their voices echoing like thousands of little demons celebrating.
There was no pity on the spectators' faces—only madness, excitement, and an insatiable hunger for blood.
"Ladies and gentlemen!"
The announcer's voice thundered from above the arena, adding fuel to the savage excitement.
"It appears Participant Number 11 is already on the brink of death!"
The announcer paused dramatically.
"The question is… can he survive for another thirty seconds?"
Standing before the unfortunate man was a muscular figure clad in black armor.
An iron helmet covered his face, concealing whatever humanity might have remained within him.
In his hand, he dragged a thick chain across the dusty arena floor, attached to an iron ball as large as a man's head.
The announcer raised his hand dramatically.
"Time is running out…!"
"Is he worthy of continuing to live, or will he suffer the same fate as those…"
He pointed toward one corner of the arena, where a pile of corpses had been gathered.
"Please…"
The man's voice cracked, trembling with desperation.
"Please, give me a chance… I have a wife who's heavily pregnant… ple—"
KRRRAAAK!
Before he could finish begging, the iron ball was swung directly into his head.
The sound of his skull shattering echoed throughout the arena.
Thick red liquid exploded outward, splattering across the floor…
…and staining the killer's boots.
The crowd erupted into an even louder roar.
"Another victory for THE BLACK ARMOR!"
The announcer shouted, adding even more excitement to the madness.
---
"Hahaha! See? I told you! Coming here today was totally worth it!"
A richly dressed man laughed, a large gold necklace hanging around his neck.
He slapped his friend on the shoulder.
"This week's newcomer… he's something else. Way stronger than the ones from previous weeks. Those were boring as hell."
His equally well-dressed friend nodded with a grimace.
"Exactly. For three weeks straight, I've watched those fights and there was absolutely no 'fight' at all. It was like watching children die."
"This time was much better. Even though he lost, at least there was a fight."
The man wearing the gold necklace gave him a sly smile and raised an eyebrow.
His friend sighed.
He already knew what was coming out of his friend's mouth.
"Repeat what you just said?"
"Alright, alright… I admit it. This time… it was actually good. I'll buy you a drink afterward."
The man with the gold necklace burst into laughter.
"Hahaha! I thought you'd forgotten about our bet."
"Hmm… I'm starting to wonder about you. You're rich, but you're so damn stingy with your money."
His friend pointed his lips toward the gold necklace around his friend's neck.
"We rich people make our money through betting. The loser pays."
"If the rule were that the winner had to pay, I'd be the first person to go bankrupt."
They both laughed—their laughter echoing above the corpse of a man who had begged for his life only moments earlier.
For a brief moment, as he laughed, the man's eyes caught something in the upper corner of the arena.
There was a special section, slightly higher than the announcer's platform.
It was an extravagant chamber decorated with carved statues, symbols of the sun, moon, and stars, along with elaborate golden ornaments.
A man sat upon a magnificent chair.
To his left, a female servant fed him grapes, while another gently fanned him.
This time, the man's eyes remained fixed on him.
"Where are we drinking after this, huh… Martin?" the man wearing the gold necklace asked once their laughter had died down.
"Huh? What?"
The man named Martin finally snapped out of his thoughts.
"Hahaha! You're really something. Your daydreaming problem is getting worse."
"Go see an alchemist. Maybe he can brew you some medicine for it."
The man with the gold necklace laughed again.
"Hahaha, no wonder I keep spacing out. I'm always the one paying for everything."
Martin answered with a laugh, quickly turning his attention back toward his friend.
Martin laughed along.
But deep down, his eyes remained drawn toward the man sitting in the special section.
"Ohh… him?"
His friend finally noticed where Martin was looking.
"He's one of the candidates for Lord of our city," the man wearing the gold necklace continued.
"Hmm… if I remember correctly, his name is Robert… err… what was it?"
He tried to remember.
"Custon."
Martin answered without thinking.
His friend frowned.
Martin noticed the strange look on his face.
"…I think," he added quietly.
"You know him?" his friend asked suspiciously.
"Hey, don't give me that look. I only heard his name during the public announcement."
"Besides, everyone's been talking about the appointment of the new Lord lately."
Martin shrugged.
"I was just curious to see what the popular guy looks like. The title of Lord goes to the wealthiest person in the city, right? And he's the one everyone's been talking about."
"That's all. That's why I remembered his name."
Martin added, trying to sound casual.
His friend, Kommu, nodded slowly.
"If that's the reason… fine."
"But if it's because he once lent you money, I'd suggest finding another noble with a little more humanity."
"What's wrong with him, Kommu?" Martin asked, confused.
