The arena did not forget.
Ash learned that quickly.
It remembered blood.
It remembered fear.
And most of all—
It remembered those who entertained it.
By the time he was thrown back into the holding area, the noise had already shifted.
Not louder.
Not quieter.
Different.
Whispers.
Eyes.
Too many eyes.
They weren't looking at him.
Not really.
They were looking past him.
Waiting.
Ash pressed his back against the cold iron bars, his breath still uneven. His body ached in places he didn't know could hurt. Every movement reminded him—
He had survived.
Barely.
A group of slaves huddled nearby, speaking in low, urgent tones.
"…it's him next."
"…no way…"
"…why would they send him again…?"
Ash frowned slightly.
Again?
Someone noticed him listening.
A man, thin and pale, turned his head slowly.
"You're new," he said.
Ash didn't answer.
The man smiled faintly.
"Yeah… I thought so." He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "You should watch this one."
Ash's fingers tightened unconsciously.
"…why?"
The man's smile faded.
"Because you won't understand it."
Before Ash could respond—
A horn echoed through the arena.
Louder than before.
Sharper.
The gate across the pit groaned open.
And the noise died.
Not gradually.
Instantly.
As if something had pressed down on the world.
Ash felt it.
A shift.
Subtle.
Wrong.
The crowd didn't cheer.
They held their breath.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Measured.
A figure walked into the arena.
Clean.
Untouched.
Out of place.
He wore a dark coat, unmarked by blood or dirt. His posture was relaxed, almost careless—as if the arena meant nothing to him.
In his hand…
A book.
Ash blinked.
Once.
Twice.
He brought a book?
The man didn't look up.
Didn't scan the arena.
Didn't acknowledge the crowd.
He simply… stopped.
At the center.
Opened the book.
And started reading.
A laugh broke the silence.
His opponent had entered from the other side.
A giant of a man, muscles layered over old scars, his face twisted with amusement.
"You've got to be joking," the man barked, cracking his neck. "They're sending me a reader?"
No response.
The man's grin widened.
"Good. I like it when they don't scream too much."
He charged.
The ground shook under each step.
Fast.
Violent.
Certain.
Ash leaned forward slightly without realizing it.
Move.
That's what anyone would do.
That's what Ash would do.
But the man in the arena didn't.
He turned a page.
That was all.
The distance closed.
Ten steps.
Five.
One—
The giant swung.
A full-force strike meant to crush bone.
And then—
Nothing.
No impact.
No dodge.
No sound.
The giant's fist stopped.
Mid-air.
A breath away from its target.
Ash's eyes widened.
The man's arm trembled.
Muscles strained.
Veins bulged.
But it didn't move forward.
Didn't move back.
It just… stopped.
The arena held its breath.
Ash felt his own heart pounding in his ears.
What…?
The giant took a step.
Or tried to.
His body jerked.
Shuddered.
Then—
He froze.
Completely.
Silence.
The man with the book turned another page.
Calm.
Detached.
As if nothing had happened.
Seconds passed.
Then—
The giant collapsed.
Like a puppet with its strings cut.
A dull, heavy thud echoed across the arena.
No blood.
No visible wound.
No struggle.
Just—
End.
For a moment, no one reacted.
Then the arena exploded.
Shouts.
Confusion.
Fear.
Ash didn't hear it.
He couldn't.
His eyes were locked on the man in the center.
Slowly—
Very slowly—
The man lifted his gaze.
Not to the crowd.
Not to the guards.
To Ash.
Their eyes met.
Ash's breath caught in his throat.
There was nothing in that gaze.
No pride.
No cruelty.
No emotion.
Just…
Stillness.
Pure.
Absolute.
And for a fraction of a second—
Ash felt it.
As if something in him had been… noticed.
Measured.
And dismissed.
The man lowered his eyes again.
Closed the book.
And walked out.
As if the world had already ended—
And he was the only one who knew it.