ain wrapped around his body like a vice, each bruise a testament to how close he had come to losing. The adrenaline from the fight had long faded, leaving behind exhaustion and the dull ache of battered muscles. He sat against the cold stone wall of the underground chamber, his breathing slow and controlled. Every part of him ached, but he had won. He was still here.
A hushed murmur filled the underground chamber as fighters and spectators alike threw glances his way. The newcomer who had survived. The man who had no name, no history, but had managed to stay standing when others had fallen. Whether they were impressed or waiting for his next defeat, he couldn't tell.
"You're still alive," Mira said, leaning against a nearby pillar, arms crossed. Her expression was neutral, but there was something in her eyes—approval, maybe. "I'm impressed."
He grunted, rolling his shoulder. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Callen approached, crouching beside him before tossing a small pouch onto the ground. "Your winnings."
He picked it up, weighing the contents. A few copper coins rattled inside—not much, but more than he had before.
[Quest Reward: First Arena Winnings Acquired]
He turned the pouch in his hands. This was his first real gain since waking up in this world. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
"Don't spend it all in one place," Callen smirked. "Not that you can buy much with it."
Garrik's voice cut through the conversation. "You fought well. But that was just the beginning."
He looked up at the fight master, who stood with his usual air of authority. Garrik was a man of presence, every inch of him carrying the weight of countless battles.
"You've earned a spot," Garrik continued, arms crossed, "but a single win means nothing. You want real money? Real recognition? You climb the ranks."
[Quest Updated: Rise Through the Ranks – Win Three More Fights]
The weight of it settled on his shoulders. Fighting in the pit wasn't just about survival anymore—it was his only real chance to carve out a future.
Garrik motioned toward a nearby table where a clay jug of water and a strip of cloth were set. "Clean yourself up. You'll fight again in two nights. Rest while you can."
He nodded, exhaustion pressing down on him. He had survived his first fight. Now, he had to survive the next.
The walk back through the slums of Black Hollow was quiet. Mira, Callen, and Finn led the way through the maze of alleyways, avoiding the drunken revelers and cutthroats lurking in the shadows. The air smelled of damp stone and stale ale, the occasional flickering lantern casting long, jagged shadows.
"You were reckless," Mira said suddenly, breaking the silence.
He frowned. "I won."
"You barely won," she corrected, her voice edged with irritation. "Your movements were sloppy, your reactions slow. If that had been a real fighter, you'd be dead."
"Give him a break," Callen said with a shrug. "First fight's always rough."
"I don't need a break," he said, his voice firm. He was tired, his body ached, but he needed to be stronger. "I need to get better."
Mira raised an eyebrow. "Good. Then be ready to train tomorrow."
They arrived at their hideout—a run-down building at the edge of Lowtown, half-collapsed but still standing. The fire inside had burned low, casting eerie shadows against the cracked walls. Finn curled up near the embers, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.
Callen stretched, letting out a yawn. "You should get some rest. We'll start early tomorrow."
He nodded, but sleep felt distant. His mind raced, replaying the fight over and over. Every mistake, every hesitation. He needed to be faster, stronger, smarter.
[Adaptive Growth: Combat Reflexes Slightly Increased]
He clenched his fists. The system was working. Slowly, but it was working. If he kept pushing, kept learning, he could survive. Maybe even more than that.
Mira lingered by the entrance, watching him. "Don't get cocky. You won one fight. That doesn't mean you'll win the next."
He met her gaze. "Then I'll make sure I do."
She smirked, shaking her head before disappearing into the darkness of the hideout.
He lay back against the stone wall, letting his body relax, if only for a moment. The bruises would heal. The pain would fade. And when the next fight came, he would be ready.
Because losing wasn't an option.