Yeah I'm a King, so what?

First Blood

"Drop your sword, leaving your side wide open!!"

His prediction was correct, as the boy swung the sword to the right with one hand. What was unexpected was the speed.

It was a tactic he had adopted, expecting that he would be able to dodge the heavy sword in one hand and launch an attack, but the speed of the sword used to intercept was lightning fast. And then a roar echoes.

'If I hadn't let go of my shield in an instant, my face would have been smashed open...!!'

The shield split in two and hit the fence, making a clanging metallic sound. In contrast to Marcus, who looked frightened, my expression remained calm.

'I've seen the charge twice, this guy's speed isn't fast, no problem.'

I stop and hold my sword high. That posture seems too vulnerable.

However, it was an invitation, a trap that could only be set by gauging the opponent's speed. The next time they make a move, the game will be decided. Meanwhile, Marcus also saw an opportunity.

'He's taking an upper stance... should I jump in...? No, even if I manage to kill him first, if he brings his sword down I'll be taken down with him.

In that case, I'll make him miss first...'

Both of them thought for a moment, then Marcus jumped in and the boy swung his sword down to cut him down.

Marcus anticipated this and suddenly slowed down to avoid the sword. A loud thud rang out, and some frightened cries rose from the audience, but the majority of the audience was too engrossed in watching the outcome of the match to make a sound.

I slowly raised the sword I had swung down. Marcus had a gash about 10cm deep from his head to his crotch. He slowly collapsed, his organs spilling onto the ground.

The decision was made with the final step I took, a step that cut through Marcus, who had been trying to avoid it by a hair's breadth. I didn't read his tactics and then step in.

However, when I saw him "trying to avoid it," I took it a step further. This is another reason why I'm still alive: my dynamic vision.

Today is the same as always: fight opponents you can beat, win, and survive. There were no unexpected losses.

The crowd erupts as victory and a brutal conclusion come together. I returned to the waiting room after receiving a round of applause from the satisfied arena master.

The stone corridor leading back was dimly lit, the roar of the crowd fading behind me. My muscles still burned from the fight, blood, not all of it mine. They splattered across my chest and arms.

"Impressive."

A voice, low and amused, echoed from the shadows ahead.

I didn't slow my pace. A figure stepped into the torchlight. He was tall, lean, with sharp features and eyes that gleamed with something dangerous. One of the senior fighters. Renaud, they called him. A man who'd survived three seasons in the pits.

"You fight like you've got nothing to lose," he continued, falling into step beside me. His gaze traveled down my frame with deliberate slowness. "Reckless. But... effective."

"I'm still breathing," I replied flatly.

"For now." He smiled, a predatory thing. "But survival isn't just about the arena, boy. You need allies and rotection." His hand brushed my shoulder, fingers lingering. "I could teach you things. Keep you alive longer."

I stopped and met his eyes. There was hunger there, not just ambition. "And what would that cost me?" I asked, voice even.

His smile widened. "Nothing you wouldn't enjoy paying."

The air between us thickened. I'd seen this game before. Power, desire and leverage all tangled together in this blood-soaked place. And I'd learned long ago: everything was a transaction.

I stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat radiating from him. "Then maybe we should discuss terms... privately."