Kommu glanced around before leaning closer.
"There are all kinds of rumors about him… but this isn't the right place to talk about them."
"But right now… just look at that Juston over there."
Kommu scoffed.
Juston?
Hmm… he's just as forgetful. He forgot the name that quickly.
Martin sighed inwardly.
"That place is reserved for a Lord officially recognized by the World Alliance Council."
"But look at him, sitting there like he owns the place."
"Unbelievable."
"And another thing…"
Kommu continued rambling to himself.
Martin was beginning to lose focus, too lazy to listen to his friend's endless complaints.
"Of all people, why does he have to be the richest one…"
"If he were poor, we wouldn't have to look at this disgraceful sight."
"Hey, Martin! Are you even listening to me?"
Martin slowly tore his gaze away from Robert and looked back at Kommu.
"I think you should see an alchemist too, Kommu."
"Why?"
Kommu looked genuinely confused.
"You figure it out yourself."
His tone was lazy.
Martin was already used to Kommu's behavior.
He wasn't sure whether Kommu was genuinely forgetful…
or whether his mouth simply moved faster than his brain.
"Hey! Tell me! Did I say something wrong?"
Kommu shook Martin by the shoulders.
"Shhh… keep it down. It's about to start."
Martin calmed him down.
---
"Ladies and gentlemen! Our next event!"
"From the left gate—the man who has never been defeated in fifty consecutive matches!"
"Please welcome…"
"THE BLACK ARMOR!"
KRRRAAANGG!
The sound of the iron gate being raised echoed throughout the arena.
The crowd erupted.
Moments later, the man known as the Black Armor stepped out, dragging his massive iron ball behind him while raising his right hand to greet the spectators.
"BLACK ARMOR! BLACK ARMOR!"
The arena shook beneath the thunderous cheers.
"And from the right…"
"Participant Number 12… please welcome!"
KRRRAAANGG!
The iron gate on the right side rose as well.
But the deafening cheers that had filled the arena suddenly faded.
Slowly, they were replaced by a collective sense of anticipation.
The entire crowd seemed to hold its breath.
They were waiting for the figure behind the title of Participant Number 12—a name that had already raised questions the moment it was announced.
Every eye was fixed on the iron gate.
Silence.
No one came out.
The announcer began to grow nervous.
The wrinkles on his aging face became more pronounced, revealing the lines of a man who had lived for half a century.
He glanced toward Robert, searching for an answer.
Robert said nothing.
Instead, he gave the announcer a sharp glare that made the man's stomach tighten.
The announcer quickly adjusted his round glasses—even though they didn't actually need adjusting.
"Ahh… perhaps he's taking a little longer than expected!"
He forced a small laugh, but his voice trembled.
"Everyone, don't worry. We… we are still following the schedule!"
Several spectators began whispering.
Others groaned impatiently.
"Why's it taking so long?"
"They're wasting our time."
The announcer clenched his lips.
"What the hell is taking them so long…? It's just a little kid they're supposed to bring out."
He complained inwardly.
If he followed his emotions, he would have shouted those words directly at the soldiers operating the gate behind him.
And as if answering his frustration—
BOOM!
A powerful explosion erupted from inside.
Thick smoke rushed through the iron doorway.
Suddenly, the figure of a human body was hurled out of the gate and slammed into the sandy arena floor.
Dust exploded into the air, obscuring the spectators' view.
They leaned forward, trying to see what had happened.
"Hey… who is that?" some of them asked.
---
I knew it… That's why they said we'd get extra pay.
The Justice soldier cursed inwardly.
At first, he had refused to accept the assignment of transporting a prisoner from the prison cell to the arena that morning.
He wanted to rest.
He wanted to relax after spending the entire night guarding the outside of Njmol City's prison.
But the moment his superior mentioned extra pay, his suspicion disappeared—and he accepted.
Now, he regretted it.
Damn… If only I hadn't taken this job. I'd be full and fast asleep on my mattress by now.
He imagined the beef and bread he had saved for later.
He even pictured his filthy pillow—the kind that could probably knock someone unconscious if they smelled it.
There had originally been five of them.
Now, he was the only one still standing.
Three of his comrades had already been knocked down, still groaning in pain.
Another had been thrown into the arena after being struck by his own fire magic.
The attack had been meant for the boy standing before him.
But the boy was too fast.
He dodged.
And the attack struck the Justice soldier behind him instead.
Now, he was the only one left standing.
Among the five of them, he was the only one who possessed magical abilities.
The other four had already been beaten badly by this boy.
He needed a little time.
