Chapter 2
Vilin never expected the man to target Annie.
That realization hardened his resolve to kill him into something unbreakable.
Ten minutes passed in a flash.
Two soldiers approached, one in front and one behind, stopping right at Vilin's cell door.
The shackles around his ankles were unlocked with a key.
The moment the heavy chains fell away, Vilin felt an overwhelming lightness wash over him.
Even the gloom in his heart lifted just a little.
So this is what freedom feels like?
Lost in that fleeting sensation,
he was suddenly shoved hard by one of the soldiers.
"Kid! Move it!"
"Don't waste time!"
The armored soldier snapped impatiently.
Vilin almost flared up,
but the sight of the long blade hanging at the man's waist forced him to swallow his anger.
Seeing Vilin cowed,
the tall, thin man flashed a gloating smirk.
Vilin gave Annie a reassuring gesture,
then followed the soldiers out of the dungeon.
Annie watched his figure disappear around the corner,
then huddled in the corner, silently praying for him with a face full of worry.
Outside the dungeon,
blinding sunlight hit Vilin's face.
He instinctively squeezed his eyes shut.
After a few seconds of adjustment,
he opened them again.
Warm sunlight bathed his body.
He took a deep breath of fresh air and couldn't help but squint in contentment.
This really is freedom...
Suddenly,
waves of intense malice crashed over him from all sides.
Only then did he notice the circular stands surrounding the arena,
packed with countless excited noble eyes staring straight at him.
A chill ran down his spine.
In that moment,
he felt like an animal on display for their amusement.
As Vilin and the thin middle-aged man (Hunter) reached the center of the arena floor,
a loud, high-pitched voice boomed across the coliseum.
"Gladiators! Choose your weapons!"
"May they deliver us a spectacular duel!"
"You have ten minutes left to place your bets!"
The host's passionate roar ignited the crowd.
Nobles on the circular stands erupted in excitement,
waving Berries and frantically betting.
The serving girls could barely keep up.
Vilin felt equal parts disgust and envy toward these nobles who lived only for pleasure.
He quickly tore his gaze away.
His eyes locked onto the weapon rack in front of him.
He hurried over and carefully inspected the options.
A suitable weapon could greatly increase his chances of survival.
Drawing on the original owner's memories,
Vilin soon selected a longsword about 1.6 meters long.
The moment he gripped the hilt,
his body moved almost on instinct,
swinging the blade in smooth arcs guided by muscle memory.
At first his movements were clumsy,
but after a few practice swings,
the sword felt lighter, more natural.
When he felt a light sweat break out,
he stopped.
He needed to conserve energy for the real fight.
As he pondered strategies to defeat his opponent,
a thunderous cheer exploded from the stands,
snapping him out of his thoughts.
A fervent voice echoed through the arena:
"Honored guests!
I know you're all eager for an unforgettable duel!
Please welcome Vilin and Hunter to the stage!"
Vilin and Hunter locked eyes,
both gazes burning with killing intent.
Vilin climbed the platform first, longsword in hand.
Hunter followed, hefting a massive cleaver, refusing to be outdone.
On the arena stage,
they stood ten meters apart,
each gathering strength.
Both knew only one would leave alive.
"Begin!!"
The host's command rang out.
Vilin gripped his sword tightly and charged,
swinging with all his might at Hunter's head.
"Die!"
"You think you're somebody?!"
Hunter, feeling provoked by the first attack,
swung his cleaver in a brutal counter.
Clang!
The weapons collided with a deafening ring.
A tremendous force surged through Vilin's arms.
His whole body was hurled backward.
He crashed hard onto the stone floor.
Burning pain flared across his chest.
He coughed violently.
"Cough—cough!"
Such raw power!
His arms felt numb.
As he struggled to rise,
a three-dimensional image suddenly formed in his mind.
In that mental projection,
he saw Hunter raising the cleaver for another downward chop.
Danger!
Vilin dropped his sword and rolled sideways.
Just as he moved,
Hunter's blade slammed down where he'd been,
carving a deep gash into the arena floor with a thunderous clang.
The near-death dodge sent the nobles into a frenzy of cheers.
Vilin felt a surge of fear.
If he hadn't rolled in time,
he'd already be dead.
Thinking of Annie waiting for him,
he steeled himself.
He had to win.
He started to move again,
but his heart tightened.
Another roll.
Hunter's blade came crashing down once more.
No choice but to keep dodging.
Vilin evaded desperately while Hunter pursued relentlessly.
He noticed something strange:
every time an attack came,
a clear 3D map appeared in his mind,
showing the exact trajectory of the strike.
Hunter grew frustrated at yet another miss.
"Die already!"
"Wild Slash!"
Hunter inhaled deeply, eyes bulging,
and unleashed a storm of rapid, blurring cleaver swings.
Blade lights sliced the air so fast they were almost invisible.
Facing the onslaught,
Vilin forced himself to calm down.
He closed his eyes.
Hunter's movements appeared crystal-clear in his mind—slowed, predictable.
Every attack path was laid bare.
A wild joy surged through Vilin as he dodged flawlessly.
He felt like a tiny boat in a raging storm,
one wrong move from capsizing.
The audience watched in rapt silence,
the entire coliseum hushed except for the clash of steel and heavy breathing.
After what felt like an eternity,
Vilin slowly opened his eyes.
Hunter stood opposite him,
leaning on his weapon,
gasping for air.
==============================================================
Support me and be 100 chapters ahead of webnovel:
patreon.com/arthursink