The bruises hadn't fully faded, but the pain was now just another part of him. He moved through the motions of morning training with an almost mechanical precision. Every strike, every dodge, every block—it was all becoming second nature. But he knew it wasn't enough. Not yet.
His second fight in the pit was coming soon, and this time, he couldn't afford to scrape by. He had to dominate.
Callen watched him from a distance, arms crossed. "You're getting faster."
Mira, standing opposite him, smirked as she adjusted her stance. "Fast doesn't mean anything if you can't finish the job."
She lunged. He reacted, stepping aside just in time. His counterattack was swift, aimed at her ribs—but she twisted at the last moment, bringing her practice sword up to deflect. The force of the impact sent a numbing vibration through his arm.
Mira's smirk widened. "Better."
He exhaled, adjusting his grip. "Again."
The day of the fight arrived faster than he wanted.
The Hollow Den was more crowded this time, the anticipation thick in the air. Word had spread—new blood had entered the arena, and people were eager to see if he was just another nobody or something worth betting on.
Garrik met him at the entrance, his sharp gaze appraising. "You ready?"
He nodded. "Always."
Garrik chuckled. "Good. Because your opponent this time isn't some washed-up brawler. This one fights for sport."
[Survival Instinct Activated: Opponent Danger Level – High]
His stomach clenched, but he didn't let it show. He had trained for this. He wouldn't back down now.
Stepping into the pit, the noise from the crowd faded into the background. His opponent stood across from him—a lean, wiry man with sharp eyes and a confident stance. Unlike his last fight, this one didn't charge in blindly. He studied him, waiting.
Garrik raised his hand. "Begin!"
The man moved first, closing the distance in an instant. He barely had time to react before a fist slammed toward his face. He ducked, countering with a quick strike to the ribs. His opponent twisted, absorbing the hit without flinching.
The next blow came faster. A kick aimed at his knee. He barely sidestepped, feeling the air shift as the foot narrowly missed. His opponent was fast. Much faster than the last one.
[Adaptive Growth: Reaction Time Slightly Increased]
He couldn't afford to let this drag out. He had to find an opening.
His opponent smirked. "Not bad. But you're predictable."
Then the real attack came. A feint—an almost imperceptible shift in weight before a brutal hook aimed for his temple. He barely got his arm up in time, the force of the impact sending him stumbling.
Pain flared through his body. His vision blurred for a second, but he forced himself to stay upright.
[Pain Tolerance Slightly Increased]
His opponent didn't stop. A knee drove into his stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. He doubled over, gasping for breath.
The crowd roared. They could smell blood. He was losing.
No.
Not again.
He forced himself to move, dodging just as another strike came for his head. He rolled, regaining his footing. His opponent turned to follow—but that was the mistake.
He lunged, his fist colliding with his opponent's jaw. The force sent the man staggering. Before he could recover, he struck again—a brutal kick to the ribs, then another punch to the side of the head.
His opponent collapsed.
For a moment, the pit was silent.
Then the crowd erupted.
[Quest Completed: Second Ranked Victory Earned] [Adaptive Growth: Offensive Striking Improved]
Garrik stepped into the pit, glancing at the unconscious fighter before nodding. "Didn't think you had it in you."
He wiped the sweat from his face, his breathing still heavy. "Neither did he."
Callen clapped from the sidelines. Finn cheered. Mira? She simply watched, her expression unreadable.
Garrik tossed another pouch at him. "Two wins down. One more, and you'll have real standing in the arena."
[Quest Updated: Rise Through the Ranks – Win One More Fight]
He gripped the pouch tightly. One more fight. One more step forward.
He had come too far to lose now.