Time for the other Justice soldiers to recover and get back on their feet.
Not because he was afraid of fighting alone.
He was simply too lazy to do all the work himself.
He would much rather let the others finish the job without having to break a sweat.
"You're quite a savage little brat, aren't you?"
His tone remained casual.
"Tell me… where are you from?"
The question was nothing more than a trick—an attempt to buy time.
"You bastards!"
Averroes shouted.
"You destroyed and took everything from me, and now you have the nerve to ask where I'm from?!"
"Do you really think none of this ever happened?!"
"You think you can just forget about it like that?!"
His messy hair covered part of his face.
His face was red with anger, his eyes blazing with hatred.
The soldier fell silent for a moment.
Damn… What the hell did they do this time?
Truthfully, he had long stopped paying attention to anything related to military missions.
For four years, he had done nothing but guard the area outside Njmol City's prison.
He had never hated his job—because it was a choice he had made himself.
But now, he was beginning to understand.
This kid wasn't just good at taking a beating.
"Tes rebels…" he muttered slowly, as if savoring the words on his tongue. "No wonder."
Averroes clenched his teeth. The name of his village—Tes—sounded like a curse whenever it came from the mouth of an enemy.
"Don't you dare say the name of my village with that filthy mouth of yours!"
His roar exploded with anger and hatred that had been buried deep inside him for far too long.
Averroes charged toward the soldier. In his hand was the iron chain the Justice soldiers had used to bind him inside his cell. With all his strength, he swung the chain toward the soldier.
The soldier casually stepped to the side, avoiding the attack.
But that was merely a feint.
Averroes quickly used the weight of the chain as leverage, twisting his body before launching himself into the air. His foot struck directly toward the soldier's head.
The man managed to raise both arms to block the attack, but the impact still forced him several steps backward.
Averroes didn't stop there.
This time, he swung the chain toward the soldier's legs.
In the blink of an eye, the chain wrapped around one of the soldier's legs.
Averroes pulled with all his might.
The soldier lost his balance and fell flat on his back.
Averroes immediately lunged forward, attempting to smash his opponent's face.
But the soldier was no easy opponent.
With one hand planted against the floor, he lifted his entire body and spun with a smooth, controlled motion. His body rotated several times, just enough to break free, and the chain wrapped around his leg slipped off effortlessly.
Averroes froze.
Too late—
It was as though time had slowed down.
In that brief moment, Averroes realized he wouldn't be able to dodge.
The soldier continued spinning, and on the final rotation—
BAM!
A powerful kick slammed directly into Averroes's stomach.
"UGH—!"
Averroes's body was sent flying, crashing into the stone wall of the corridor.
Before he could even hit the ground, the soldier had already rushed forward and pinned Averroes's chest against the wall with his knee.
"ARRRGH!!"
Averroes's scream of pain echoed through the corridor.
His body was now hanging off the ground, pinned against the wall by the soldier's merciless knee.
"Ugh… you're just wasting my time," the man said casually, still pressing Averroes against the wall.
"If you'd just followed our orders from the beginning, you wouldn't have gotten beaten this badly," he continued mockingly.
Averroes struggled desperately, trying to break free, but his strength was rapidly fading.
The soldier let out a small grunt.
"But I suppose it's partly my fault too," he said, as if talking to himself. "When I saw you in the cell earlier, I underestimated you. I should've beaten you senseless first… then dragged you to the arena."
He pressed his knee harder against Averroes's chest.
"UGH—!"
Averroes's breath caught in his throat. His chest felt as though it were about to collapse.
Finally, the soldier pulled his knee away.
But before Averroes's feet could touch the ground—
BOOM!
A flaming fist slammed directly into his chest.
Averroes's body crashed into the stone wall once again before sliding down. He dropped to his knees and finally collapsed onto the ground, limp and motionless—no longer capable of getting back up.
Without wasting any time, the soldier grabbed Averroes by the hair and dragged him toward the arena, his eyes glancing at the other Justice soldiers who were still lying on the ground.
"Useless."
He cursed inwardly.
His eyes then fell upon Averroes in his left hand.
"Don't you ever get tired of having your hair pulled?" the soldier taunted.
Averroes remained silent. The pain from the beating was enough to leave his tongue numb, while even breathing felt difficult.
"Haidaroh! Stop!"
A loud shout from behind made the soldier named Haidaroh stop immediately.
"What are you doing, Haidaroh?!"
A short but heavily built man strode toward him. His uniform was immaculate, covered with numerous insignia that clearly marked his high rank.
"Ge—General?!"
Haidaroh's face tightened, and his tone changed immediately.